#idk I haven’t worked out the details yet

[randombush3]

the winner takes it all

alexia putellas x reader

summary: an unexpected invitation throws your world off-kilter

words: 6276

content warnings: it's a bit unfaithful

notes: in this universe real madrid is a proper opponent and rival to barcelona, in the sense that funding and history is relatively equal (so it's basically more like the men's rivalry)

idk where this came from tbh

Amb gran alegria, 

Alexia i Olga

T’invitem a celebrar la nostra unió matrimonial. 

10 d’agost de 2025

Gran Hotel Mas d’en Bruno

You haven’t read Catalan in years. You squint at the details. 

You wish you had forgotten it. 

Only Alexia would do this to you, twisting the knife as though it’s a favour, a compliment. Make it seem psychotic for not wanting to go, make it seem like it’s not a big deal. 

The invitation isn’t personalised. You are not special in her eyes. You have been allowed onto the guest list, you have no mark in her life. Surely Olga would have objected if she’d known, if she’d been told. Maybe Alexia doesn’t talk about it. Maybe she has heard your name on match reports and team sheets, announcements for captaincy, interviews with Las 16 who called you traidora then and call you traidora now. 

As if she knew it was coming, your phone begins to light up with messages from Alba. Apologies, perhaps, in her own Alba way. Stuff like ‘are you coming’ and ‘you don’t have to’ and then more buzzing, vibrating the shitstorm into a phone call. 

You don’t speak often. Why would you? But you answer it, listless, really, and unsure what the correct approach to this even is. 

“Hola, traidorita,” she says with a nervous giggle, reclaiming your nickname in Barcelona but reminding you of how you are perceived nevertheless. “I don’t know why you are on the guest list.” 

Alba is like this: straight to the point, unafraid of her sister and unafraid to tell you what she thinks. They are very different, which is why she is the only one who has your current number in her contacts. 

“You told her where I live,” you respond. Your shock makes no room for manners. “Because no one there has my Madrid address, Albi.” 

“No one here has it, yeah. But she asked around. Well, Olga did.” She laughs again. Her nervousness is high-pitched and easily detected. “Told Ale that she has to have her childhood best friend at her wedding.” 

“Childhood best friend?” 

“Estranged childhood best friend?” she tries, and you can hear the smile and the teasing fucking smugness in it. You wonder if anyone else knows you have been invited. Alba because your address was squeezed out of her, sure, but… “And my mother thought it was a good idea too, before you try to murder a woman you have never met.” 

“I’ve met Olga before,” you say without thinking, because that’s far easier to focus on than the idea of Eli getting involved in this completely undesired reunion that is about two centuries too early. “When I was going out with, eh, I don’t remember her name. A model. You know what they’re like. Olga’s the one who works for… thingie.” 

There’s a sigh from the other end. “So many models yet not one name has been retained. Do you even ask them?” 

“We’re not usually doing much talking.” 

“Zorra.”

“Coming from you…” You smirk at the thought of all the little secrets Alba’s had you keep, a tradition that started young and became increasingly frequent when you removed yourself from everyone else’s lives. It’s like a journal, only you judge her. “You’re doing a good job of distracting me until I agree to go.” 

She hesitates, then. You’re not an idiot and you know why she called. Alba is supportive but she has her own agenda most of the time, and no one else knows the exact time you get back from training aside from your fellow teammates. Even then, most are too intimidated to contact you in general, let alone to ask about being invited to Alexia Putellas’ fucking wedding. 

Alba is also very manipulative, a professional puppeteer. And she knows exactly what to say. “It’s been fifteen years. Are you going to let her win?” It’s an infuriating provocation but it hits its target with ease. 

…

The first step of preparing for this wedding takes place in the form of the Euros: you’re going to win it and be happy enough to ignore the impending doom hanging over your off-season plans. Going into the competition with heavy medals round your necks makes cockiness the slippiest of slopes, and it is safe to say that most of your teammates are prepared to cruise through at least the group stages. 

An unexpected injury rips Jenni’s opportunity to play from her grasp (an echo of her ex-girlfriend, you briefly think), and she is flying back to Mexico before the tournament begins. Montse is a captain down – of course only this kind of disaster could happen to her – and before Patri can even open her mouth to volunteer for the role, you are dragged into a leadership meeting.

You’ve worn the armband before, though it seared and burned and blistered until you threw it in Jorge’s face and demanded someone else absorb the hatred it brought. He went ballistic as you’d said it, you remember, his face going red in the soft glow of your hotel room the night before the World Cup final. He’d leaned forwards, fist clenched, knuckles white and wanting to choke the life out of you.

“You have no respect!” he’d roared, voice splitting like thunder against the thin walls of your hotel room. “Not for me, not for your country, not for anything!” His breath was coming out in sharp ragged gasps. He spat. You’d wiped it off your body. “I thought you had scraped all the Catalan out of you, but here it is!” he’d screamed, loud enough to be heard but so comfortable in his power that it did not seem to frighten him. “Selfish and arrogant. You should have made it Seventeen.” 

He’d left in his rage, slamming his door. 

You regretted smiling in pictures with him, shaking his hand, kissing his cheek. You regretted the press conferences and interviews, the shaky defence you had constructed, the words of faith and trust you had professed and tried to believe. It had changed you, just a little bit, that incident. Made you think about who you are, where you come from. Made you remember someone you’d tried to forget. 

But Irene and Alexia, staring at you with both contempt and confusion as you take a seat at the conference table, don’t know any of this. Why would they? To them, this is the traidora. 

“Y/n is going to take Jenni’s place as third captain,” says Montse firmly, if she even knows how to do that. Irene and Alexia share a glance. Their roles have been restored for this competition and they are not prepared for an intruder to take that from them, although Irene will later remind Alexia that it is not your fault Jenni got injured. “I trust you three will come up with a suitable management plan. If you need me, you know where to find me.” 

None of you really do know where she lurks, but she is walking off before you can clarify. 

“We already have a strategy.” And she says it in Catalan, looking falsely apologetic when she is kicked underneath the table. 

“Good job, Alexia,” you tell her, so nauseatingly saccharine that you almost think of the nearest route to a toilet. She’s surprised you’ve granted her a reply though, which is satisfying enough. About to spit out another remark to divide yourselves further, you shift in your chair, stretching out your legs underneath the table. 

It is then that her ring catches your eye.

It’s delicate, shiny. A neatly cut diamond set in platinum with slight details that tell you someone thought about Alexia when they had this made and got it all wrong. Or maybe this is what she likes now. It’s not what you’d have given her.

She sees your eyes fall to her fingers, watching carefully as your gaze heats the metal and makes it almost too hot for her to keep on. You don’t really want her to know that you’ve seen it but you��ve made it bleeding obvious and so the predicament spirals and Irene wants, desperately, to leave you two alone – she knows shouldn’t, she’s aware of the health and safety risk. 

There is something about the way Alexia clenches her jaw, posture stiffening as she allows herself one flicker from your face to the ring, that tells you she is bracing herself for a bullet. She always did have an uncanny ability to read you, however unwanted it was. 

You lean back in your chair, aware of how the bystander is holding her breath, and decide to swallow the words burning on your tongue. You’ve accepted her invitation, and bitter manners are still manners. “Congratulations,” you say, words clipped and brittle, each syllable more venomous than the last. 

The chair makes a screeching sound as you stand. Irene flinches but Alexia does not move. She refuses to watch as you walk out of the room. 

…

Three hours later, Alexia is off the phone with Olga and knocking on Irene’s door with an embarrassed suppression of urgency. Shoulders hunched and lips downturned, the sight is enough for her to be ushered inside with only the quiet flap of Irene’s arms to beckon her forwards. With this part of the training camp being not quite tunnel-vision yet, Irene’s room is littered with toys and toddler stuff. Usually Alexia would be looking at them in quiet excitement. Right now, she is not so sure. 

“Second thoughts?” Irene asks, and Alexia half-jumps backwards in shock, about to furiously shake her head and profess her love for Olga– “I think the plan is good. I don’t think we need to worry about Y/n in the centre, seeing how she’s been playing there this season.” 

It slowly dawns on Alexia that Irene has assumed this is pre-tournament nerves, and that she is being shown such a vulnerable side of her co-captain because, well, who else can be? No one wants to see their commander gulp at the sight of the battlefield. 

“She still favours her left,” Alexia gets out. “She might drift, leaving a big gap for you to cover.” 

“She’s got offers from PSG, Chelsea, and Washington Spirit. It’s in her interest not to drift.” 

“She’s good at drifting.” 

Irene doesn’t respond to that. 

“Since when did you wear your ring to training?” is what she chooses to say instead, asking the question with a healthy fear of getting her head bitten off, taking a small step backwards to put her at a safer distance. 

Alexia doesn’t reply immediately, her fingers grazing the ring as she thinks. The weight of it seems heavier now, almost suffocating in the sterile air of the hotel room, as though this is everything she’s been trying to avoid. Her heart thuds against her ribcage. It feels like everyone is starting to notice. 

“I didn’t think it was an issue.” Her voice is tight, defensive, but with a subtle, betraying crack. She pulls her hand back from the air, letting it fall to her side. “We hardly did much more than pass the ball today so I kept it on.” 

It’s a poor excuse. It comes off for the cameras, not the contact of the game. Irene knows that. But, to her credit, she doesn’t push. She just watches Alexia, eyes narrowed slightly in an unreadable expression. “I just thought you guys were keeping it a bit more… private.” 

Alexia turns her gaze to the floor, staring at the scattered toys and items around the room. The simplicity of it all, the domestic innocence, makes her feel even more tangled. She feels an urge to lie, to say that Olga asked her to, worried that you’d misinterpret its absence, but Olga doesn’t even know she has reason to lose sleep. She hasn’t found the courage to explain. She hasn’t felt the need to. 

And, really, the truth is right here, echoing between them. Irene would have pieced together the story, as many of Alexia’s teammates have, hearing drunken retellings on nights out from whoever has known the two of you the longest that time. Maybe Alba has spoken to her, revealing everything after a round of tequila shots, as she tends to do. There are a few suggestions the older woman could make to her teammate, wounds she could open and then nurse, but she doesn’t and so she waits. 

Until, finally, Alexia admits, “it’s complicated. She has caught me off-guard.” It could mean many things, but it is either your captaincy or the acceptance of her wedding invitation that has done Alexia in. She wonders whether this feeling of dread and uncertainty is the game – or the life waiting for her after she comes back from Switzerland. “Look,” she says abruptly, “I’m not here for advice, Irene.”

“Then why are you in my room?” She doesn’t have an answer for that. Irene sweeps her outside, gently but firmly. “I’m not going to tell you what to do,” she treads lightly, “but when was the last time you had a conversation with her?” 

…

The training pitch in Switzerland is unseasonably hot, the kind of heat that clings to the air and makes tempers run shorter than usual. It’s almost a cure to homesickness but then the team look at each other and are back to hating every minute of this. There’s an undeniable divide. Montse either does not care or has not caught on. 

It’s about your twentieth rondo this session, the ball zipping across the wilting grass as it touches Barça foot to Barça foot, the girls obviously enjoying this. You’re only holding back because too much investment will lead to another injury, and you are getting somewhat tired of being called a traitor. The players surround you with a ruthless efficiency that is starting to fray your nerves, and you make a note to talk to your coach about training, knowing that it will be easy to manipulate her into following something akin to what the girls at Madrid are more accustomed to. 

Alexia is one of your taunters. Of course she is. 

“Just three more interceptions,” she calls out, false strain, false support, false encouragement. 

You bite back a retort, instead standing still as Aitana rolls a ball right past you. You wipe the sweat from your brow, feigning exhaustion, but the pretense is only that in name. Everyone knows you are one of the best defenders, the Barça girls especially, with their insane pride for La Masia. 

“Lazy,” Alexia mutters. 

You don’t respond, focusing instead on the fire in your chest as you forcibly break the circle and march towards Montse. She looks up from her clipboard as you approach. 

“We should split training.” She pauses and then nods. “Attack and defence, at least. And don’t let the press hear this, but, my god, Montse, I do not like how they’re all back.” 

“We’re a stronger team,” she says, but she’s smiling and you are definitely her favourite. Another deep breath and she is calling a water break. 

The girls retreat to the sidelines for ice and hydration, and you reunite with the people you like. Your club teammates prefer you at national camp, because there is something less reclusive about you. It’s as though you’re trying to prove that you get on. 

Olga hands you a water bottle, the contents of which you guzzle down in one go. She begins to comment on the absurdity of Alexia’s mandated rondos (“why do they have to keep reminding themselves how to pass a ball?”) and while you agree, your attention is diverted. Alexia is standing a few meters away with Mariona Caldentey. She’s listening to something the forward is telling her, face focused, finger twisting her ring around in circles. 

That fucking ring. 

You look away before you are caught in such a compromising position, wiping your forehead with your damp training shirt. 

“Oye,” Misa’s voice pulls you back, “are you paying attention?” You’re not even sure when she joined the conversation. Your relationship with the goalkeeper has always been overly complicated. You work very closely, what with you commanding the backline and her… also commanding the backline. But she’s friends with people who must have at least once wished you dead, so it’s hard to tell where you stand. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you lie, screwing the cap back onto the water bottle and placing it in Olga’s held-out palm. 

“You’re never this spacey. You’ve been off since the meeting,” she presses, her voice gentle but insistent. “If this is about the captaincy–” 

“It’s not,” you snap, harsher than what was meant. Her eyes widen slightly and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sorry. It’s not about that. I’m fine.” 

Misa doesn’t look convinced but she nods, letting it drop. Gratitude relaxes your shoulders but the uneasy silence that follows is punishing enough for you to be eager for training to resume. 

Now that the rondos have been left behind until tomorrow, you divide into teams for a scrimmage. The squad is split into four and you throw yourself into the exercise. Every touch, every pass, every run is perfect, and you are unrecognisable from your lackadaisical lull only ten minutes ago. You’re pushing your body and it flicks onto autopilot, driven by muscle memory and determination. 

Your head’s not in it. You can’t outrun her shadow. You can’t think when your teams are against each other. 

The ring must have come off now, and she is getting stuck in. She’s relentless and irritating, evading your teammates’ tackles and drawing you into her. It’s almost transportative: back you go to gardens after school or being barefoot on the beach, forced out of your relaxation and into an endless game of ‘tackle me like you mean it’. She has that same glint in her eye, that same goading gleam. You consider it, but crutches at a wedding is a low blow. 

And so you lay off. Just on her, and only just enough so that she knows you are not trying. You do not care for petty squabbles. You are not willing to go back to those memories, to that time. 

Or at least, that’s the message you hope she gets. 

The games slowly wind down, prompted by Montse’s whistle to signal the end of the session. You stay on the pitch longer than anyone else, taking you time to collect the stray balls scattered across the grass. It’s partly an excuse to delay walking into the locker room, where the tension will be thick (you were not the right choice for third captain in the eyes of your teammates), and partly because you need a moment to breathe. 

The others slowly disperse, peeling off to the showers or collapsing onto benches. Alexia lingers longer than most, wiping away her sweat with her shirt, abs exposed and tensed. She watches you as you move across the pitch, and though her gaze is subtle, you can feel it blazing hotter than the sun lashing down on you. But, despite her staring, she too is eventually coaxed away. You’re unsure whether she is thankful for the interruption. 

When you finally make your way to the changing rooms, most of your teammates are in the showers, and the sound of running water mingled with laughter echoes. You take a seat at the locker you were assigned and let out a slow breath, peeling off sweat-soaked socks with mild disgust. You turn to fling them into your laundry bag, but their flight path is blocked by a blonde who has clearly delayed her own shower to talk to you. 

She’s looking oddly pensive. You don’t like it. 

“We need to talk.” It’s uncomfortable for Alexia to say and it’s worse for you to hear. You’re not sure you’re okay with her decision to become reasonable and mature. It’s quite the compliment to always be the cause for stoic, rational Alexia Putellas going absolutely batshit crazy. 

Driving her up the wall is fun. 

“I’ll send you an invitation. No need to tell me which room is yours.” You give her a smile. And, like you always do, you walk away. 

…

There’s a charge to the air that is choking you by dinner time. The upgrade to captain allowed for your own room, and it is easy to blow off teammates who want to have plans with you with the simple excuse of needing to talk to your agent. You technically do, since you are going to leave Madrid during the transfer window, but you have no intention of dialling his number until he confirms the best and furthest team wants you. 

You’ve spent the evening avoiding the majority of the players, which Montse took advantage of, encouraging you to spend dinner discussing tactics with her and her staff. You feel like the teacher’s pet. You know how angry it is making Alexia.

Collapsing on the bed when you back into your room, you let out a loud groan, sinking into the mattress. Your phone buzzes on the bedside table and for a moment, you think it might be Alba, allowing you no peace and quiet despite her distance. Instead, it’s a message on the team group chat from the strength and conditioning coach about tomorrow’s gym session. A wave of relief washes over you; anything but her. 

Still, as you scroll, you catch yourself lingering on the names in the group chat, your thumb hovering near Alexia’s. Your stomach tightens and the memory of her tone, her expression, pulls at you like a tether. 

She’s not going to drop this. 

It’s no longer a matter of avoidance in the camp. You’ve said you will be present. She must want to ensure you will not make a scene. 

A knock at the door, so quiet you are almost convinced it was imagined, breaks you out of your brooding. Your eyes watch the wood as though it will be splintered in a moment, but when you make no move to get up, a more insistent knock sounds. You sigh as you pull yourself off your bed, dragging your feet towards the door. Opening it, you find Alexia standing there, arms crossed and wearing an expression you can’t quite decipher. It lacks her usual burning hatred. She looks exhausted. 

You struggle to feel any sympathy. 

“What?” you snap. It’s a bit harsher than intended but you don’t let on that that’s the case. 

“Can I come in?” You guess that she didn’t pick up the hint when you gave her no invitation. You do not want to talk. You don’t do that to people much anymore. 

She expects the door to slam in her face – and you consider it – but it’s your hesitation that tells her she can, and so she slowly moves inside, shoulder brushing yours because you refuse to move out of the way. And then she raises a deliberate hand towards the door, pushing it shut. You ignore the ring. 

You lean against the door once it’s shut, arms folded as she wanders further into your room. She looks out of place somewhere so personal to you, standing awkwardly in the centre and trying not to look at the explosion of clothes and books that has been detonated on the floor. 

She reads the titles of a few – classics that look dense and boring. Something hungry inside her dulls a bit, because you have not changed in this respect. 

“You’re quiet for someone who wants to talk,” you prompt, mostly because the silence is unbearable. 

She doesn’t respond immediately. Her arms drop to her sides, fingers twitching as if unsure what to do with themselves. She tries to meet your eyes, but falters when she sees the cold indifference staring back. You’re looking at her like she’s a stranger. It stings more than it should.

“I didn’t invite you to the wedding,” she says finally. “Olga doesn’t know about us.” 

“There’s no ‘us’,” you snap, sharper this time.

Her jaw tightens and for a second, she looks as though she’s been struck. “Don’t lie.” 

“There is no ‘us’,” you repeat, your tone icy now. “That disappeared the minute I–” 

“Left,” comes her interruption, her voice trembling just enough for you to notice. She steps closer, her shadow crossing yours, and her eyes narrow. “Which was your decision, not mine.”

You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping you. “Don’t act like you didn’t have a say in it.” 

“I didn’t!” she fires back, her voice rising. There is something raw beneath it – something fractured. “You didn’t give me one. You walked out, and you shut me out like I was nothing. Like we were nothing.” 

Her words hang in the air and for a moment, you don’t know whether to shoot or turn away. But her gaze pins you in place, fierce and unrelenting, as though daring you to deny it. 

You hold her stare, your throat tightening. “And you didn’t try to stop me.” 

The silence that follows feels deafening. Neither of you moves. Neither of you blinks. You’re both standing on landmines and have nowhere to go. 

Her jaw clenches, her hands balling into fists at her sides. Her voice, though low, crackles with the heat of restrained anger. 

“You didn’t give me a chance to stop you.” And she steps closer, ready to bite. The door presses against your back as you instinctively move away. “You made up your mind before I even knew what was happening.” 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t see it coming.” You shake your head. “I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to leave, Alexia.”

Her expression darkens, something in her eyes flickering dangerously. “That’s not the point. You didn’t just leave the club. You didn’t just leave me. You left everything. Our family. Our life. Do you have any idea what that felt like? Watching you walk away as if none of it mattered?” 

Your chest tightens but you refuse to let her words land. “You don’t get to make me the villain here.” 

“I don’t have to,” she snaps, her voice rising now, accent thickening with her anger. “You were part of my family, part of me. You were at every Christmas, every birthday. My mother adored you. Alba still loves you like you are her own sister! And you just disappeared like none of it meant anything. Like we didn’t mean anything.”

You flinch at the weight of her words but force yourself into steadiness. “I didn’t belong there. It wasn’t mine, it was yours.” 

Her face twists in disbelief, voice trembling as it rises again. “That’s bullshit and you know it! You were my family. My first everything. My first kiss. My first…” She pauses, her voice cracking. You swallow hard – you don’t want the fucking itemised list. “My first time. You think I just gave that to anyone? You think that it was just fun and games?” 

Your stomach churns as she stokes a fire you’ve tried to smother for years. “It wasn’t nothing,” you agree, although it sounds like you are contradicting her in a way that causes her to falter on her drive forwards. “It was everything. That’s why I left. Because I couldn’t be what was needed anymore. Because I knew if I stayed, I’d only–” 

“Only what?” 

You gulp. 

She’s back in your face, voice laced with venom. “Hurt me? Ruin me? Let us all done? Guess what, you did that anyway. Leaving made it easier? Made it hurt less?” 

“I didn’t know what else to do!” you shout, voice splitting. 

“You stay!” It echoes and it bruises your skin. Her eyes are blazing now, tears threatening to spill but held back by sheer force of will. “You stay, because that is what you do when you love someone. When you love a family. You don’t just walk away from them. You fight.” 

You open your mouth to respond, but the words stick in your throat, caught somewhere between guilt and pride. She sees it and it only seems to enrage her further. 

Her voice drops, anger so torrid she has to purposely cool her tone. “You know, I thought that my world was ending then. I thought you’d done your worst. But I was wrong. Because your betrayal wasn’t just personal, it was… political. To not see someone you love except for when they are sitting at the feet of this. Corruption’s pet. Pandering to an organisation you hated, while the rest of us fought for scraps.” 

Heat rises in your chest. How dare she– “I don’t pander to anyone.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” she spits. She’s too close. She’s too inescapable. And her anger is no longer fiery but icy, piercing through your skin. “I’ve seen the way you act around them, bowing your head and playing the loyal soldier while they tear us apart. You think I didn’t notice how he favoured you? Or how Montse magically replaces an irreplaceable member of–” 

“It’s not like that,” you counter, but the words feel hollow even to you.

“Then what is it?” she demands. “What is it that makes you stand there and let them walk all over us? Let them divide us? And don’t you dare say it is for the good of the team. The team hates you for it. We all do. You’ve earned every bit of it, traidora.” 

The word hits you like a whip, lacerating and making you bleed. Your hands curl into fists so tightly your nails dig into your palms, the sting barely enough to contain the fury surging through you. “Don’t you dare call me that!” The sentence tears out of your throat, rough and jagged. You take a step forwards, the air between you crackling with tension, your voice breaking as you spit, “you don’t get to say that to me. Not you.”

“Why not?” she challenges. “It’s what you are. You left, you betrayed everything we stood for, and then you came back just to make things worse. You made your choices.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at her, the anger and heartbreak in her eyes, eviscerating and leaving you hollow. But then, something shifts in the air between you, and you find your voice again, souring from before.

“Is that why you’re here, Alexia? To throw all of this in my face? To let out fifteen years of harboured emotion? Or is it something else?” 

Her brow furrows in confusion. Surprise. And then her expression twists into anger. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

You take a step forward now, and she is forced to retreat. “Do you not want to marry Olga, Alexia? Is that it? Is that why you’re here? Because you think you can come into my room, dredge all of this up, and make me the reason you’re unhappy?” 

Her face pales as she takes a deep breath, hands trembling at her sides. “Don’t,” she warns, firmly enough to signal you need to push.

So you do. 

“You came here because you’re scared.” She shakes her head but it’s rigid and forced. “Because you’re not sure you can go through with it and you want me to give you a reason to back out. Well, I’m not going to do that for you. This isn’t my mess. It’s yours.”

She says nothing and you feel sick. Her chest rises and falls with each gasping breath. She opens her mouth but again, you are left with silence, and the expression in her eyes flickers between defiance, confusion, and vulnerability. For a long moment, it feels like everything that could be said has been. 

The air between you is charged, but neither of you know which way it will go. 

You stare at her watching her waver. And it hits you: she doesn’t know what to do. 

All of this, all the anger and the pain, all the accusations and betrayals, has led her here, to this moment. She thought she had an answer, she thought she would be able to end this, but now? Now, Alexia is lost. There is too much here, too much to lose. And for the first time in a long while, you are feeling the same thing. You are both no longer sure if you want to fight. 

She takes a hesitant step closer and you freeze. But then, just as quickly, her hand moves – not to strike, not to harm, but to touch you. Her fingers brush lightly over the fabric of your sleeve, almost tenderly, before they fall away, and you don’t know if the motion was meant for comfort or something else.

Her breath is ragged, coming in slow, uneven gasps. Her eyes never leave yours. You don’t want them to. 

“I don’t know what to do with all of this,” she murmurs, the rawness in her tone shattering any remaining wall between you. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

How do you respond to that? You want her to leave but the thought is unbearable. You want space but she is not close enough. Something inside you stirs, something you can’t fight; a need to understand her and make her understand you. To make her see how tangled this, how impossible it has always been. 

Before you can form the word, before you can even think, she moves in closer, and there is no longer distance. She doesn’t ask for permission. She doesn’t hesitate. And then, without warning, her lips are on yours. 

It’s soft, tentative at first, as though testing the waters of something neither of you is sure of anymore. But then it shifts. Her body leans into yours, and the kiss deepens, more urgent now, as if this is everything that has not been said and has been at the same time. Your heart races, a million conflicting emotions crashing through you. Anger, betrayal, love – it is all here, you can taste it on her lips. It’s fierce, desperate, and it feels like an endless cycle of need and regret, pulling you both back to something raw, something irretrievable. 

Her hands find your waist, gripping tightly as though anchoring herself to something that could pull her under. You instinctively respond, pulling her closer, drawing in the heat of her touch, the scent of her skin, the pressure of her body against yours. For a fleeting second, everything else fades away. There’s no past, no future, only here and now. 

And then the fog clears. 

You pull back, breathless and worse off. You’ve fucked up again. Alexia is crying. 

“I’m not the person you think I am anymore,” you say, but it’s hard to meet her gaze. “I can’t be that person for you.”

Her eyes search yours desperately for lies, for deceit. She wants it to be wrong. She doesn’t know why. And she replies, “I don’t care what you think you’ve become,” because she doesn’t. It doesn’t matter to her.

You stare at her, heart pounding, and you want to feel like this will be worth it, but nothing comes except cold emptiness. You force yourself to stay upright. “I think the wedding will be good.” She swallows. “You’ll be happy with Olga. I’m sure of it.” 

It’s a death sentence. 

This time, it is Alexia who leaves. 

…

The wedding is beautiful. Blissful sunlight makes the venue seem to glow and it is hard not to be impressed with how they have set this up. 

The model at your side is also beautiful, but you remind yourself it is not a competition. You focus on the whispers of anticipation from the guests, the rustle of the dresses as people pass in merry groups, clinking their glasses and finishing their champagne as they take their seats. Everything looks perfect, plucked from magazines and tasteful brochures. This must be what Alexia wanted. 

Your date is occupying herself in conversation with the man seated next to you, who might be hitting on her, though you don’t care. She slides a hand over your thigh anyway. 

The ceremony begins, although you’re not really concentrating on it. You try to focus, listening as the officiant speaks, but the words have become a dull hum. It’s all so rehearsed, so expected, and it’s boring. You won’t be getting married anytime soon, that’s for sure. 

You know the flow of these things: the vows, the promises, the kiss, and the crowd’s applause. It’s a performance, though it’s not quite a farce. 

And then, it comes. The moment. The one that feels like a trap. 

The officiant pauses, glancing out over the gathering. “Si algú s'hi oposa, que parli ara o calli per sempre.”

For a heartbeat, time slows. The air thickens. Every muscle in your body tenses and the world around you goes still. You catch yourself holding your breath, gaze instinctively shifting to the woman standing at the front of the altar. 

Alexia. 

Her eyes flicker briefly in your direction – just a flicker, but it’s there, unmistakable. It’s her moment of hesitation, well masked but clear as day to you. But before you can make sense of it, she’s looking away, eyes fixed back onto Olga. Her expression hardens, more composed now, and you know that you are not going to break this silence. 

The officiant, oblivious to the storm passing between you both, waits for a beat longer before continuing, his voice echoing in the silence. 

And she’s married. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief. It’s over now. You’ve let her win. 

[nox-sssscraps]

Recent blood covered oc’s

[autopsytableromance]

One funny thing to me is that sometimes my bestie will send me reels like this one

And I have to be like. Bestie I appreciate that you’re on my “side” ig but 1 I’m just having fun and 2 in no way did he treat me like his bf and our FIRST text conversation he was like “hey I don’t want you to get the wrong idea bc I don’t want a relationship”

[sproouts-jpeg]

☆ ☆ ☆

OMG I FORGOT TO POST UUUUUUUUHHHH…

STRAWHAT POST TIME SKIP REDESIGN PART 2: NAMI

my very convoluted thought process! enjoy some word vomit! i was especially indecisive on her haircut and how to incorporate some glitz and glamour :/

she’s not as fancy (i.e. jewelry and expensive clothes) as i would’ve wanted her to be :( but i looove tomboy nami a lot so i still really like her outfit

the nami on the left is more of a restyling meant to stay pretty close to her canon design, just so that i could gauge what it was about her og look that i did and didn’t like :0

i’m a little angry at myself for keeping the bikini bra, cause i’ve seen really cool nami designs that aren’t blatantly “sexy” and make her a cooler outfit with a garment other than a bra. but also! she’s chubby! she’s transfem! she’s a lesbian! she’s a criminal! let her be sexy! for the ladies! and for herself! that’s cheesy but idk that’s my thoughts on it

i also think the teal aviator jacket is pretty ingenious! i guess i kinda wanted to give her a similar vibe to kiki from kiki’s delivery service. like how kiki’s both a mail delivery girl and a witch, and now nami’s both a pilot and a witch! idk… does that make sense??? i just have this very vivid imagine in my brain of nami using the clima tact like a broom to fly… but that’s what zeus is for…? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ALSO REAL QUICK! COMPASS AND SQUARE PIN ON HER JACKET! IN NO WAY RELATED TO FREEMASONRY OR WHATEVER! THAT SYMBOL HAS A “G” IN THE MIDDLE! I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT FREEMASONRY IS I JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT IT RIGHT BEFORE POSTING THIS! ITS JUST A COMPASS AND SQUARE CAUSE SHES THE NAVIGATOR AND I THOUGHT IT WAS CUTE! ok psa over :D

zeus!! he’s silly!! but with a less stupid hat! maybe more stupid hat idk! :D

i’m gonna tweak everyone’s jolly roger a little bit to match my redesigns (maybe not zoro’s tho i like it as it is and matches him pretty well already… and definitely not luffy’s cause it’s the crew’s insignia)

uuuuuhhh i hope y’all like it! suggestions for making it better are appreciated!!

☆ ☆ ☆

[sundrop-writes]

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary:

While undercover inside the Separatarian Sect, you and Spencer realize something important: you can’t live without each other.

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Fake Dating. Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 4, Episode 3.

Word Count: 8,200

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: Lots of spoilers for the canon episode - so if you haven’t watched Season 4 of Criminal Minds yet, steer clear of this fic for now (especially because watching the episode provides some context for this fic/makes things make more sense); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant (she is not pregnant during the fic and there’s no smut, but due to discussions in the fic, it’s not unreasonable that she could get pregnant); fake dating in the form of a fake marriage - the reader and Spencer pretend to be married under the Christian religion to ‘appeal’ to Cyrus; because of the fake marriage, Spencer uses the term 'my wife’ to refer to the reader; lots of mentions of religion (Christianity), religious extremism, mentions of pedophilia/child brides (in line with the canon episode); mentions of systemic sexism and gender roles enforced by cultures of organised religion and religious extremism; use of y/n and l/n (in this case meaning 'your last name’); the reader pretends to follow the Christian religion while undercover but I never stated if she believes in a less extreme version of these things or not (the reader’s true religious beliefs are never stated); protective!Spencer, possessive!Spencer; mentions of Spencer being taller than the reader (which, again, I think he would be taller than most people) - the reader’s body/body type is not described in any other way; mentions of guns and gun violence (not described in deep detail) - in line with the canon episode; the reader and Spencer fear for their lives; dangerous/live-threatening situations; the reader and Spencer are threatened with a gun; Cyrus is just generally creepy and sexist toward the reader; Spencer is pistol-whipped and the reader is threatened with sexual assault (it does not happen, Spencer protects her); mentions of pregnancy/the reader being pregnant (she is not pregnant during the course of the fic); mentions of the reader being a mother/having kids (Spencer makes up fake kids to sell their fake marriage story); the reader realizes she might actually want to be a mother because of Spencer’s fake kids story; mentions of an explosion (as in the canon); love confessions; angst with a happy ending. Hopefully that is everything.

A/N: The title for this fic comes from a Fall Out Boy song of the same name. The theme/lyrics of the song don’t really fit the fic, but I love the way that this title fits - how everyone in this fic is lying in some way but Spencer is someone with good intentions while lying. Making him the Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes. I love how it fits. I wrote this while suffering with heat exhaustion so idk if it’s good or even makes sense. I rewatched the canon episode and it doesn’t 100% align with what happened in the episode in terms of the timeline and stuff, and I am too tired to rewrite the whole fic to make it align with the episode. So uh - alternative canon? But I really love the basic concepts and I do really love how it turned out. I hope you guys like it too!

...

You thought it would be an easy day. 

Maybe that was foolish on your part. So far, you hadn’t seen a single ‘easy’ day while working with the BAU. Between chasing down scumbags and then reliving every single gory detail while doing the paperwork - none of it was ‘easy’. It was worthy, accomplished work - making the world a safer place to live in. (At least that’s what you told yourself.) But it was never easy. 

There was always someone who made the job easier. Someone who made you smile every single day - especially on days when you didn’t think you were even capable of feeling a tiny shred of joy. Someone who made you feel safe, who you always felt had your back no matter what. So you were glad that he was by your side today, along for the ride. 

“Tell us about Cyrus.” Reid prompted. 

He looked to the woman driving, your new companion for the day - Nancy Lunde, someone who worked with the state department and had set up the interviews with the children at the Separatarian Sect. 

“Benjamin Cyrus. No criminal record. In fact, there’s no record of the guy at all.” Nancy explained. 

“That’s odd.” You commented. “Usually someone being accused of something like this would have some past offenses. Especially because it would give him a reason to move into isolation to continue the criminal pattern of behavior.” 

“Well, I couldn’t find anything on him.” Nancy shrugged. 

“What about the 9-1-1 call?” You asked. 

“A fifteen year old girl called in saying that a man was ‘laying with her’ and claimed it as ‘God’s will’. I believe the ‘he’ referred to is Cyrus.” Nancy explained. “The age fits with Jessica Evanson, but I’ve managed to negotiate interviews with all the children, just to be sure. It wasn’t easy.” 

“They’re incredibly weary of outsiders.” You commented. “Our boss warned you not to identify us as FBI, right?” 

Nancy nodded. “I got you some spare credentials, just in case.” 

She took one of her hands off the wheel and reached into her pocket.

“You’re going to be using your real names. You’re going in as Child Victim Interview Experts working with Child Protective Services. No association with the FBI.” Nancy explained, handing Reid your fake credentials. 

He nodded, inspecting the IDs before handing you yours where you were sitting in the backseat. 

“Oh, before I forget.” You noted, reaching into the pocket of your cardigan. “The rings.” 

You pulled out a small plastic bag that Hotch had given to you before you left. It was a bag containing a fake diamond ring in your size and a fake golden ‘wedding’ band for Spencer. 

Reid reached over the seat to grab his ring from you, and Nancy gave the two of you an odd look. 

“Rings?” She questioned. 

“Fake wedding bands.” You explained. 

“It was our Unit Chief’s idea.” Reid added on. “He believes that presenting us as a ‘godly’ married couple to Cyrus will make him more likely to open up to us. He’s less likely to see us as hostile outsiders if he believes that we share a similar system of beliefs.” 

“It could also have a calming effect on the teenagers we have to interview or the kids there who have had more time to go through indoctrination at the Sect.” You continued to explain. “Even if their parents are hesitant to let the kids speak with us, they may be more willing to have their child speak with us or even leave them alone with us if they believe that we’re fellow Christians, rather than hostile atheists there to poison their children’s minds.” 

Reid nodded at you through the rearview mirror. 

“Make sure you put on the left hand.” He told you. “That’s the position for marriage.” 

You nodded at this. 

You placed the ring in the appropriate position, and you couldn’t help but to take a moment and stare at it. It was jarring to have a wedding ring on - especially with the thought that it represented you being married to Spencer. But you supposed, of all the people to call your husband, he would be one of the best. He was honest, intelligent, kind, and… if you were pressed, you would definitely say he was handsome. 

But you couldn’t get too caught up thinking about all of that. Because it wasn’t real. It was a false projection you were wearing for the benefit of a self inflated sociopath. 

Spencer liked the feeling of the ring. He didn’t take too long to stare at it after he had put it on, because he knew his mind would wander if he did. When Hotch had first proposed the idea of the two of you pretending to be married, Spencer had almost tripped over himself to oppose it - mostly because he didn’t think that he would be able to handle simply pretending to be your husband for the day. It was just too cruel. 

Having something he wanted so badly dangled right in front of him and knowing that it was all just a farce - it bothered him, but he delighted in the play nonetheless. 

When he caught the fake gold glinting in the light, Spencer had to remind himself that it was fake - that you would just be playing his wife for the day. He had to push back any internal glee that he felt at the idea that he got to be ‘taken’ by you while wearing that ring. It wasn’t real. It was just for the day. 

“Isn’t that deceptive?” Nancy asked. “Won’t Cyrus be even more angry if he finds out that it’s not true?” 

“He won’t find out.” You replied confidently. “And besides, we use deception in interrogations all the time. It’s a very basic tactic: align yourself with the suspect. Make them think you share the same beliefs, that you’re on their side.” 

Reid grinned at this. He always loved it when you spoke so confidently. 

… 

“We’re looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus.” Nancy announced as the three of you got out of the car. 

“Then you’ve found him.” Cyrus announced confidently. 

He was pretty much what you had expected him to be - dressed informally, slouched over, faking meekness, holding a bible near his chest as though it were a shield. He had planted himself there purposefully, wanting to be the first person to interact with the outsiders as three of you came into the Ranch. 

You hovered back near Spencer, letting Nancy make the first introduction. 

“I’m Nancy Lunde.” She said, giving a small nod toward the man. “We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.” 

“‘Savages they call us, because our manners differ from theirs.’” Cyrus rhymed off a quote, obviously positioning himself and his group as martyrs being attacked for having ‘different ways’ that the world simply didn’t understand. 

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus.” Nancy reminded him, hoping to keep the religious zealot on track. 

“Actually, it’s Benjamin Franklin.” Reid corrected her, talking about the quote. 

That did surprise you, but you didn’t find it surprising that Reid knew this fact right off the top of his head. It was just one of the many amazing things about him - his perfect memory and his ability to use it. 

Of course, him saying this immediately drew Cyrus’ attention toward the two of you. So Spencer stepped up to introduce you. 

“Hello, I’m Spencer Reid, and this is my wife, Y/N L/N.” He said motioning toward himself and then to you as he introduced the two of you. Hearing him refer to you as his wife - you hated to say it, but it caused a jolt through your system. Almost as if you had been waiting forever to hear him say those words and hadn’t even known it yourself. “We’re Child Victim Interview Experts, here on behalf of Child Protective Services.” 

Of course, you couldn’t get too caught up in deciphering how those words made you feel, because you had to focus on the task at hand. The job that you were here to do. 

“How far from God’s word must we have strayed for there to be a need to invent a job called ‘Child Victim Interview Expert’.” Cyrus said, his tone even, quiet. 

You knew that covertly, it was his way of saying that the two of you didn’t belong there, because he ran the Ranch with God’s word, so nobody had actually been harmed (in his opinion). He believed that he had done nothing wrong. Obviously, he thought your time and resources were better spent with ‘actual’ victims who didn’t have his power wielded over their lives. 

“I can assure you, Mr. Cyrus, we try to bring God into our work.” You told him, trying to appeal to him. “The children we visit usually need prayer and God’s light the most.” 

Spencer gave you a sideways glance, clearly holding back a grin at how thick you were pouring it on - how much intense, feigned passion you said these words with. 

“Well, I can assure you that a lack of prayer and God’s light is certainly not an issue for the children here.” Cyrus said, giving you a clever little grin. He thought that you would simply interview the children, praise him for what a good job he had done, and then leave. “You can go and see the children whenever you like. They are up at the school, as I indicated in our phone call.” 

Nancy walked toward the school, and you paused before you followed. 

Before you walked off, you looked to Spencer. In a completely silent conversation that only worked so well because the two of you had been in so many tense situations before, thinking around UnSubs and planning miles around them before they could even know it, he gave you a small nod and you instantly knew what it meant. He had established a small bit of trust with Cyrus, so he would stick back and see what else he could get out of the man. 

You nodded back, and then - completely surprising yourself, you leaned in and kissed Spencer on the cheek. You were just playing the part, you told yourself. It’s not that it felt entirely instinctive to say goodbye to him with some kind of affection, like the many hugs you had given him before. It’s not that you felt so entirely scrutinized with Cryus’ piercing eyes on you, and you needed the anchor of Spencer’s touch. 

You were just playing the part. 

Spencer tried not to get caught on being kissed on the cheek like he was some blushing virgin, and instead, focused his attention back on Cyrus instead of watching you walk away. (Even though every single one of his instincts told him that he needed to keep a more careful eye on you because you both had to leave your guns in the car.) 

He took a step closer to where Cyrus was leaning on the concrete, and easily picked a topic of conversation. 

“Solar panels.” Reid said, motioning to the large devices sitting behind Cyrus on the grass. 

“Yes.” Cyrus nodded. “We’re completely self-sufficient here. Food, electricity, water. Benjamin Franklin said ‘God helps those who help themselves’.” He explained. “You look surprised.” 

“No, uh, impressed, actually.” Reid easily lied, trying to appeal to his ego. 

“Thank you.” Cyrus said. “Most men wouldn’t admit that.” 

“Well, I suppose that I’m not like most men.” Reid shrugged in return. 

“How long have you been married?” Cyrus asked, motioning toward Reid’s ‘wedding ring’. 

Reid panicked slightly, knowing that the two of you likely should have coordinated this story during the plane ride to Colorado so that your answers to these simple questions wouldn’t be different. But he just made up an answer and hoped that nobody else would ask you the same question and find out the deception. 

“Three years.” He said. “I’ve been very blessed.” 

He used the language purposefully, knowing that the simple phrase could get him on Cyrus’ good side. That, and he hoped it would draw the attention away from any possible signs of his blatant lie. 

“Your wife is very beautiful.” Cyrus commented. 

He gave a wicked smirk as he said this. It was a simple, fairly ‘innocent’ comment, but it was immediately off-putting to Spencer. It took everything in his body not to glare daggers at Cyrus or throw out some protective comment in return. He could only imagine what was going through Cyrus’ mind as he thought about you, and he hated even imagining it. 

Reid knew that it was a basic logical good, the instinct to protect you because you were his partner on this case and he was supposed to have your back. But it was also something more. Something in every fiber of his being that screamed you were his and no man should ever be thinking of you that way except for him. 

“Has it been a godly union?” 

He was lucky when Cyrus spoke again and distracted him from his mounting rage. 

“We try to be as godly as we can be.” Spencer took the simple, diplomatic answer. 

“Your wife didn’t take your last name.” Cyrus pointed out. 

Nancy had used your name on your false credentials because Hotch had only come up with the fake marriage idea the day before. There hadn’t been time to inform her about it and have ‘Reid’ put on your ID as your ‘married’ name. So he had introduced you by your name to keep everything consistent with the reuse. 

It did make Spencer wonder if you would keep your last name if the two of you ever did get married. It made him almost dizzy, thinking about you as ‘Mrs Reid’. Thinking about your kids having his name. Or your name, if that’s what you wanted. 

But naturally, he pushed past all those thoughts and formed an excuse. 

“Typically, married women aren’t very well perceived in our line of work.” He quickly excused. “She doesn’t even get to wear her ring that often. She couldn’t change her name on paperwork at our office because a working married woman… it’s heavily frowned upon.” 

“Well, I’d have to agree.” Cyrus grunted. “A woman shouldn’t be out working. A woman should be at home raising a family.” 

“I - I suppose you’re right.” Reid agreed through gritted teeth. 

He walked away toward the school before he got too angry again. 

… 

A few hours later, everything had gone to hell. 

Some authority - the police, the military, you didn’t even know - had charged into the Ranch shooting. In response, Cyrus and his followers had come into the school toting large semi-automatics asking you and Spencer if you knew about a raid. 

You didn’t. You wish you had known about a raid. You would have warned Hotch and gotten them to call it off. You certainly would not have been there while it was happening. 

When they had pointed those guns in your face and forced you into the tunnels - it wasn’t very difficult to pretend to be Spencer’s wife then. Cowering in the bunker, confused and scared, you flung your arms around his waist almost instinctively, and he buried his nose in the top of your hair as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders like a shield, promising you that everything was going to be okay. 

Whispered to you like that, coming from him - it was almost easier to believe. Even with the chaos going on around you and the fear pumping through you in response. 

Nancy had run off trying to get them to surrender and did not come back. You had a feeling that you knew what that meant. 

And now, with the kids from the school ‘evacuated’ into the church, you were being held in the cellar at gunpoint. They had forcefully separated you and Spencer, making you sit in chairs at opposite sides of the room.

Spencer was fidgeting. His eyes kept flickering from the door, to you, to the man standing beside you holding the very large gun. 

You knew that you had ugly tear tracks down your face, and oddly enough - you wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms. As you were forced to sit there, just a few feet across the room away from him - you ached for it. 

There was a very large possibility that you were going to die today. And you selfishly needed the comfort of being in the arms of someone familiar - someone safe. Someone you knew would never hurt you. Someone who had made you laugh with dumb science jokes and puns for the last five years that you had worked together with him. 

When Cyrus charged back into the room with two men flanking his sides, you and Spencer stiffened up once again. 

“God will forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Cyrus announced to the room, presenting a handgun from his belt. 

Your insides quaked, and Spencer’s eyes grew wide. 

You couldn’t contain the fearful whimper that erupted from the back of your throat when he raised that gun and placed it near the middle of Spencer’s forehead. You clasped a hand tightly over your mouth to keep yourself from crying out in protest, knowing that would only make things worse. 

“Which one of you is the FBI Agent?” Cyrus asked firmly. 

Which ‘one’? 

So he knew that you were undercover, that you had lied about your job titles - but he thought that only one of you had done so. Where the hell was he getting his information? 

“I - I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Spencer told him quietly, looking him in the eye the entire time. 

You hoped that his stutter could be passed off as nervousness from the gun being pointed in his face, and wouldn’t be pointed to as deception. 

“Which one of you is it?” Cyrus pressed. 

“We are not FBI Agents.” Spencer said, more confidently this time. “We are Child Victim Interview Experts. We were only sent here to ensure the wellbeing of the children. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Well, that last part wasn’t a lie. 

“You’re lying.” Cyrus told him, entirely confident in this. “God expells those who lie, devils in sheep’s clothing.” 

There was a tense moment, and then Cyrus cocked the gun. 

Spencer didn’t flinch. You resisted the urge to scream. 

“Proverbs 12:22 says: ‘The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in those who tell the truth.’” Cyrus said, actually citing scripture this time. 

He was giving Spencer one last chance to tell the truth. As if using the bible verse to say that his punishment would be lesser if he simply told the truth now. 

Spencer didn’t take the bait. 

“I’m not lying.” Spencer said firmly. “What? You think I wouldn’t know if - if my wife was an FBI Agent? This is the woman I wake up next to every single morning, the woman I go to sleep next to every single night, we work together every single day, we-” 

Cyrus interrupted Spencer’s ranting with a sharp hit to the face, pistol whipping him across the cheek. 

This caused Spencer to go flying off the chair, and you couldn’t help when you let out a wounded cry. It took everything in you not to jump out of your own chair and rush to Spencer where he had collapsed onto the ground, clutching his cheek. 

“Someone is going to tell me the truth.” Cyrus said gruffly. 

“It must have been Nancy!” You said, the idea finally popping into your head. 

You seemed to be more clever with the pressure of Spencer’s life being threatened. Cyrus stared you down, turning his attention fully toward you now. You caught Spencer’s eye for a moment and he gave you a small nod - as if to say ‘yes, keep going with that’. 

“The woman we came in with! Nancy!” You reasoned, continuing to point the finger at the woman you had to assume was dead. “We - we just met her today. Our boss introduced us to her, but we had never met before that. If she was FBI, we had no clue. We swear.” 

Cyrus turned to you then, and tightly pressed the barrel of his gun into your forehead. You could feel the imprint of it so tight in your skin that it hurt, and you could only lean away so far before threatening to knock the chair backwards. 

“It’s very convenient to pin this crime on someone who isn’t here.” He grunted at you. 

“It’s the truth.” You sniffled out quietly. 

“Hmm.” Cyrus hummed thoughtfully, and then, much to your surprise, he removed the gun barrel from your forehead. 

You barely had a moment to breathe in relief before he began skimming the gun down your neck, touching the metal whisper-gentle across your bare skin - clearly taunting you. It was something that made your whole body stiff with alarm, and caused Spencer’s eyes to go wide once again.

“Perhaps I should strip you naked to ensure that you’re not wearing a wire.” Cyrus said, teasing the gun along the buttons at the front of your cardigan. 

You held back a sob at the thought of it - at the idea that he could make you do almost anything for the fear of you being shot. Truthfully, you were more afraid of what he might do to Spencer if you didn’t comply, but it was all the same in your mind now. His life was just as valuable as yours, and you would do whatever it took to protect him.

Before Cyrus could take these threats any further, a heroic voice intervened. 

“That’s enough!” Spencer yelled. 

He gathered himself off the floor and oddly enough, none of the men moved to stop him as he came to stand beside Cyrus. Perhaps they didn’t see him as a threat. Perhaps it was because Cyrus didn’t bark any orders at them to stop him. He was entirely unflinching, keeping his focus on you and keeping his gun held between your breasts as Spencer crowded into his personal space, trying to press himself between you and the awful man. 

“We’ve told you everything that we know.” Spencer told him lowly, his voice heaving with well controlled anger. It was something that you had rarely ever heard from him. 

Cyrus kept his eyes locked on you, so Spencer continued. 

“We don’t know anything about the FBI - we have a simple job advocating for children who have been abused. That is it. We came here to investigate a most likely false claim against someone in your community and we truly didn’t mean to get caught up in all of this.” He said firmly, clearly trying to appeal to Cyrus. “So I suggest you get that gun away from my wife before you and I truly have a problem.” 

Spencer’s voice was dark, so thick with rage. More pent up rage than you had ever heard from him when he was talking to any suspect, people who had done the worst of the worst. Something about Cyrus threatening you had truly boiled his insides. 

The way he said the words ‘my wife’ - growling it out like he was a feral animal and this threat to you had activated every single one of his protective instincts. Hearing it made something inside of you yearn for him on such a deep level that you didn’t know was possible. You wanted to feel that kind of protection cast over you every single day. It made you feel invincible, having Spencer watch over you like that. 

Cyrus lowered the gun then, and Spencer grabbed your arm as you dissolved into hysterical tears. Instinctively, he lifted you up into his arms. You thought that you heard Cyrus mumble out ‘my apologies’ as he left the room - but he was barely on your radar. Your entire world became narrowed down to nothing but Spencer, your safety net as he built a wall of protection around you. 

He used his height to block you from seeing anything but him, letting you push your face into his chest as you cried. He wrapped you in his arms once again, letting you feel truly safe for a few moments as you sobbed into the fabric of his sweater. Your arms clutched desperately at his waist, needing to keep a hold on him - needing to ensure that he didn’t leave you. 

“Hey, shh. Shh. It’s okay.” He said, leaving gentle kisses on the top of your forehead and your hair, rubbing across your back with one hand, comforting you in the only way he could in those moments. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Of course, he wanted to break down too. But he had to be strong for you. 

“Spencer,” You called his name in an utterly wounded voice, pulling away from his chest to look up at him. 

When you saw his injury up close - a sharp, purple-red bruise that was blooming across his cheek, it looked so utterly painful. Your insides ached at the thought that he had taken a blow for you. You hated to imagine what more they could have done to him if they had not believed your lies. 

You instinctively reached a hand up to touch it and he caught your fingers halfway, instead, gently grasping your hand and laying it on his chest. The intimacy felt so oddly rehearsed - so worn in, so ‘normal’. It felt like you had been married to Spencer for years. Like it wasn’t a play at all. 

Your two souls had been calling out to each other for years, just waiting for the dam to break. But you couldn’t quite put it into words - not like that. 

“It’s okay.” He said quietly, knowing you were horrified by the injury. 

He was so gentle, so comforting, so calm. Everything the men pointing guns at you were not. Unlike Cyrus - Spencer Reid was a true blessing from God. 

You couldn’t hold yourself back then. 

You surged up and kissed him, fully embracing his mouth with yours in a kiss. Though it was so sudden, it was something he easily returned. The kiss so full of urgency, so needy, so passionate. Like he was trying to tell you that it was okay, that he would protect you no matter what. 

He would protect you because you belonged to him. 

In those moments, the two of you were basically alone. One of Cryus’ men was guarding the door, watching on boredly. But Cyrus was off in the church, funneling people in to prepare for his ‘loyalty’ test. It didn’t matter if he saw you kissing or not - it wouldn’t have sold the reuse of you being married any better. 

This was just for the two of you. This was comfort. 

When you pulled back from the kiss, Spencer looked stunned, almost as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. You didn’t give him time to question it. 

“Thank you.” You said quietly. 

It was twofold:

Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for giving me comfort. 

Spencer didn’t have too much time to marinate in the meaning of the kiss before Cyrus’ men came back and fetched the two of you, wanting you to observe the loyalty test. 

… 

After the mock poisoning (which Spencer figured out rather quickly, making you admire his cleverness once again), Cyrus kept you and Spencer in the church with a few of his closest, most loyal followers while all of the low level followers dispersed back to their homes. 

You and Spencer were lingering in the back quietly while Cyrus was on the other end of the room, talking to his men about how to proceed. The plans for their ‘final stand’. 

“We need to get some kind of signal to the others.” Spencer whispered quietly. “Maybe they’ll take pity on you and let you go if-” He swallowed sharply, cutting himself off abruptly. Oddly enough, he didn’t want to voice whatever was on his mind. 

“If what?” You probed. You wondered what the hell you could possibly be thinking. 

“If we tell them that you’re pregnant.” He said, whispering so lowly that you almost didn’t catch the words. 

You rolled your eyes sharply at this. 

You had gotten married and had kids all in one day. What a miracle. 

(In those moments, clouded by fear, you couldn’t see it for what it truly was - Spencer blatantly revealing his unconscious desires to have a baby with you.) 

“We could convince them to release you. As a show of good faith. A pregnancy would be good leverage in that. You know how religious people are about fetuses-” Spencer reasoned. 

“Yeah, and what if they give me a test?” You probed, punching a large hole in his logic. “We don’t know what kind of infirmary they have here. They obviously believe in modern technology. What if they want to give me an ultrasound to check on the fetus after the stress of the day? To prove that they did no harm to the precious unborn child,” 

Spencer was easily caught on this point. If they examined you and found that you weren’t pregnant, all the lies would fall apart. 

“Well… what if we tell them that you have a baby at home that you need to get back to?” Spencer reasoned, jumping to the next logical conclusion in his mind. “It’ll likely garner the same level of pity.” 

“Your imaginary sperm is powerful, isn’t it?” You whispered back sharply. Spencer rolled his eyes this time. But he didn’t redact the plan as unreasonable, so you continued on. “Okay, what do I even do when I get out there? I’m not gonna be of any use to the tactical team. We don’t know what Cyrus’ final play is yet.” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t bear to be separated from Spencer. Knowing that he was inside, potentially being beaten up more, potentially being shot and bleeding out from a wound without you knowing - it would kill you with stress. You need to be by his side. You needed to know that he was okay. 

“Has God blessed your union with any children?” Cyrus appeared behind you suddenly. 

You wondered if he had heard you say the word ‘pregnancy’ or if this was just a random topic that had come up in his mind. 

His sudden appearance behind you caused you to whip around and crowd into the comfort of Spencer’s arms again because you were frightened. Naturally, Spencer wrapped his sheltering touch around your shoulders. Your back was gently pressed into Spencer’s front, his arm shielding you protectively as it was wrapped around your chest, holding you with his hand on one of your shoulders, unconsciously stroking his thumb across the fabric of your cardigan. The position had you both facing Cyrus, watching the fan in an offensive way. 

And of course, Spencer didn’t miss a beat. 

“Yes.” Spencer answered easily. “We have two kids at home. A boy and a girl. Iris and Hugo. Iris is almost three years old and Hugo is eleven months. His first birthday is coming up in June.” 

You knew that Spencer could be very good at talking off a suspect’s ear under pressure, but when you heard him rattle off these ‘facts’ so easily, it hit you. 

This wasn’t simply statistics or physiological knowledge - this was a very elaborate backstory for your supposedly real marriage. Perhaps he had thought about all of it on the car ride up (which was odd not to share it with you, in case Cyrus asked you a similar question and your answer didn’t match up with Spencer’s). 

But if you weren’t mistaken, this wasn’t simply a backstory for your fake marriage during the undercover mission. This was a fantasy of his. Those were names he had lovingly chosen for your imaginary children - kids he had dreamed up in his head and wanted to be real. 

Your heart ached at the thought of it. You found yourself missing a set of children that weren’t even real. (And distantly, wanting to jump his bones to make it a reality.)

“Tell me, Mr. Reid, would you find it so shameful for your daughter to marry young?” Cyrus asked. 

You found it odd to hear Cyrus call Spencer ‘Mr. Reid’, but you realized that he hadn’t introduced himself as ‘Doctor’ in this setting. You held your tongue when you felt the need to correct him as you had so many other people, wanting Spencer to receive his proper title. 

Your mind almost couldn’t focus on the question that Cyrus had asked. Of course, he was trying to get Spencer to stroke his ego once again. Basically admitting that the whole reason the two of you had come here was true - he was being vastly inappropriate with a young member of the church, and getting away with it. And he saw nothing wrong with it. 

And he was trying to get an outsider to admit that he saw nothing wrong with it too. 

When there was a moment of silence - Reid obviously torn on how to answer the question, Cyrus continued. 

“Is there really something so wrong with a blooming young woman marrying a man who will protect her under God’s laws?” He probed, his voice so entirely confident. Clearly confident that he was right. 

“Well, I’m not sure if I would let my daughter get married so young.” Reid said, finally speaking up. “I just know that I would want her to marry a man that would protect her, and be the best possible fit for her. Someone who would cherish her and be good to her no matter what.” 

His answer made you swoon. You reached up and gently gripped his forearm in response, giving a light squeeze to show your approval. He leaned in and kissed the back of your head - dizzyingly, you were imagining him walking your imaginary daughter down the aisle before you had even gotten married yourself. 

Maybe it was being so close to death, being threatened in such dangerous territory that was causing your life to accelerate at light speed in your mind. If you were going to lose everything, you might as well enjoy the escapism of a fake life with a beautiful man in your mind instead of being stuck on the heart pounding terror of being held hostage, right? 

Surprisingly, his words drew a smile from Cyrus. 

“You’re a protective father, aren’t you?” Cyrus asked. 

“Of course.” Reid confirmed. 

“I can always admire that in a man.” Cyrus nodded. “A man should always pride himself on protecting his family.” 

There was another moment of pause, and you were hoping that the topic had been dropped completely. 

“Do you have a picture of your children with you?” Cyrus asked. 

You wondered if - in a different version of reality, where you and Spencer really were married, where Hugo and Iris really did exist - if you had a picture of them in your pocket, would Cyrus only be asking this so he could use the picture to taunt the two of you? What other purpose would he have for knowing what your children looked like? 

“Unfortunately, no.” You answered. “I keep my family pictures on my desk. In my office. We - we’ve just been praying to get back to them safely.” 

Cyrus seemed perturbed at you mentioning that you had an office. Something dark flickered over his features for a moment and then disappeared. 

“Well… if it is right, God will grant you that safe passage.” Cyrus said. 

Just when you truly thought the conversation was done, he said something to you that entirely grinded under your skin. 

“I find it entirely odd that a mother of two young children spends her days working a job where she takes care of other people’s children, rather than staying at home with her own youngins where she belongs.” 

He said, using that same entirely confident, righteous tone that he always did. Even though you were not really a working mother, you had a hard time not boiling with anger at the sexism ripe in his statement. 

“How much must you be missing of your sweet angels lives to instead partake in the horrors of devils you shouldn’t have to witness.” 

Of course. 

You had a hard time not rolling your eyes at this or saying something harsh that would set him off. Instead, you reached up to Spencer’s arm around your shoulder, squeezing his fingers, trying to keep your patience.

“I’ll have you know that Y/N is an amazing mother.” Spencer piped up, knowing that Cyrus respected him enough as a man that he wouldn’t beat him simply for speaking up. “Her nurturing and caring makes her infinitely better at her job.” 

Again, you knew that there was so much personal truth in Spencer’s words. He thought that you would make an amazing mother to his children - at least theoretically. He was entirely firm in that conviction. And he thought that your natural caring made you amazing at the job you did as a Profiler. He knew this from the quality of work he witnessed you doing every single day. 

You didn’t know it - but it was just one of the many things that had caused him to fall in love with you. 

Oddly enough, Cyrus’ words prodded at something deep inside of you. It made you imagine a life for yourself where you weren’t spending your days witnessing horrors from unspeakable devils - but instead, at home, looking out for Spencer’s imaginary children. 

You would have said it was the fear of the day, clouding your mind. But maybe it was the clarity of being so close to death that made you realize what - and who - you truly wanted out of life. 

… 

Hours later, after some of the hostages had been released (the ‘non-believers’ who had failed the loyalty test), Cyrus had requested that some food be sent up. Spencer gave you a sharp look when he saw the message written on one of the takeout lids. 

The team would be storming in to end the hold-out at 3am. You had to somehow ensure the safety of the hostages by then. 

Obviously, the fake pregnancy idea was still warping through Spencer’s mind, but you had come up with some much better. 

“Cyrus,” You called out his name gently, getting his attention. “You said that you have a nursery here?” 

It had come up, during his long winded bragging about how perfect the Ranch was. Something about how mothers didn’t have to raise their children alone. The children were raised as more of a ‘group effort’ and women took ‘shifts’ in the nursery, allowing the women to rest or get chores done in the interim. 

“Yes, we do.” He nodded. 

Spencer stared at you with his jaw set, wondering what you were doing but not daring to speak. 

“I - I’ve been missing my children dearly. I was wondering if I could go to your nursery and see if they need any help? It would do my soul good to be around young ones right now. After all the commotion of these days.” You spoke meekly, trying to play the part of the shaken up, dainty woman well. 

Which was too difficult, seeing as you were playing up the fear you had already experienced. 

He grinned. It was a rather menacing smile, and you tried your hardest not to show any further fear, or disgust. 

“That sounds like a splendid idea.” He nodded. “Christopher, why don’t you escort her down to the nursery and then come back? We need you here for our final preparations.” 

You were finally falling to those gender roles that he had been pushing on you since you had arrived. He didn’t suspect a thing. He simply thought that you were a God fearing woman falling to your natural womanly instincts, needing to care for children lest your womb shrivel up and you die. 

Spencer rose from his seat and Cyrus stopped him. 

“Just your wife.” He said, putting a hand in front of Spencer’s chest to stop him. “There are still some things you and I need to discuss. Man to man.” 

You went over to Spencer and didn’t hesitate to plant a kiss firmly on his mouth, which he returned with vigor. This one lasted only a moment - it was something precious for the two of you. You didn’t need to put on some pointed show for the men in the room. 

“It’s okay.” You told Spencer quietly, brushing your fingers gently over his uninjured cheek. 

You could tell that he was dying to ask you what your plan was. But he kept the words trapped in his throat, unable to speak in front of the many temperamental villains lurking about. 

“Come on.” Christopher grunted. 

Spencer gave you a longing look as you left. He didn’t want to think it, but as he watched your figure retreat out the door, he feared that it would be the last time he ever saw you. 

… 

Your plan worked flawlessly. 

Getting to the nursery meant that you had unsupervised access to the women and children, especially away from Cyrus’ prying ears. Because you were a ‘delicate’ woman, nobody suspected you of having ulterior motives. You easily found a crack in Kathy, Jessica’s mother. You spotted her as the one who had made the original 9-1-1 call, wanting to get her daughter away from Cyrus. You convinced her to help you get everyone out, and you felt intense relief when you were met with a familiar face in the cellar as everyone escaped through the tunnels. 

“Where’s Reid?” Morgan easily asked you, glancing behind your shoulder as if waiting for him to appear. 

“He’s still up at the church.” You told him. “I had to separate off to help get the women and children out-” 

“Go on, we have to get you out!” Morgan urged, trying to gently usher you along. 

“We have to go get Reid!” You argued, trying to turn around. 

“Go, go on, I’ll go get Reid!” He told you. 

You were about to argue back, but you were cut off by a scuffle behind you. 

Jessica was yelling about Cyrus - how her mother had betrayed her, tricked her. 

Morgan pushed Kathy toward you and ran off screaming for Jessica. You took Kathy’s arm, gently convincing her that everything was going to be okay as you guided her the rest of the way out. You had to focus on this, convincing yourself that everything was going to be okay. You had to tell yourself that Derek was going to get Spencer out - that they were both going to be okay. 

When you got outside, you were hyper focused on marching away, taking a path away from the church as directed by the officers in charge. You froze in your tracks when you heard it - an earth shattering boom. The ground beneath your feet shook. You felt a puff of hot air swell to touch your back. 

You let go of Kathy’s arm and whipped around, and you couldn’t even pay attention to where she went. You almost thought you heard her weeping, but your mind couldn’t process it as your eyes were glossed in bright orange flame. 

It was the church. 

“Spencer?” You gasped quietly. “Spencer!” 

You couldn’t help it, but you began to run toward it. Your feet carried you faster than you could think, and before you got more than a few feet across the ground, you felt a sharp grip on your upper arm. 

“L/N!” 

Hotch’s voice, sounding far too distant for the position he held right behind you, viciously gripping onto you as you fought against him, trying to get toward the fire - trying to get to Spencer. 

“Hey! Hey! Stop it!” Hotch tried to order you around, tried to get you to stand down. 

He got a hand around your waist, and you continued to kick like a wild horse, fighting against his grip as hot tears poured down your face. 

“He’s in there!” You sobbed. “Spencer is still in there.” 

“Calm. Down.” Hotch ordered sharply. 

You collapsed back into him sobbing, all of the fight leaving your muscles at once. You couldn’t fake the reality in front of you. 

“You running in there and getting hurt isn’t going to change anything.” Hotch told you quietly, a somehow distant murmur into your ear. 

Through the blur of your tears and the sharp orange glow, you saw the shape of two bodies. You heard coughing as someone emerged from the blast, hobbling down the stairs at the front of the church. You forced your eyes open wider, trying to see who it was, and then: 

“Y/N!” Spencer called out your name gruffly through the smoke he had inhaled, and you easily shucked off Hotch’s grip to race up the stairs to get to him. 

He was leaning on Morgan for support and you were worried that he was hurt. But the moment you were close enough, he tore himself away from Morgan and the two of you met in the middle. In a pattern that was easily developing, you fell into the safety of his arms, holding him tight enough to bruise him - never wanting to let go. 

“You’re so stupid, you’re so stupid! Why would you do that to me?” 

You sobbed out, gripping both sides of his face, staring into his eyes, needing the recognition that he was right there, right in front of you. 

He stared back with glassiness - intense fear, adrenaline, and something small that told you he was thankful for you, and needed you now more than ever. 

Of course, your words were simple anger at the situation, not at Spencer himself. The terror of thinking that he was dead still pumping through your veins, causing you to shake. 

“I know.” He said quietly. “I love you.” 

His voice wrapped around the words so tenderly - it was the most sincere declaration you had ever heard from him. As if to say ‘I know how much that scared you. I know what this ordeal has done to us and I only meant it more because of how scared I am’. 

“I love you too.” The words flew from your lips so naturally it hurt. You took a moment to recover, entirely shocked by your own lips. And then, you only found the need to say it growing more inside of you. “Spencer, I love you.” 

You pulled him toward you with the grip you had on his face, and he easily met you in one of the most earth shattering kisses you had ever experienced. 

It was no longer a show, it was no longer about displaying the fake marriage for someone else’s benefit - if it had ever been about that in the first place. It was about the two of you. It was about feeling that comfort, that safety. It was about the fact that your two souls were drawn together since the day you had met. The fact that you had always felt safe with each other. You had always been the other person’s shelter from the storm. 

And you poured every ounce of those feelings into that kiss. 

You combed your fingers through Spencer’s hair, taking a harsh grip on the back of it, holding him there so he couldn’t pull away from your lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, fisting the back of your sweater. Both of you entirely refused to come up for oxygen, not even caring who saw the epically passionate, public display of your love for each other. 

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan and Hotch exchanged a look with raised brows as it happened. You and Spencer didn’t care. You were barely perceiving the world around you as the two of you kissed. 

“You know if you’re not careful, people are actually gonna think you two are married.” Morgan said, being his usual sarcastic self. 

Rather than pulling away from Spencer’s lips to sass him back - you simply flipped Derek off over Spencer’s shoulder. 

On the ride home, JJ handed Derek five dollars. He had the over/under that the two of you would get together before the end of the year. JJ said that it wouldn’t happen for another five years, at least. Derek handed the fiver to Emily when she reminded him that the ‘fake marriage’ bit had actually been her idea. 

When Emily and JJ relayed the story to Penelope, she squealed so loudly into the phone that JJ dropped it. 

Hotch pulled you aside later and warned you that the fake rings were just cheap costume jewelry that Garcia had gotten and they would tarnish soon if you kept wearing them. He also recommended that you and Spencer put in the paperwork with HR if you were ‘serious’ about the relationship. You knew that it was him wishing the two of you his best. 

A few days later when you came into work and found the HR request for an update of relationship status sitting on your desk, already signed by Spencer, you couldn’t help but to smile.

...

A/N: This is a oneshot, so there will not be a continuation or a sequel to it. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that I have written, rather than asking me to write 'more'. If you want to see more things that I have written about Spencer, feel free to check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist.

[stxrslutrestored]

GIVE IT A TRY

pairing; stepbro!jj x reader

summary; your stepbrother finds you indulging in a slightly sick fantasy, and for one silly moment you think he might scold you, but you quickly find that he has been indulging in the exact same fantasy, and it’s high time that you might indulge in it together. 

content; porn, female masturbation, stepcest 

authors note; idk how to feel about the dialogue in this one... took me ages to figure out

people in the world look alike sometimes. it is a completely unavoidable fact. so surely its not that big of a deal that the main man in the porn video you’re watching looks just like your step brother, and the woman that he’s fucking just so happens to share some of your features. it’s a complete coincidence, nothing you can do to change it.

it’s not like you’re thinking of jj while you watch it, not really. sure, maybe he’s flashing in and out of your mind a little bit, but that’s not because of anything in particular, that’s just how thoughts work, right? 

and even if you were thinking of him, what would that matter really. it’s not like you’re actually having sex with him and even if you were having sex with him that wouldn’t actually be so bad as it’s made out to be. hes only your step brother, you’ve not even known him in your childhood, there’s nothing biological. 

take away all the little details and the fact is basically, he is a hot, single guy who showed up in your house and started living there for the foreseeable, living comfortably too, shirt off all the time, pants off too! in fact it’s a custom for him to walk around in his underwear which just proves it. you are absolutely not to blame for the fact that sometimes, maybe, but not really, you think of your stepbrother whilst watching porn. 

the video is getting good now, past that awkward part where they position themselves and are only just starting to get into the feel of it. now it’s fast and erotic and sweaty and noisy and hot. your hand is down your panites, rubbing little circles on your clit to bring yourself pleasure. 

somewhere in the house you hear jj speaking, and for a moment you allow your mind to slip. you allow yourself to picture your own face on the woman in the video, picture jj’s face on the mans. you let yourself think that the fingers rubbing your nerves are jj’s. it seems like faintly in your mind, his voice gets louder, clearer. 

no, his voice is getting louder and clearer. he’s entering your room. but it’s too late, the moment you realise he’s already turning the handle and walking in. you yelp, immediately making to cover up your naked body with the bedcovers. 

in your haste, you forget to turn off the video that plays on your laptop. so for a moment, while you both register what exactly is happening, the room is silent but the moans that play out from the speakers. you shut the screen quickly, which you find might make it even more humiliating. 

you wait what feels like an eternity for someone to speak. and then he does, “were you just watching porn?” he raises his eyebrow. the causal reaction to the situation turns you somewhat defensive. 

“what, like you don’t do it too,” you scoff, but you don’t dare lock eyes with him yet, if only he knew what you’d been thinking while you watched that video. 

he chuckles, “oh I do, I totally do,” he smirks, letting himself in and coming to sit on the side of your bed, you eye him suspiciously. “just didn’t take you for the type to enjoy that kind of cinema.” he leans forward and takes your laptop, and before you can make any kind of protest, he’s opening the lid to reveal the now paused video that you were watching. god, this is humiliating. 

he smirks, tonguing the inside of his cheek, “love this site,” he tells you, studying the video and it’s description. “see you’ve been browsing on the uh.. step siblings category then.” he remarks, and you immediately frown. 

“no i haven’t!” you say, just a little bit too defensively, “i don’t even.. it’s just normal porn,” you frown. it is, just normal porn. there’s nothing in the video description about step siblings at all. 

jj chuckles, “oh cmon,” he places the laptop down so that he can turn to advance on you, “maybe it’s not categorised that way, but don’t you go prentendin’ that them two in that video don't look just like a certain other two people we know.” 

you look away, avoiding all eye contact, “i don’t know what youre talkin’ about. s’just a normal video jj, stop being all weird.” you shuffle backwards in bed a little as he gets closer to you, but unfortunately it’s hard to not acknowledge the fact that you’re painfully wet. 

“i know what you were thinkin’,” he tells you, “i know you were watching that video and thinkin’ just what if that was us two doin’ those things.” he gestures back to the open laptop, now discarded on the covers. 

you want to kick him out and scream at him for being a creep just like any other normal girl would do right now, instead you humour him, “how do you know?” you murmur, barely audible. 

he smirks, “i know,” he begins, leaning close enough so that you have nowhere to go, “i know because i have too. yea, i been on that site, i’ve seen these two in action. I know just how easy it is to see our faces there.” 

your eyes widen as he continues speaking, “so ill tell you all the facts.” he states, “were both seein’ eachother right there,” once more he points to the laptop. “and they,” – the people on the laptop, “are doin’ those moves all wrong.” 

okay. those are the facts. you nod timidly and then he continues, “so i say, we should ditch the video, and do those moves properly by ourselves. huh, what about that?” he raises an eyebrow, leaving the proposition hanging for you to take. 

some might turn him away, but you are a weak woman, and so you nod. “okay,” you tell him, finally finding the courage to look up and meet his eyes, “maybe we could give that a try…”

[yurinaa-world]

I HAVE RTURNED WIRH ANOTHER LND REQUEST IF YOU DONT MIND >:)))

Okay idk if this is too general but i rlly wanna request something SOOOO what if shy!reader that has a hard time communicating/socialising in general, so to show that she loves them she bakes them pastries and deserts, plays soft love songs on the piano for him and make him little diy gifts! She isnt the richest person but she still wants to give him gifts :D

“𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓷 𝓼𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮, 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝔀𝓮 𝓭𝓸.”

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, & Sylus x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader who's shy, she shows her love through pastries, desserts, and gentle piano songs for him

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝑅𝒶𝒻𝒶𝓎𝑒𝓁 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒜𝒷𝓎𝓈𝓈𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓀𝑒𝓇"

He's expecting it, you are not exactly good at hiding your traces even if you are the type to run your mouth—the small bits of parts from the gifts you’re working on for him. He may be a tad bit messy but even he notices things like that. But for your sake, he’ll pretend like he doesn’t know but know that doesn’t change how he’ll react to it. With utter joy and happiness.

Sometimes he sees you lying on a desk or surface with your half-finished project to the side while you’re uncomfortable sleeping. You must have worked hard, obvious from all the messed up/broken ones overflowing the garbage, "Fell asleep at your desk again, huh? Do beds offend you?" he playfully says, but it’s not like you’ll actually hear him. 

A smile on his face that spreads from ear to ear while you tell him to cover his eyes and wait for a second in that pretty shy tone, that leaves his heart pumping while waiting for you. He opened his eyes to see the sight of you, held the gift in your hands, and waited for him to take your gift with a tiny smile on your face. Ugh! How could he get so lucky?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Rafayel, don’t open your eyes for even a second,” 

Watching you scramble around, sitting him down on his messy coach, while forcefully taking his soft hands, and making himself cover his already closed eyes—just to make extra sure that he wasn’t looking.

“Not even for a second?”

“Not for a second.” You reform in a gentle sugar-sweet tone.

He already knows the present since he might have accidentally seen it (You aren’t too good at hiding things).

Hearing your dispating footsteps against his cluttered floor, before quickly coming back with a little box in your hand, like the size of a ring box.

“You can open your eyes now.”

Holding the little box in front of his face before opening it to reveal a little ring made out of paper—yet it had supreme detail to it, he’s impressed by you. 

Taking out the little paper ring from the ring box, without a second thought, he slides the perfect fitted ring on his ring finger, twiddling his ring finger.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to charm me.” You softly laugh at those words of his, with a smile on your face as you slowly put away the ring box to the side. “Haven’t I already charmed you? A long time ago.” You say a tad bit shyly.

“You have, a very long time ago.”

💫𝒵𝒶𝓎𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓇"

He can already hear the music at your wedding. He feels so grateful to you for tasting the sweet desserts that you went out of your way to buy ingredients, bring everything out in your kitchen, and then bake them to absolute perfection. This is exactly what he needs after a long day of work: finding your little dessert in the fridge with a note on top, telling him to enjoy it.

Or even on the rare days that he’s finally gotten himself a day off, he of course spends it with you! Even if you are the quiet type, why don’t you bake some sweets together, he’ll be at your service, whether him being your assistant to do the fun stuff, doing the repetitive tasks that you don’t need to do, or just both?

Seeing you cover your mouth giggling about the flour that spread on his hair without his knowing. Help him get the flour off, leaning his head down a little so you could see where the flour got stuck.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"Is there anything you need me to do?"

Zayne’s steady and calm voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to face him, only to freeze at the sight before you. There he was, tall and composed, wearing a pastel pink apron with frilly edges that looked so absurdly out of place on him that you had to cover your mouth with both hands to hold back a laugh.

His sharp eyes immediately caught your reaction, and he tilted his head slightly, one eyebrow raised as he crossed his arms. "What?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "Is there something wrong with my... outfit?" 

You quickly shook your head, your face flushing as you avoided his gaze. "N-no," you stammered, the words barely escaping your lips. "It’s just... I didn’t expect..." Your voice trailed off, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you tried to steady your racing thoughts.

"Unexpected, huh?" Zayne’s smirk widened as he took a slow step closer. His voice softened, teasing yet warm. "I thought it was practical. Functional. It keeps the flour off, doesn’t it?"

You nodded quickly, stealing a glance at him for a brief moment before looking back down at the counter. "Y-yeah... it does," you murmured, the corners of your lips twitching into a shy smile.

"But you’re still laughing," he pointed out, his tone laced with amusement. "Was it the frills? Or the fact that I chose this one out of all the options?"

“It’s a sight for sore eyes. But you if you still want to help me, could please mix the ice up for me,”

💫𝒳𝒶𝓋𝒾𝑒𝓇 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒪𝒻 𝐿𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉"

He enjoys it very much, to the point he’ll even go out of his way to return your pretty gifts and make his own (maybe with the help of Jeremiah by his side, slightly guiding him on what to do). Maybe even double it. 

Come to both of your shocks…well you made the same thing, a really cute little flower bouquet (even though in your eyes, yours looked very basic, you still wanted to give him something on short notice).

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Ah…”You look down at the bouquet in your hands—a beautiful collection of paper roses, meticulously folded and shaped—even though you wanted to rip your hair out over the several thousand tries you did to make every rose perfect.

“Oh….we made the same thing.”

“I… I didn’t think you’d…” you begin, your voice is soft and hesitant, trailing off as you look down at the bouquet in your hands. Xavier offers a small smile, his eyes sparkling as he steps closer, examining the roses in his grasp. “I suppose great minds think alike,” he replies lightly, though there’s a hint of warmth in his tone. 

“I wanted to make something special for you, even though it’s just paper.”

Xavier’s smile softens, and for a moment, he remains silent, simply gazing at you. In that quiet, there’s a depth that words can’t capture.

 He shifts his gaze back to the roses, now with a thoughtful expression, as if appreciating the care you’ve taken with each petal. “Whether it’s special or not,” he says softly, “it’s beautiful.” His tone is calm, yet there’s a gentleness that makes you feel like you might just dissolve into the floor. “What really counts is the effort you put in.” You blink, taken aback by his sincerity. “You… really believe that?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

His other hand holding his roses, which he of course exchanges with you—so now you carry something of his. “I’m glad you like it,” you mumble, your voice soft, almost shy, while staring at his petals. 

Xavier’s smile grows just a little wider. “Like it? I think I might just keep it.” You blink at him, completely caught off guard. “Keep it?” He nods, his gaze soft but serious now, holding your bouquet with careful hands. 

“Of course. I’d like to keep it. You made it for me.”

💫𝒮𝓎𝓁𝓊𝓈 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒪𝒻 𝒪𝓃𝓎𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓊𝓈"

The days you start to learn a new song, hearing you play through piano keys several times while trying to get through a single verse of the song. Yet, he listens to every part of it, even the mistakes. Leaning outside of the door, against the wall, with a small smile on his lips.

He loves listening to play, and he even buys you various music books, you can search it up, but it’s fun going old fashion right? Or maybe tune your piano up. Anything you may wish he’ll provide, just to hear those beautiful fingers play.

But when the time comes you play for him without him having to hide behind the other side of the door, he can’t help but be in utter joy. Wait, Oh, you want him to sit with you, and do a duet, are you sure? his singing voice isn’t that amazing, he doubts that his piano skills will be any better. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Your hands fluidly dripped over the black and white fragile keys of the grand piano you were playing on, the melody pouring out of the keys you played, weaving together a beautiful song that you had practicing for days, and Sylus wanted to hear even though you hadn’t completely perfected the entire song.

Your eyes flutter open as you play the last of a note, the music immediately dissipating in the echoing room. “Come and sit with me.” You softly mutter, and he immediately accepts your invitation, shifting to the side—just enough room that he could sit beside you. 

Sylus eased himself onto the bench without a word, the soft hum of his coat brushing against the polished wood. His closeness was immediate, almost magnetic, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his presence filled the space beside you as the air itself bent around him. 

His eyes swept over the piano keys, then landed on you, holding a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken.

“You’ve been hiding this from me,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur, a thread of teasing weaving through his tone.

Your gaze dropped to your hands, resting on the keys, the faint echo of your unfinished melody still lingering in the back of your mind. “It’s not ready,” you replied, your voice soft, hesitant. “I’m still working on it,”

“And you wanted to hear so badly, so I gave you the chance….”

Sylus tilted his head, watching you with an unreadable expression—well, a smirk on his lips but his eyes were mysterious to you. “Good. Imperfection makes it honest.”

An idea strikes you, taking his long, nimble fingers to the same keys you were playing before. “Why don’t you try it?” Puppeteering his fingers on the notes, letting out a small song with the few notes his one hand could play.

He tilted his head toward you, the teasing in his voice almost palpable. “Puppeteering me now? You must be desperate to hear me butcher your song.”

“It’s not butchering,” you said, your voice light but with an edge of earnestness. “It’s learning.”

His gaze flickered to yours, something softer settling in his expression. “Learning, huh?” he murmured, the teasing dropping to a quieter, more thoughtful tone. “I’ll be a good student, then.”

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[sorcerersseestars]

LIMERENCE (part I)

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

"I can't stop loving you, no matter how hard I try."

summary: Your long-time friend stirs feelings inside you that you never realized existed. Of course they bubble up in your chest while he’s in the midst of ignoring you and discovering his own possible romance. Your mutual friend thinks she has it all figured out—or does she?

pairing: gojo satoru x gn! reader

fandom: jujutsu kaisen

genre: hanahaki sickness au, angst, hurt/comfort, drama, slow burn!

warnings: mentions of feeling sick, being stonewalled kinda, usage of the word (Y/N) bc Gojo is too fed up for nicknames (in reality idk what else to use 😶), Gojo being an ass (common theme in my fics oops)

word count: 3.6k

a/n: This is the first part to my hanahaki au! I’ve had this in my drafts for the longest time, but never committed to writing it all out until now. This first bit is kinda slow and maybe confusing BUT hopefully I’ll be able to clear it up next chapter. Not proof read very thoroughly; will probably regret later 🫥

part ii part iii

“DON’T YOU THINK you could be a bit nicer to me?” You try, clasping your hands together as you look up at him with an odd smile—a cross between apologetic and playful. You’re joking, or at least half joking. It’s too difficult to be serious with Gojo; his habit of masking emotion with jest must be rubbing off on you.

Only one corner of his mouth raises. “Good one, (Y/N)-chan. As if I didn’t use to pay your bills.”

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks, and he walks away from you without a single glance. You frown and lightly jog a few steps to catch up to him.

“Ah, and I’m forever thankful for that!” You say, cringing at how overly peppy your tone is. “But that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Hmm,” Is all he says. His hands are in his pockets, but he doesn’t carry himself with as much ease as usual—his posture is closed off, angular and tense.

“What I meant was–” You prompt your own answer, as he doesn’t make any move to. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I know you’ve been really busy lately, so I don’t blame you, but I think we should go out and do something. Could help relieve some work stress too, don’t you think so?”

“Maybe,” He says, the word short yet effective in its delivery. The word was sharp in his mouth, clear annoyance shaping his tongue enough for the word to have a bite to it.

You wince. He never used to be like this. Gojo has been in a state of perpetual mirth—and one could argue levity—for the entirety of your friendship, never taking anything seriously and always looking for opportunities to poke fun at you to half-jokingly glorify himself. His expression has always been infectiously positive—never molded into anything hard or serious.

But, lately, everything you thought you knew about Gojo Satoru has faded away into your memories. He never seeks out your presence anymore, which is polar opposite from your high school days, when he would follow you around and pester you until you’d hang out with him. You actually used to get annoyed at this behavior, but you’re sorely missing it now.

You feel like you know nothing about him these days, only hearing tidbits here and there from your mutual friend Shoko. It stings to know that he obviously talks to her, and quite often at that, seeing she always has new details to spill every other day.

It doesn’t make sense to you: him and Shoko were never particularly close, definitely not nearly as close as you and Gojo were. In fact, she thought of him as particularly annoying in high school, and often swore to you that she would cut all contact with him once they graduated.

Back then, you had rolled your eyes at her antics, never believing that anybody could cut Gojo out of their life, seeing as he simply wouldn’t let them. But how else could you describe what he seems to be doing to you?

You bite your lip nervously. “Satoru? Is there something wrong?”

“Not particularly,” He says with a forced smile that’s screaming for you to shut up. You pretend like it’s not the most disingenuous smile you’ve ever seen smeared on his face.

“Are you sure?” You probe. “I mean…what’s been going on with you these days? We haven’t seen each other in forever, and you don’t seem yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

His lips are quirked up, as they perpetually are, but it’s different this time. It’s mocking. A mocking smirk that’s telling you to face reality. Do you really know him anymore?

You pause in your steps, studying his expression. You can’t see his eyes, but you wish you could. He’s hard to read with that blindfold concealing those powerful eyes of his, but it never used to be a problem. It hurts that you’re now struggling to gauge him when your emotions used to feel like one.

Evidently, you can’t answer his question. Not that he seems to care.

“I’ve really got to get going. Students to teach, curses to kill, all that,” He announces, tone low and apathetic. Bored. “See ya.”

Your breath flutters in your throat as you try to bid him goodbye. You choke on your words and only end up tentatively raising a hand. Before you can wave, his form disappears. A gust of wind greets you in lieu of a proper goodbye.

You stay where you are for a few shocked moments, not even registering the hot tears that leak from the eyes he avoided.

You wander aimlessly around campus for a while, the whole interaction replaying in your head several times over. His “Are you sure?” needles its way into your brain even when you push it away, the words hitting where it hurts every time.

Your feet find themselves taking you to an empty break room – ah, this is the one that has your favorite flavor of tea. You turn the kettle on, then eagerly dig through the tea stash. You file through the individual packets quickly and thoroughly, but to no avail. It’s gone.

With a sigh, you grab a random tea bag and throw it into your mug. Frustrated, you roughly begin pouring the now-boiled water into the mug, but it doesn’t seem that was a good idea. Your hand slips for just a split second, but a sizable splash of boiling water still manages to singe your non-dominant hand. A stream of expletives leaves your mouth, and you instantly cradle your hand to your heart.

More tears appear. At least you have an excuse this time—it fucking hurts.

You trudge to the clinic, feeling quite silly, but also seeking some much-needed relief. And you’re not exactly imagining painkillers or an ice pack—no, there’s something else. Someone else.

You hesitantly knock on the door. You feel stupid, but you really have to see her.

You crack a smile at the creak of the door. Your friend and co-worker Shoko strides out with an air of confidence you wish you held.

“What happened?” She asks calmly, eyes lazily taking in your form.

“Spilled some water from the kettle,” You say lamely. “It hurts.”

That doesn’t really constitute a visit to one of the only reverse-cursed technique users in the school, and you know it. So does she.

“Mmhm,” She raises her eyebrows. “Well, come on in.”

You shuffle in a little sheepishly, not able to meet Shoko’s eyes. Now that you’re here, you start to feel unsure about your own motive—do you really want to discuss this? Won’t it just be embarrassing more than anything else?

You stall a little in your steps as the negative thoughts invade your head. You’re startled to attention by a poke to your side—when you look up, Shoko’s playful smirk fills your vision.

“Come on over to the sink and we’ll put that under some cool running water,” She says, gesturing to your reddened arm.

You cock your head, looking between her and the sink skeptically, “No ice?”

She shakes her head, sticking her tongue out at you a bit, “Nope! Running water for burns.”

You hold up your hands in defeat, smiling, “Whatever Doctor Shoko says.”

“And I do,” She says cheekily. “So get under that water!”

“Aye-aye,” You say with a salute.

She groans, “Ugh. You guys are so annoyingly similar. Hang on a sec, I gotta grab something.”

She turns away before she can see the way your expression drops. The smile is stolen from your face, leaving behind saddened eyes and a slight frown. There’s only one possible person she could be talking about.

You sigh and turn on the faucet—your disheartened sigh morphs into one of great relief as the cold water soothes your burn.

“That better?” Shoko asks upon her return.

You nod, a small smile coming back, “Yeah, thanks Shoko.”

“Is there something else wrong?” She asks, then shakes her head. “No, scratch that. What’s actually wrong?”

You take a deep breath. How are you going to broach this subject? You wait several moments, pondering your exact next words.

“Do you think Gojo is okay?” You finally ask your long-time friend, words coming out almost cautiously.

She eyes you funnily, “Why are you asking me? As if he doesn’t chase you around the school to blab on about himself.”

You smile, but it’s tainted by bitterness.

“Shoko…Gojo hasn’t talked to me for two months,” You admit quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

She stops.

“What?”

You hate hearing the confusion in her voice. You hate the pity that soon fills her eyes.

“He seriously hasn’t,” You affirm, sighing. “I don’t know what I did, or if I did anything, or…or what. I just, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

You sigh. “Of course I have, but he didn’t seem to take my concerns seriously. Or consider them at all. It just seemed like he wanted me to shut up and leave him alone.”

Shoko looks at you curiously, lips quirking as if she has something to say, but no words come out. Is she holding something back?

You take a deep breath, willing the horrible emotion that squeezes your throat away. You look out the window to distract yourself, watching the branches of a sakura sapling swaying in the wind. It looks alone and lost, battered by the relentless wind.

“What’s he been like recently with you?” You finally ask, your gaze still on the tree.

“Normal,” Shoko says. “Annoying as ever. Noisy as ever.”

A cluster of pink petals is ripped from a branch, swirling hopelessly to the ground. When they settle on the ground, you look back to your friend.

“He’s really the same?” You ask weakly.

“Unfortunately,” She says wryly. “Besides, why do you care? We’ve both been trying to get him off our backs since waaay long ago. Sounds like a blessing in disguise.”

“Ah, that’s true,” You admit with a weak chuckle, trying to ignore the way your heart throbs painfully. “But he’s also our friend.”

“Since when? More like a thorn in my side. Maybe he finally got the message,” Shoko smirks. “You should give me instructions for that. I’d have a lot better quality of life, you know.”

You know she’s just joking around with you, but she’s truly just rubbing salt in your wound. Not very ethical for a doctor, even if unintentional.

“Yeah,” You laugh, but it’s an empty sound. “Well, I guess I’ll get going then. Hopefully your next patient gives you an easier time.”

Shoko jokes, “Yeah, this has been my toughest job all week. You fiend.”

Your head is filled with so many questions, all of them growing louder as you walk away from your friend. Your friend who you thought would sympathize with you, but only ended up making you feel worse in the end is acting suspicious. It’s not like you’ve ever wanted to actually cut ties with Gojo, even when he used to pull pranks on you in high school. You craved for a strong friendship with him throughout all his shenanigans.

Why is Shoko acting like you hate Gojo, and what isn’t she telling you?

Before you reach the door, you decide you need to know. You stop abruptly in your tracks.

“Ieiri, you’re not telling me something,” You say softly, not looking back. “Why?”

Shoko sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “You don’t miss anything, do you?”

You say nothing. The door in front of you is tempting—it’s your way out of knowing the truth. Do you really want to know?

You wait tensely for a few seconds, the silence causing nerves to bubble up in your stomach. But when Shoko begins to speak, they go don’t go away.

“He hasn’t really been acting strange around me, but he’s constantly on his phone. Like always. Whenever he comes to chat, he immediately tunes me out and starts texting or loudly takes a call,” She snorts, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “I thought he was just bored and trying to make me feel disrespected as a sort of cruel joke, but I think it’s something else. I think…I think Gojo is interested in someone.”

Your head whips around, disbelief clear in your features. Interested in someone?

“Maybe that’s why he’s been acting weird. I always thought he was crazy for you, so it didn’t cross my mind until now.”

“Crazy for me?” You immediately echo back, voice hollow and confused.

Shoko shakes her head at you, “C’mon, you can’t be that oblivious. He always followed you around like a lost puppy in high school. He never said anything to me about it, but I really thought he would confess any day for years.”

“He did that to everyone…” You shake your head. “You say yourself he bugged you so much.”

She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, it was different.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Your vision becomes foggy at the edges, reality fizzling out.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” You ask. “It’s not like that matters.”

You try to appear uncaring, yet it was a fight to get those words out.

“You’re a sensitive person. ‘Didn’t know how you’d react since Gojo always seemed to chase after your attention, exclusively. But it’s not like it was the other way around—should have known it wasn’t a big deal. It’s not. Guess he’s just growing up.”

“Yeah,” You agree faintly, voice devoid of emotion. Reality is slipping through your numb fingers, the information turning your world into a nightmare. You should have opened the door and ran when you had the chance.

“It’s not,” You say with a saccharine smile, one so sickly sweet that Shoko gets chills. That’s not your usual smile—not one that Shoko has ever seen you wear. “Of course it’s not.”

When you turn on your heel and rush out of her infirmary, Shoko reaches out a hand and her lips part to call after you. It’s uncharacteristic for her—the cold doctor is rarely sentimental or emotionally affected, but she saw something ghastly in that smile of yours.

The slam of the door answers her call. The truth, now imparted, comes to bite her in the ass.

It’s been a few days. You’ve been moping around the school, around your students—trying to cope with the information that you don’t even know is true. You see him across campus sometimes; he’s so easily spotted with his translucent hair and tall frame. Every time, he’s facing away from you, and your eyes fall on the back of his head. Your chest always tightens and you end up turning away, too.

You have ignored the feelings stirring in your chest, not willing to admit something that clearly isn’t reciprocated. It has been working, you suppose, since you haven’t cracked under the mental weight of possibly being in lo—

No, you can’t even think that.

Everything has been as okay as it can. It’s not until you attempt to visit Shoko again to try sort out your feelings, however, that things take a turn for the worse.

Your hand is raised as you prepare to knock on the infirmary door, but you hesitate once you hear muffled voices.

“I don’t know…I didn’t expect it at all.”

That’s Gojo’s voice. That low but self-assured tone is undeniably his.

“Expect what?” Shoko asks, sounding bored.

His reply is so soft that it passes by as just a hiss of air, so quiet that you physically startle at Shoko’s loud reaction.

“No! What? I can’t believe that!” She shouts, laughter quickly following her exclamation.

You shouldn’t be listening—you hadn’t planned to eavesdrop on your two best friends, but for some reason your ear seeks out the wall, as if magnetized.

The next three words uttered still your heart.

“Utahime kissed me,” Gojo admits quietly.

You feel like you can’t breathe. Utahime, who has always despised Gojo even beyond Shoko’s extent. Utahime, who once cried into your chest after Gojo was harsh with her at an exchange event. Utahime, who always persisted that you and Gojo were into each other during high school.

Shoko’s unbelieving chuckle cuts through your thoughts.

Shoko laughs, “Oh, yeah, okay, as if I’d ever believe that.”

There’s silence. Your heart drops at the lack of response—no teasing refute, no playful faux playboy attitude.

Shoko absorbs his unusual silence, finally interpreting his words for what they are.

She gasps loudly, spluttering, “Oh my God, you’re being serious. What?! There’s no way…”

Gojo’s voice is even and deep. “I didn’t lie. She just did it out of nowhere. I didn’t even know how to react, to be honest.”

“So you just stood there?” Shoko snorts, trying to keep up her usual sarcastic persona. “God, you’re insufferable all the way around.”

“I kissed her back,” He breathes out, voice almost weak.

Another long moment of silence ensues. You hold your breath, terrified that your panicked pants will alert them of your presence.

Shoko recovers quickly this time.

“Still insufferable,” She sighs, and you can imagine her shaking her head. “So what now? You like her or something? This is so random.”

“I…I don’t know,” He admits quietly. “I never thought she’d do that, it took me by surprise. I…I think I liked it?”

Your heart shatters. You clutch a hand to your mouth, gagging yourself, forcing back the pained gasp that’s threatening to leave your lips.

“Oh, is that so?” Shoko says drily, but the usual edge to her voice is absent. You can only imagine her expression: contorted with pity and pain, desperately trying to maintain her poker face.

“Yeah,” Gojo reaffirms. “It was nice.”

There’s silence for a few seconds as Shoko takes it all in. Then, “Is she who you’ve always been calling and texting when I’m talking to you? You’re an ass for that, by the way.”

Gojo exhales out a sardonic sniff, “You’re spot on.”

Why are you still listening? You should leave. You shouldn’t be hearing this. Pain blooms in your chest, as if thorns became lodged between your ribs.

“What about (Y/N)?”

You freeze, eyes bulging out of your head.

Gojo sighs, sounding annoyed, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not dumb, Satoru. There was something going on during high school and frankly in the past few years as well. Are you going to deny it?”

He scoffs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shoko. It was never like that.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick. You shouldn’t—there’s no possible way you’re actually in love with Gojo Satoru, is there?

Fuck. The thought you’ve been trying to avoid all this time has finally firmly inserted itself into your head.

You take off swiftly and immediately, and your footfalls are as light as you can possibly manage. If either of them knew you were here, you wouldn’t be able to handle the shame.

Gojo and Shoko are none the wiser to the immoral action that took place just beyond the door—so when Shoko is ready to clock out and opens the door, the presence of a school ID on the ground is nearly missed. She feels something strange crunch underneath her foot and steps away and glances at the foreign object.

You left in such a hurry that your ID flopped out of your pocket. It lays on the ground, your smiling face staring up at Shoko, who looks on in horror. She immediately knows that you heard everything. She quickly steps back onto your ID, concealing your identity with her foot.

With all the sight of his six eyes, Gojo somehow completely missed Shoko’s strategic maneuvers to erase traces of your presence. He whistles nonchalantly, not having a care in the world, apparently.

In contrast, Shoko’s mind is racing. Her eyes roam around the courtyard, searching for your form. She feels rooted to the spot—will she reveal you if she steps away? She almost forgets that she’s not alone.

“You looking for someone?” Gojo asks.

Shoko stiffens, but forces herself to relax and appear nonchalant. “Ah, I was just wondering if…if (Y/N) would still be around.”

Gojo frowns. “Hm. Not sure. Don’t they usually go home right after they get off?”

“Lately, they’ve been staying back to do paperwork,” She sighs. “Masamichi has really giving them too many missions…How come you don’t know that?”

“Haven’t had the chance to catch up, I guess,” Gojo says evasively, then quickly changes the subject. “Besides, aren’t you the same way? You coming or not? I’ve got better things to do.”

He waves his cell phone around playfully, a smirk widening across his features.

Shoko rolls her eyes, “Go ahead. I’m just going to wait here a bit and see if I can text them and get them over here.”

She hesitates for a second before adding, “Actually, why don’t you wait a sec? We haven’t all seen each other in a bit.”

Gojo immediately stiffens. He scratches the back of his head and says, “Ah, I’m actually sort of on a time crunch. Maybe next time.”

What a lie. Shoko thinks, eyes narrowing subconsciously. What is he up to?

As he trails off into the distance, the gears in Shoko’s head continue to turn. He always, always teleports home after work finishes. So why is he slowly walking around campus, head turning this way and that way as if searching?

And you! Why were you there? Why were you so affected? What is going on in your head—or rather, your heart?

Something strange is going on with her two friends and Shoko is determined to find out what.

next part

credit 🩷:

@kiyaedits - baby pink dividers, @sweetxmelody - cherry blossom divider

*note: taglist open!! comment to be tagged in part 2 :)

[jolynesmom]

aging yourself up or down in your dr (+ dating)

I actually refrained from talking on this topic on my tiktok since I knew I was going to get chased off the app and didn’t see a point in talking about it on tumblr since everybody here seems to be more open minded and mind their own business, until I saw multiple posts a few days ago here, where the op were shaming people for changing their age or changing the ages of people in their dr

those people definitely came from tiktok and I honestly hope this post reaches them as I didn’t want to directly interact with them

I think one of the posts was about how adults age ‘minors’ in their dr to date them is problematic, which made me laugh, because how is it problematic if they’re both the same age in their dr?

and the sad thing about that post is that the op said that they’re aware how shifting works and all that, but still finds it problematic and hopes people that do that never shift which is just… girly I hope YOU never shift because you don’t deserve it for shaming people trying to live their lives

I’m not going to go into details about the og posts, but they still have the outdated idea that if you shift for a character that is much younger than you here it’s ‘problematic’. once again: how is it problematic if you’re the same age in your dr?

and then they hit you with another outdated take ‘it’s problematic because you find them attractive here’ which is ridiculous because of so many reasons

1.many characters (especially anime characters) don’t act or look their age. if your perceived a character as an adult initially then found out they’re a minor, I simply don’t care. ages in fiction never matter, if your mind perceived x as a certain age then they’re that age idc; 99.99% people are attracted to a character for who they are, not their age

2.many people had crushes on characters when they were younger or the same age with that character and still like them. let’s boo them that their crush on the character didn’t die and their fav character didn’t age, acting like you’re not going to be in their place in a few years

‘not true I’ll stop liking my favorite character when I’m of age 😡’

okay sweetie keep telling yourself that, because I keep seeing people on tiktok that had this mentality: they liked an underage character when they were minors and wanted to shift for them, now they’re adults, haven’t shifted yet but STILL like that character and regret having said they’re gonna stop liking that character when they’re adults because it didn’t happen lol

3.people don’t always script that an underage person here will be their s/o, it just might happen. I’m actually going to use myself as an example for this: so here I’m an adult and I’m also aroace which I dislike because I always dreamed of a fantasy novel like romantic relationship, so I’m straight or bi in most of my drs so I can date. in my jujutsu kaisen dr, all the people in jujutsu tech are adults because I don’t like teens or kids and don’t wanna hangout with them. in my 30+ drs I only have 3 scripted s/os which are all adults here. I didn’t script an s/o for my jjk dr, because I want to focus more on friendships and training there (but secretly hoped choso would pick me, a girl can dream ok); a few weeks ago I channeled multiple people from my dr (yuuji, megumi, nobara, gojo, nanami and geto) and I received normal messages from all of them. I expected all of their answers, except yuuji’s answers which had romantic aspects to them. that made me realize that he might have a crush on me and maybe we’ll even date in my dr or something? who knows, I didn’t think too much about it so idk

so now if a character that’s underage here likes me in my dr, am I supposed to refuse them or shift out? lmao you’re delusional if you think I’m doing that

4.people that have never experienced adolescence love here. a lot of people dreamed of having that sweet experience of teenage romance that disney and an insane amount of shows and movies love to push, but instead their teen years were filled with abuse and hate. why shouldn’t they shift to experience what was taken from them here?

ALSO let’s switch this around: why is okay for minors to date adults in their dr, but not the other way around?

‘it’s not as bad 🤓☝🏻’

imma be the devil’s advocate and say it’s just as bad

do you genuinely think it’s okay to be a minor here and date an adult in your dr? like do you really think your s/o would feel comfortable being sexualized by a minor and dating a person that’s a minor in another reality? you lowkey forced your partner to become a pedo if you think about it 🙁 /jk

and also if you shift to a reality where you’re a minor and become of age there, you’re officially an adult and shouldn’t date minors anymore, even in your ‘original reality’ where you’re still a minor. please keep the same standards for yourself

[hongcherry]

pretty please (rid your worries) || c.sc (m)

Seungcheol's been away from you for too long and just wants your attention; however, it's a little difficult to get between you working and your family being around.

🍒 Pairing: businessMajor!Seungcheol x fashionMajor!Reader (f)

🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Fluff, angst; Pretty Please couple, college au, established relationship

🍒 Warnings: Highly suggestive, alludes to sexy time, hickeys, clothed and unclothed touching (idk how to summarize that dskjf), one ass slap lmao

🍒 Word Count: 2.6k

🍒 Author’s Note: This was just supposed to be a cute fluffy fic but noooooo I just had to add angst 🥲 pls enjoy~

Also, this can be read as a standalone.

pretty please masterpost | seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

“How the hell do you stick it in?”

You giggle hearing Seungcheol’s frustrated voice and glance up from pinning a piece of fabric to your dress form. He sits on your bed, hunched over like a little gremlin as he tries to thread a needle. It’s oddly amusing seeing a big man like Seungcheol fretting over something so small.

“Well first, you have to ask for consent,” you tease.

Seungcheol peers up, eyebrows touching as he processes what you just said. When he does, he rolls his eyes and raises the thread and needle in his large hands for you to see.

“Very funny, Cherry, but you know what I meant,” he grumbles.

You smile, sticking the pin you were about to use in your cushion on your desk, then walk toward him. It took five minutes of him sitting idly before he started getting needy. He complained about how you weren’t giving him attention—even trying to give you a back hug several times until you put him in time-out on your bed. You had told him prior to his arrival that you were busy today, but he still insisted on coming over. You’ve barely seen him for three days, yet that equated to three weeks to him.

“Give,” you instruct with your hand out. He gladly gives you the items. He watches you silently as your deft hands slide the thread through the needle’s eye in a matter of seconds.

“Here,” you say. You hold out the needle for him to grab, but instead of grabbing that, he grabs your waist. He pulls you onto the bed, mouth widening from finally getting you in his grasp.

He lays you back on the bed while he hovers over half your body.

“Got you,” he gloats, eyes cast down at you. If he didn’t look so happy about it, you would’ve tossed him to the side to get up.

“How did I know you wouldn’t be able to behave yourself?” you scold playfully.

Seungcheol’s lips purse as he speaks, a clear indicator of how upset he is at your reply. “I’ve behaved for an hour, can’t you just take a ten-minute cuddle break?”

You scoff lightly, “Cheol, it’s been more like fifteen minutes since you arrived.”

“The details don’t matter. You haven’t taken a break yet,” he replies.

“That’s because I’m trying to finish pinning my fabric,” you answer.

Seungcheol stares at you for a second before saying, “Fine. One kiss and then I’ll let you go.”

You doubt he’ll take just one, so you lean up, giving him two quick pecks on the lips.

“Now, get off me you big boulder,” you groan.

“Those don’t count,” Seungcheol whines and leans down closer.

“Not my fault you didn’t specify,” you huff teasingly and stop him from getting any closer with a hand on his chest. “Didn’t they teach you about loopholes in your business classes?”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he grumbles.

“And what are you going to do about it?” you challenge.

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow, quickly pondering about how he wants this to go.

“Annoy you back,” he smirks, then quickly kisses your neck.

Your eyes close briefly at the feeling. “Yeah, you’re so annoying,” you taunt.

Seungcheol doesn’t reply. Instead, he nips at your skin before beginning to suck.

Your eyes widen when you understand his intention. Hickeys are a pain to cover.

“Cheol,” you gasp.

He hums against your neck but doesn’t attempt to move.

“I’m going to stab you with this needle if you don’t stop,” you warn, remembering you still held the threaded needle in your hand.

Seungcheol quickly pins your hands to the mattress before sucking harder.

“B-babe,” you gasp, trying not to focus on his mouth too much because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of liking it.

Seungcheol pulls away with a small pop. He wipes the area with his fingers, a large smirk on his plush lips.

You glare at him.

“Wanna continue being annoying? There’s still plenty of room for more.”

“Room for more what?” A new voice interrupts.

You yelp and quickly bring your free hand to cover your new bruise while Seungcheol moves to sit next to you.

“Seoah! Knock!” you hiss when you see your sister, setting the needle on the nightstand. Unfortunately, she’s not alone. Her two friends stand behind her, eyes wide.

Great.

“All of you out. Right now!” you demand, not caring that they’re guests in your home.

“Don’t be rude to them. And it’s not our fault you guys were too busy sucking faces to hear us knocking.”

You're sure you would’ve heard them regardless, but rather than prolong her visit by arguing, you groan and ask, “What do you want?”

“We just wanted to ask for a ride to the ice cream shop downtown.”

“You’re old enough to drive,” you scoff.

“Oh yeah, but with what car?” Seoah rolls her eyes.

“Dad’s car.”

“He left earlier.”

“Take the bus.”

“Too gross.”

“Don’t be so snobby.”

“As if you would take the bus yourself!” Seoah huffs.

You sigh knowing she’s not wrong.

“I can take them,” Seungcheol speaks up.

“You’re not their chauffeur; you don’t have to,” you say.

He shrugs. “It’s no problem. I’ll come back after, okay?”

He stands and grabs his keys off your nightstand.

You’re about to protest more, but then you realize he’ll probably be playing twenty questions with the kids. He deserves it after what he just did. So, smiling, you nod.

“Okay. See you soon.”

Seungcheol’s face drops upon seeing your strange smile.

“I know I can always count on you, Seungcheol!” Seoah exclaims and runs over to give him a big hug. “We’ll wait by your car.”

“Come on guys,” Seoah instructs. Her two friends linger, eyes staring at Seungcheol in what are obviously heart eyes.

You snort quietly. They’re way too young for him, plus he’s already spoken for, but you still can’t help being irritated by their little crushes.

“What are you waiting for?” you ask, a little snappier than intended.

“Right! Sorry! We’re going,” one of them rushes as they grab the other’s hand to pull them from the room.

When they’re out of view, you release an annoyed puff of air and drop your hand from your neck.

You expect Seungcheol to scold you for being mean to the children, but instead, he laughs softly.

“Cute,” he hums, staring down at you.

“Be quiet,” you snarl.

Seungcheol’s eyes drift down to your neck. He smiles, then squats and grabs your wrists.

“I’m yours,” he reassures, despite knowing Seoah’s friends will never have a chance with him.

“And if this,” he reaches up to brush his fingertips against the hickey, “isn’t an indication, know you’re mine too.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to suppress your smile. Regardless, Seungcheol can still see it.

“You sure you don’t want to move in with me?” Seungcheol questions, a little playfully considering what just happened.

“I think you’ll distract me more,” you reply with a knowing smile.

“I’ll be good,” he pauses, “for a reasonable amount of time.”

You chuckle, but your mood soon dims. 

Releasing a sigh, “You know I want to.”

Seungcheol nods and rubs your arms.

“He’s doing better, and Seoah’s growing up well. She’s always welcomed over.”

You glance down in your lap.

Your father has been trying harder to be the dad he’s supposed to be. He’s been cooking more, driving Seoah to school more, saving more to get her her own car. Still, you’re nervous things will go south and you’ll have to step up again.

“I’ll be back soon, ‘kay?” Seungcheol says.

“Okay,” you reply.

Seungcheol smiles and gives you a tender kiss before retrieving his keys from his pocket.

“Lock up behind me,” he instructs gently.

“Okay.”

You follow him to the door, exchanging one last kiss then shutting and locking the door behind him.

Maybe you’re staying in the past too much, but it’s hard to walk away from a life you’re so used to—from worries you’re so used to having.

You make your way to your bedroom again, rolling back your shoulders.

Enough of that.

You would rather focus on the hell Seungcheol is probably going through during the car ride.

Seungcheol grips his steering wheel, finally understanding why you smiled so uncannily sweet earlier.

“Was she hiding her neck because you gave her a hickey?” Seoah asks, not even five minutes into the drive.

“I don’t know what hickeys are and neither should you!” Seungcheol huffs.

“We’re not that young!” One of her friends, Tammi he learned, scoffs.

“So, was she?” the other, Sunhee, asks.

“Did you actually suck on my sister’s neck?” Seoah gasps, making mock gagging noises.

“Can you suck on mine?” Tammi questions.

Seungcheol nearly stomps on the brakes but forces his foot to relax.

“W-what?” he asks, wishing he heard wrong.

“That’s gross, Tam!” Seoah exasperates.

“No, it’s not! I just want to know if it tickles,” Tammi explains.

“Look, that’s—” Seungcheol starts.

“You’re asking for a death wish, Tammi,” Sunhee whispers but it’s loud enough to still hear.

“What do you mean?” Tammi wonders.

“Seoah’s sister will kill you.”

Seungcheol tries to suppress his laugh. He knows they’re not wrong, but it’s amusing to hear nonetheless.

“Are you two really together or are you just a fling?” Tammi asks Seungcheol, searching for his gaze in the rear-view mirror.

Seungcheol’s eyes widen at her question. First, was she seriously hitting on him? Second, how does she know about flings?!

“They’re actually together!” Seoah scoffs. “You gotta find your own boyfriend to suck on your neck. You can’t take away my future brother-in-law.”

Seungcheol chokes but the sound gets covered with Tammi’s whining.

“They’re hard to find.”

“How did you and Seoah’s sister meet, Seungcheol?” Sunhee asks.

“We met in college,” Seungcheol answers, thankfully having enough time to recover from Seoah’s comment.

“I have to wait until college to find someone?” Tammi whines.

Seungcheol chuckles. “No, that’s just how Yn and I met.”

“Was it love at first sight?” Sunhee questions.

Seungcheol’s heart stutters for a moment at the mention of love. It’s been two months since he started dating you, yet that word has never dropped. It’s not like he hasn’t tried either, but any time he does, you make an excuse to change topics. He wants to ask why, but he’s nervous about your answer.

Seoah laughs loudly. “Yeah right! They hated each other’s guts!”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Seungcheol mutters. Although it’s true you weren’t his number-one fan, he’d like to hope you didn’t despise him that much.

“Maybe not for you! You didn’t hear Yn talking to Dae about you.”

“Then why do you like her if she doesn’t like you?” Tammi asks.

“We just had a rough start,” Seungcheol explains, taking note of her use of tenses. “We’re good now.”

“Hm,” Tammi grumbles.

Seungcheol purses his lips momentarily. For some reason, it doesn’t feel good that his relationship is being questioned by a teenager.

Unfortunately, they don’t quiet down. They at least change topics, however, and only ask embarrassing questions every once in a while.

“Thanks, Cheol!” Seoah says through the rolled-down window once they arrive. “My dad said he’ll come pick us up in a bit. He’s not too far from here.”

“I can wait until he comes,” Seungcheol offers.

“No, thank you! We’re old enough to not be chaperoned.”

“Well, just stick together, okay?”

Seoah laughs. “I appreciate you looking after me. I’ll be sure to tell Yn about it.”

“Hey, that’s not why I—”

“I know,” she reassures with a playful smile. “Oh, and I’m sorry about my friends. They’re just playing around.”

“No worries,” Seungcheol replies.

“You going back to my place?” she questions.

“Yeah, Yn’s expecting me.”

Seoah smiles. “Just for your information, I’ll be fine if she moves out. I trust Dad will keep on his Good-Father-Streak.”

Seungcheol returns the smile, feeling his heart warm at Seoah’s care and attentiveness toward you. He figured as such, but it’s nice hearing it directly. 

“If she does and things go awry, know you’re always welcome at mine,” Seungcheol says genuinely.

“Noted. I haven’t forgotten about your big guest bed! That thing was comfy as fu—dge.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“Anyway,” Seoah trails off. “Thanks for the ride!”

“Anytime, Seoah,” Seungcheol says. He waits until she reunites with her friends inside, then drives back to your house.

He can’t help but think about the fact you’re avoiding the L-word. Is it because you don’t love him back? Are you thinking this is temporary? If so, what are you waiting for to break up? Are you using him for his money? Are you not happy being with him anymore?

When Seungcheol arrives at your house, he pushes those thoughts away. He wants to discuss them with you, but not here. Not when anyone could waltz in the room.

“How was the ride?” you ask when you answer the door.

“You’re in so much trouble,” Seungcheol growls and steps inside, making you walk backward to let him in. Seungcheol shuts and locks the door without looking at it. He simply stares at you.

“What did I do?” you frown.

Seungcheol grabs your hips and pulls you close. He knows you’re faking it.

“You know one of those girls asked me to give them a hickey,” he says.

Your eyes widen. “They did what?! Which one asked?”

“Can’t tell. She thinks you’ll kill her if you find out,” he smiles.

“Ah, so she’s not totally dumb,” you mumble.

Seungcheol squeezes your hips.

“Don’t be mean,” he scolds lightly.

“Then tell her don’t flirt with someone who’s mine,” you huff and slide your arms around his neck as if emphasizing your point.

Seungcheol smirks, rubbing your hips in satisfaction with your response.

“Want to know what I told her?” Seungcheol asks.

“If it wasn’t a big ‘hell fucking no,’ then I rather skip the details.”

Seungcheol leans closer to your ear. “I told her I have my girl waiting at home, body empty of my marks.”

Your arms tighten in shock. “N-not here.”

“Why not? No one’s here. And plus,” he murmurs while lowering his hands over your ass, “you’re still in trouble.”

Seungcheol squeezes your ass roughly, one of his hands gliding down to graze your slit through your pants.

You gasp, body leaning into his from the pressure he’s putting against you.

“You wanna stay at my place tonight?” he asks, fingers rubbing your core slightly harder.

You let out a small whine and nod. “Y-yeah.”

He smirks and moves his hands to rest on your hips lightly. You resist the urge to move his hand back between your legs.

“I thought so. Now, go get packed. I wanna leave when your family gets back,” he instructs.

“You’re bossy when you’re needy,” you comment, yet adhere to his words and head to your bedroom as you look forward to tonight.

Seungcheol gives your ass a sharp slap as you turn. “I never hear a complaint.”

You bite your lip and continue forward. There’s no reason to argue when he’s right.

“I should cover this up,” you mumble as you stare at your neck in the mirror.

“Why?” Seungcheol asks as he lays on your bed. He tucks one arm behind his head while he retrieves his phone with the other. 

“I don’t want my family to see,” you explain while you grab your makeup bag.

“Fine, but it comes off as soon as we get to my place.”

You smirk when you meet his eyes in the mirror.

“Yes, sir.”

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow up, tossing his phone on the mattress before coming to stand behind you. His hands start on your shoulders and drag down until they rest on your thighs.

“You’ve tested me enough today,” he huffs, chest pressing into you. He spreads your legs, then dips one hand in your pants, causing you to gasp and grip your seat.

“M-my family–” you try to warn, but Seungcheol kisses the corner of your mouth to shush you.

“We’ll be quick.”

A/N: So, fun fact, I started writing this before I ever finished "pretty please (stay with me)". i was stuck at one part but felt like writing this couple aha. tho, it did take a turn i didn't plan 😅

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics more anonymously and privately. ^-^

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[vacantgodling]

tl;dr i need help paying rent and health insurance this month. with the money from my recent paycheck, all i need is $263 (usd) to cover these expenses.

i hate to ask for money all the time but idk what else to do.

this month (august) was supposed to be great for getting my finances in order. i would be getting paid 3x, and i had a system that worked.

unfortunately things didn’t work out that way. this month has been the worst month this entire year:

the main issue is i caught covid (after 4 years of never having it once, i succumbed to people’s uselessness and having to go in person to work) and that kept me out of work for a week. the mini vacation was “nice” because my symptoms weren’t too bad, but the looming fear that i wouldn’t have enough for rent has now reared its head.

the week before, i already took 2 days off because my partner was informed their abusive father had been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and that sent them spiraling. he hasn’t kicked the bucket yet (ig cockroaches don’t die easily), but from what they said that week they thought he would pass by that sunday.

this past wednesday, the stress of their not so great extended family reaching out + grappling with this ended up with my partner having to go to the hospital for (tw) excessive vomiting—unable to keep water down and extremely dizzy. we were discharged that night thankfully once things calmed down and they are technically fine, just still resting and trying to slowly get back to eating normally. the drs weren’t able to determine what caused any of that to occur, but our current theory is just stress and not eating enough so stomach rebellion. i had to miss 4 hours of work to take them to the hospital so, my next paycheck is also gonna be short but not too terrible overall. i’m not really worried about it.

i don’t want to bore you all to death with all the details of all my other debts and struggles that i’m dealing with rn. i just want to illustrate how this week just fucked me over really badly. i’m currently the only one working between us bc my partner is disabled (and got denied disability for them last week so cool cool. love this country love it here).

and if it helps you feel more inclined to donate to me i’m black, queer, and transmasculine. marginalization bingo etc etc.

if you can’t spare anything i understand, i know we’re all broke and struggling and there’s other causes that are definitely more pressing. this isn’t a matter of life and death. just would really help to not have to get screwed over by this.

i offer commissions so if you wanna check my ko-fi -> https://ko-fi.com/vacantgodling/commissions

(just know there’s a small of a list rn, i haven’t been drawing as much as i need to for the commissions i do currently have and i’m sorry for that i’ve just been stressed out. thanks to everyone who’s ordered for their patience i’ll be getting to stuff as soon as i can)

but if you’d like to just donate to my paypal -> https://www.paypal.me/pinkpurgatory

if you don’t have anything to spare (which again, totally fine) please spread this around if you can i’d appreciate it.

thanks for reading and i hope you have a good day 💛

[kumquats-are-gay]

sparing with Johnny, and you pin him down only to find that he's rock hard, maybe some teasing/sex? idk idk

(TF YOU MEAN “idk”?? THIS PROMPT IS HEAT AND I’M ‘BOUTTA COOK!! 🔥💯😤)

Johnny Cage x gn!reader (SFW/NSFM)

NOTE: This will be a two-parter because I just couldn't wait to post what I had already, lmao. This first part only has sexual themes and foreplay, while the second part will have actual smut (also, while this first part is totally GN, the second part will be mentioning afab anatomy, but I will still be using GN pronouns). I'm sorry this took so long to get to; I've been working almost every day for the past two weeks and ya girl is tired, lol. Was super excited to write for this though! :D

ALSO I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE HOW ACTUAL FIGHTING WORKS I JUST MADE SHIT UP LMAO PLS DON'T COME AT ME

Pasted straight from Google Docs and NOT proofread, so please excuse any grammatical/continuity errors/syntax and formatting. I am also still VERY much an amateur writer so pls go easy on me <3

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51869623

Come On With a Come-on

         For a ‘professional’, Johnny Cage is about the least professional person you’ve ever met. Propriety must be a foreign concept to him with how frequently he flirts with you, especially on set—you know, in front of all of your colleagues and crew? The man was shameless in his relentless pursual of you, like a goddamn dog with a bone. And worst of all? You liked it, and this fact frustrated you to no end. 

         How could you possibly be attracted to someone who is so insufferably arrogant, loud-mouthed, and impossibly far up his own ass? An ass that, admittedly, you find yourself staring at whenever you think he isn’t looking. But, because you’re an actual professional, you’ve rebuffed his every attempt to seduce you thus far. Plus, you had a reputation to keep and dignity to hold onto; you weren’t sullying either when the likely outcome would involve your face and name on countless tabloids. 

         Without warning, his stupid, smug, and incredibly handsome smile invades your mind, and you suddenly find yourself wanting nothing more than to punch it off of his unfairly chiseled jaw.

         …or maybe kiss it off.

         “Grah!” you abruptly shout while burying your hands in your hair, momentarily tugging at the roots in annoyance. God, you had a problem. 

         Bzzt.

         “Huh?” You look down at your hip where your phone had just buzzed in your pocket. You pull it out and flick your finger across the screen to unlock it, then tap on the messaging icon.

         Johnny Cage: Hey, wanna spar later? 👊👊

         You raised a brow. You and Johnny worked in the same sphere for a reason. Action films were your guys’ bread and butter since the both of you knew how to fight as well as do your own stunts. 

         You and Johnny hung out casually here and there, but the two of you had never sparred before. You sensed an opportunity in his proposal, though: an effective way to get your frustration out on the source of said frustration. Shrugging, you figure, ‘why not?’

         You: Yeah, I’m down. But I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into b/c I won’t be holding back!

         Johnny: Woah, don’t go threatening me with a good time ;) 

         Your stomach twirled in unbidden delight at the cheeky response, and you internally chastised yourself for being so easily affected by this man. You and Johnny sorted out the details of your meetup—his place, late afternoon—and returned your phone to your pocket. You would just have to kill some time until then.

~~~

         “Of course you would have your own gym, and of course it’s fuckin’ huge,” you joked with a bit of sarcasm, yet enough lightheartedness as to not offend. Though, you doubt Johnny could be so easily offended; he’s got way too much self-confidence (for better or for worse) to be put down that easily.

         “Oh, honey, you haven’t seen ‘huge’ yet,” he boasted with a smirk. The wink that followed did nothing to abate the heat that was slowly taking over your body, but you did your best not to let the effects show. Since when were easy, immature innuendos such a turn on for you? You just closed your eyes and shook your head.

         “Alright, I am definitely knocking you on your ass for that one.”

         “Hah, see if you can, sweetheart!”

         The two of you stood in your  respective corners and took your stances. One quick little countdown later, and the game was on. 

        You knew Johnny was a very good fighter being a martial arts expert and all, but you didn’t realize he was that good. In all honesty, you figured he was more bark than bite, and that you’d have no real problem going toe-to-toe with him. Unfortunately, it seems like you may have underestimated him. It turns out that Johnny Cage was one of the rare few you had met who could back up their arrogance. Bully for you.

        Furthermore, this shithead was fighting dirty! Well, okay—technically he wasn’t fighting dirty. He was just talking after all, and there’s nothing wrong or “illegal” with that. But it was a dirty tactic regardless, and it only infuriated you further with how helpless you were to try and block him out.

        You pivot sharply on one foot and  use the momentum to lift and swing the other around, aiming the kick at his head. You expect him to duck under such a high-reaching maneuver—maybe he’d follow up with a low sweep with your single foot planted on the ground—so you prepare yourself to counter this. See, before you went into acting, fighting was your primary activity; you won many tournaments and managed to make a decent living off of it. One of the main things you were known for were your notoriously powerful kicks; few would risk trying to outright block them rather than moving out of the way.

         You must have forgotten who you were up against; that was the only reasonable explanation for your short-sightedness. You were not distracted by him or anything like that, thank you very much. Johnny-fucking-Cage just lifts an arm and grabs your leg. With one hand. Like it was nothing.

         The impact creates a loud smack! that briefly leaves you dumbfounded; you felt the force of that blow against his palm, and it was enough to leave the skin there tingling unpleasantly. Johnny didn’t look phased in the least bit with a crooked smile dancing across his handsome features, just gripping your ankle. Casually. Like you weren’t currently being held in the near-vertical splits.

         Johnny took this fleeting opportunity to give you a quick once-over, and his smile only grew. “Nice legs,” he quipped, “bet they’d look a lot nicer over my shoulders.” You openly gaped at his brazenness, and he used your shock to his advantage, flipping you in one fell swoop. You grunted when your back hit the mat underneath you, but the heat that overwhelmed your person (caused by your anger and fury, obviously) had you back up in a flash.

         “Best two out of three,” you nearly seethed. Johnny had the audacity to appear as anything but intimidated. In fact, he seemed rather amused.

         “You know, you’re like, really hot when you’re mad.”

         You nearly flung yourself at him in a mindless bout of rage, but caught yourself only a split moment before you could make such a devastating mistake. A delightful idea quickly sprang to mind—two could play at this game. 

         You kept up the facade of indignation and outrage in order to trick Johnny into thinking that you actually were going to make that blind charge at him. You stepped off of your dominant foot, using the momentum to make a lunge for him. He braced himself to counter your head-on attack, but you feigned right at the last possible second, swiftly gripped his shoulder with your left hand, and brought your right leg in against the back of his knee to buckle it. Johnny was quick to recover, though, keeping enough of his balance to twist and grapple with you as his leg nearly gave out. 

         Ah, so it was time for plan B.

         Before he could finish off the move, you brought your face right up to his, making sure that the two of you were making eye contact, and looked at him with sensual purpose. It was almost enough to disarm him, so to ensure you had the upper hand, you threw him another curveball with a breathy, “I wonder if you fuck as good as you fight.” 

         That did the trick. Johnny’s mind was sent reeling with your seemingly out-of-pocket comment, and you jumped at the chance to knock him flat on his ass. Johnny got the wind knocked from him as he landed with a resounding thump. Not wasting a minute, you straddled yourself across his hips and held his wrists against the floor mat. While Johnny had more raw strength than you, you hoped that the KO would leave him dizzy enough to keep him subdued.

         “Ha! Gotcha!” you barked out in triumph. Johnny just blinked up at you in a daze as his response. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle the taste of your own medi-” you had cut yourself off when you felt something stiff beneath your pelvis. ‘What…? Wait, is he…’

         “Are you hard right now?!” you squawked incredulously. Johnny just shrugged his shoulders and gave you an audacious smirk, as if to say, ‘Uh, yeah I guess so. What about it?’ You were flabbergasted. “I can not believe you right now!” You released his wrists and made to get up, but he grabbed your hips before you could get away. Damn it, his body was so warm, and…holy shit he felt big.

         “Woah now, hang on just a tick,” he spoke like he was trying to soothe a startled horse. This fucking asshole! Why, just why did you have to fall for him? “It is very difficult not to pop a boner when I’m getting up close and personal to the most gorgeous person I know,” he spoke with an immense amount of charm and a surprising measure of sincerity. Your eyes widened comically before you squinted at him with a healthy amount of suspicion. 

         “Oh, really now? And I don’t suppose you’ve used that line with every other person you’ve taken to bed, hm?”

         Johnny just sighed like he was the exasperated one here. “Darling, I’ve been laying it on thick for half a year now. There’s no way I’d still be after you just to get into your pants.” He looked at you with this sort of ‘duh’ expression on his face, like he couldn’t possibly understand your confusion. “I mean, don’t get me wrong: you’ve got just the kind of body that I love,” he added, and you nearly clocked him then and there, but you relaxed again as he spoke further, “but I’ve come to really like spending time with you. There’s never a day that I don’t look forward to working with you on set, you know.” And, just like that, you felt like the stupidest person on the planet for denying yourself something that you evidently could have had for a long time now. 

         You hung your head low and shook it from side to side in disappointment of yourself. You fool. You buffoon. You absolute imbecile. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Johnny took this the wrong way, looking offended, and opened his mouth to say something. However, you were quick to shut him up with a short yet firm kiss of which he wasted no time in returning. He ground his hips against yours in short, desperate thrusts like there would never be another chance to do so, and you eagerly mirrored his movements like they might be your last. Without warning, he rolled the two of you over to flip your positions. Sprawled out beneath him with your hands held beneath his own, Johnny thought you looked like a dream.

         “By the way, I think you’ll find that not only do I fuck as good as I fight, but I fuck like I fight, too—hard n’ fast,” he intoned in a voice nearly an octave deeper. 

         You squirmed in anticipation at his words, and retorted with equal huskiness, “let’s see it then.”

[lixiesfreckless]

Deep | l. m.

part two: Deeper

➸ synopsis: you should not be here. not in this car, not at this hour, not again,

and especially not with him.

➸ starring: lee minho x female reader(ft. a mention of another skz member)

➸ word count: 1.2k

➸ general content: ex bf!minho, reader knows what a moral compass is and doesn't use it, they're both enablers in the worst way, toxic is the understatement of the century, car sex, angst, minho is a dirty talker lmaooooo

➸ warnings: swearing, cheating, sexual content

➸ rating: 18+ MA

➸ author’s note: I feel like I have to preface this fic by saying that cheating is never okay. in no way am I trying to glamourize it, I just like writing stories about messed up characters sometimes. that being said THIS FIC IS SO MESSED UP IDK HOW I WROTE THIS TWO YEARS AGO WITHOUT BATTING AN EYE like I fr pumped this out in a day and was like "I'm just a girl" yeah one that needs to be put into a straitjacket, tf?

♫ deep- summer walker, 너와- jaymin

The tow truck pulls out of the parking garage, trailing your lifeless hunk of metal behind it as Minho turns to you, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Thanks for…coming out to help me so late,” you mumble, hands busying themselves with your jacket sleeves as your eyes watch the concrete. He hums, not trying to draw out the already tense atmosphere. He knows better.

He knows why you’re so stiff.

You two situate yourselves into his car, and he’s asking something about how long your car will be in the shop, but you barely register it. Three days, you feel yourself say, but you don’t really know.

You don’t really care either.

“Who’s going to drive you to work until then?” He turns in his seat to face you. A small part of you wishes he hadn’t.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” You force yourself to not meet his piercing gaze, and thankfully he sighs, looking out the windshield.

“I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“It’s already on my way to work, and I already know your schedule,” he states calmly, ignoring the way your eyes flicker to his lips. “It’s nothing, really.”

You know you can’t change his mind, and you also don’t want to, so you press your lips together, not-so-unintentionally wetting them as you did so.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

There’s a faint hum in the car. Minho hasn’t clicked it into gear yet. There’s a little red symbol blinking on his dashboard and you figure he’s overdue for an oil change. Someone is walking out to a dumpster a ways away from his car, and your ears barely pick up the way the lid slams when the worker carelessly lets it drop. Minho is mindlessly rubbing the leather on the steering wheel. He doesn’t normally do that.

You thought those details would be enough to distract you.

But it’s never enough.

Nothing is ever enough if it’s not Lee Minho.

He lets out a small breath of air, and you can see the frustration in his eyes as he quickly checks the surroundings. The small voice in your head screams at you, because you know you shouldn't be here like this, but he turns back to you and squanders the remaining sanity in your brain as he leans into your face.

And it’s hot and desperate and fast, the way your lips move against each other, the way your hands fist in his hair and grab at his collar, the way one too many curse words slip out of his mouth; but there’s no time to think about that, not when his hands are on you, igniting a fire that you’ve tried to put out time and time again.

And it’s dizzying, the way he tears himself away from you after a few seconds of sinful bliss, because the guilt rocks your entire body like a boat caught in a summer storm, and you’re not used to dealing with the consequences of your actions this soon.

“We can’t,” he pants, “we can’t keep doing this.”

You stare at him, shirt slightly crushed where you had gripped him from earlier and hair an absolute mess, and despite how enticing as he looks you nod, because he’s right.

You can’t.

Unfortunately you’re a pair of liars.

And it’s not even you who pulls the other back in, how ironic.

You take it upon yourself to move into a more comfortable position, one that lands on his lap, and he exercises his restraint for a few moments more before his hands land on your hips, helping you move faster over the gear shift.

Maybe you’re moving too fast but you can’t help it, his hips are positioned under yours just right and it’s not long before you’re grinding down against him. You expect him to hold you off of him and call it quits, not groan into your mouth and hold you closer like he’s doing now, and it takes every fiber in your body not to whimper back into his lips.

Your jacket disappears in the wake of his desperation, and there’s finally more skin-on-skin contact between you two. His fingertips burn with the knowledge that what’s happening is far from right, but the fire building inside you makes it feel like heaven, makes him feel like heaven, and you long for his fingertips to run under your shirt, where they definitely do not belong.

And they do.

So yours work their way to the hem of his jeans, tired of the leather that’s holding them together, and he breaks the kiss, hopefully to tell you to stop.

What he says next, unfortunately, doesn't surprise you.

“We need to stop getting ourselves into this situation.”

You look up from his belt, watching as the shame glosses over his eyes and you nod, feeling a pang of guilt rise in your stomach.

But the need between your thighs temporarily stalls the negative emotion, and before you can apologize for letting the situation escalate this far again, he’s the one undoing his belt.

At least you’re not the only one at fault here.

And the pressure between your thighs is finally satisfied as he lets you ride him, lips sucking on your neck hard enough to make you gasp but not hard enough to leave marks. For obvious reasons.

“Fuck baby,” he halts his trail of neck kisses, “if you were gonna take my cock this well you should have called me earlier.”

You wish hearing him say that didn’t make you feel so good.

He meets you halfway in slow, lazy thrusts, which makes you feel every ridge of him through the latex separating you two, and suddenly you’re crushing the fabric at his shoulders now too. 

“You like that huh?” With the way you clench around him, he doesn’t need verbal confirmation, but he edges it out of you regardless. “You like when I fuck you like that?”

“Yes-”

“Yes what?”

“Y-Yes Minho.”

“That’s my girl.”

Oh, how that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

You whisper something about wanting him to go harder, faster, and he’s compliant, seemingly not in the mood to tease you. Or maybe, judging from the way he was gripping you, he was just close.

The glass is fogging up.

There is a foreseeable end in sight, and you feel relieved, after weeks of not having any sort of real release. To be fair, last time was supposed to be the last time. As well as the time before that.

And the time before that.

But you chase away the guilt creeping up again with your own fingers, rubbing away at your clit with a determination that even Minho doesn’t have chasing his own high.

He knows how badly you need it though, so he slams up into you the same way that made you finish the last time.

Suppose there’s no such thing as a good time when there’s nothing good about what you’re doing.

Which is why although you want to, you shouldn’t complain about a ringtone slicing through the humid atmosphere of the car.

Both of your hips come to a halt, and it takes a moment for your brain to recognize the ringtone to see if the call is urgent.

It is.

And the high that you were close to reaching comes plummeting to the ground as soon as you read the caller ID.

Incoming call… Jeongin <3 

[quibbs126]

So I also ended up making this this afternoon

So basically the story behind this is that I decided “eh screw it, I said I’d try making that megop kid idea, might as well try making some helm designs to start out with”. And I made a bit of one for TF One, though specifically inspired by their cogless designs since I’ve drawn them a fair bit

But then it dawned on me that outside of TF One, I haven’t actually drawn that many Megatron and Optimus designs. Like I drew Animated Optimus like a couple times when I was starting out, but that’s it. And also the idea itself doesn’t really work with TF One, since as it stands the war hasn’t technically even broke out yet. It works far more in a series where it’s actually been happening

So I figured, I should start at the basics and get myself some practice on g1 Megatron and Optimus, since you know, they’re the classic designs

Also side note on g1 that isn’t really related but I wanted to add in anyways, today I got the complete set of the g1 cartoon (minus the movie but that’s okay). It was a Christmas present that was supposed to come earlier but finally came in today. And I learned my PS4 can play Blu-Rays (which really shouldn’t be a surprise, I’m aware that’s what made the PS2 sell so well, but I didn’t realize they kept doing it), so that means I am now able to watch g1 on an actual TV, legally, with presumably higher quality, and possibly even subtitles

So you know, I’m doing pretty good right now. I’m glad my dad is supporting my Transformers fixation and the fact that I’m insisting on using a DVD player (for the movies at the library, but still), which means actual DVDs

Anyways, side tangent aside, back to the drawings

I think they turned out fairly decent, they don’t really bother me. I do kind of wish I added shading/lighting so the drawings weren’t so flat, but regardless

Admittedly I think I do need to work on actually doing poses and things with these designs, I’m doing a whole lot of nothing with them right now. I need to pose those cubes

Also there’s some colors shared between the two. I don’t know if this is something actually done in the show, and maybe it makes the colors look inaccurate, but I think it’s neat to use the same colors elsewhere

Now on to random things about the characters’ designs I just wanted to mention

First off, this isn’t really a character design thing, but these were the pictures I used for references, outside of some concept art I have for full body basic anatomy (getting screenshots from the show is my preferred form of reference), and I gotta say, it took a fair bit longer to find a picture online with a proper look at Optimus’ head than Megatron’s

Like it didn’t take that long, like 1-2 minutes, but I just noticed how a lot of screenshots don’t really focus on his face, unlike Megatron. I assume because in g1, he doesn’t really have much of one, given his mask covers half of it

Also while Megatron’s helm itself is relatively basic looking and doesn’t really have a lot going on, the rest of his face has got a fair amount of details

Like he’s got defined cheek bone lines (I think), but he’s also one of the few (again I think) characters to have the shadow around his eyes that becomes more common later on

Then there’s also that whatever he’s got going on above his eyes. I’d say it’s eyebrows but I don’t think that’s what it’s supposed to be, given these characters don’t really have those yet

I saw someone, aka the person who makes Transformers Until One, granatu888 (idk if I should tag them here or not), turn the thing into a battle mask that drops down onto his face, and frankly I think that’s really cool, and that’s what I now choose to believe it is. Hasbro, make that what it is

Anyways, moving on. I don’t really have a lot to say on Optimus other than his helm being a lot more simplistic in its shapes than I’m used to, as well as very triangular. Like compared to TF One Optimus, who’s got a lot of details going on, his is super simple. I also didn’t make his antenna full triangles going down because I thought it looked weird, now they’re more like TFA Optimus

Also one last thing, but I swear the way I drew him looks just like that how one artist does, the one who draws Sparkplug (sorry, unlike the last mention I don’t actually remember the artist’s name, probably because I don’t follow them. Which tbh I should probably rectify, I like their Sparkplug stuff). Sorry it was just something I noticed afterwards and can’t unsee it. This also applies specifically to the face, they draw the actual rest character much better than me

Anyways, back to Megatron. Random thing, but he’s got a whole control panel on his torso. I’ve known he has it, because he has it in TF One, but why does he have it?

This kind of goes hand in hand, but random other thought I had today that connects, his design in general is a bit off compared to other characters because in g1, he doesn’t transform into a vehicle, he turns into a gun. Like that’s not to say he looks out of place (I mean I still think his helmet looks weird), but like, he doesn’t have a lot of kibble because of it. Like he’s one of the characters with no glass on his body because guns don’t have glass

Also does he have two guns? One on his shoulder, another on his back? I don’t know, I’m only now realizing that. They probably combine together when he transforms. Also I think his fusion cannon is just supposed to be his scope in gun mode, which ironically I’m pretty sure aren’t actually involved with the damage part of shooting. I don’t know, random observation

And uh, I think that’s it. It was mostly just random design details, and honestly not as many as I was expecting. I didn’t really have much to say on the art itself, mostly since it was just me trying to draw the g1 designs

But yeah, it was neat, I think I have a better understanding of their general designs, at least here. Now to actually use them in any way

[exhosionn]

i’ve been here for a while and i still don’t know how to use this app anyways i need somewhere to post all my really random sampard headcannons so here we are honestly it’s really just random bullet points i’ve compiled and also most of this was written at 2am so there might be some spelling mistakes.. probably one other thing to mention, im not a lore reader,, i’ve been trying to recently because i find it really interesting but any details i’ve missed is bc i haven’t read it all yet 💔💔

gepard although hes not too great at taking plants (hes def trying tho) id like to think in his spare time he has like a book on floriography and goes to flower shops to buy sampo flowers with specific meanings?(like he goes to a flower shop and requests very specific types of flower arrangements)

sampo knows a LOT of things about belebog that no one else does some kind of like historical knowledge however i think the reason why sampo wont actually KNOw any floropgraphy is because with all his vast knowledge from across the universe as a masked fool, why would he bother to know something as ‘mundane’ as the meaning behind flowers.

to link to that, i think with sampos big world he sorrta gets dragged down to belebog in like a nice way and through gepard learns that the small things in life ACTUALLY matter or they noow matter. so for example these flowers he gets he never knows the meaning of them, def gets flustered by gepard initiating anything at all lmao.

i think sampo would ask around the underworld such as natasha, seele, even hook tbh about the meaning behind these flowers usually getting information from natasha. BUT he doesnt just outright ask he would like slip it into conversation because hes sly like that. Natasha very obviously catches on quite early on and although shes not as knowledgeable with the meanings she still retains enough information for sampo to start relying on her to help decode gepards bouquet.

one way or another serval catches wind of this (through natasha) and i think thats how she connects the dots

sampo most definitely leaves back notes with kisses on them on gepards windowsill (gep leaves his windows unlocked always.)

i can also imagine sampo to ‘retaliate’ somehow finding some extinct belobog flower and gifting it to geppie being all like ‘i bet ya can’t find the meaning behind this one’ lolll

gepard is a gay in denial in the sense that hes never had a crush on a woman but he sees madam poisson and he has a MASSIVE crush on her. everytime serval asks him if hes gay he brings up his ‘past’ crush on madam poisson.

gepard the 'nuh-uh' vs serval the 'yuh-huh’

serval has gepard as "gay man sighted in belobog" in her phone - sampard nation gave me these last two

serval and natasha they totally hang out at natasha’s clinic occasionally idk why i just see it

sampo kisses the scars on geps body

gep is taller w shoes one but actually shorter than sampo usually but no one believes sampo when he says thisn bc no one sees gep without his boots off.

sampo could be having the most absolute worst day and see gepard and feel beter same works for gepard except he doesnt realise it as much because gepard is more like ‘huh my headache clears from seeing sampo yeah he just uh annoys me so much that i think my heacache is clearing hahahaha’

soarkle and sampo sibling dynamic seems really funny but at times i also dont see it if we apply the whole sampo might be an emanator theory idk i think its silly at times but sometime it doesnt make sense….

on the other hand although it doesnt logically work sampo and seele sibling dynamic i actually really like it like a lot

i feel like gepard wears grampa pajamas?

although gepard def gets flustered by sampos flirting all the time, the one who actually initiated anything i believe would be gepard (ill go more into why i think so at a later date)

both of them are really light sleepers and have trouble sleeping all the time

also gep likes to hold onto sampo a lot when they fall asleep cuz he get scared that sampo might just leave randomly

i love these two sosososo much im going insane i need more headcannons to fill the brainrot

[dekus-naughty-dikon]

You’ll kill for me?

Izuku Midoriya x Female Reader

TW:Mention of kidnapping, blood, sex, r*pe, murder, details of murder, and anything else I forget.

SMUT ONESHOT, mentions ‘daddy’ and other kinks. My first smut and oneshot Im sorry.

I don’t own this art and idk who did it I’m sorry.

Now imagine Izuku coming home late at night covered in blood that ain’t his. Some will say “I would freak out”, but you simply go

“Hey Izu, why are you covered in blood are you okay?” you go and check to see any injuries. You don’t see none but he starts to chuckle.

“I’m fine puppy, why are you still up?” he says as he pushes the hair in his eyes back. He’s looking at you with adoration but also concern as you never stay up this late, I mean it’s 3 am. Who would stay up that late when they have work in the morning?

“I- I was worried about you, and you know I don’t like sleeping without you,” you say quietly, still trying to find out where the blood came from. Little did you know, he knows why you aren’t asleep. Yes, you don’t like sleeping without and worrying about him, but you were kidnapped not even two weeks ago by an unknown man. He did terrible things to you trying to find out Izuku’s- the number one pro hero- weaknesses. His thinking it was you was a huge mistake on his part. You aren’t his weakness. You are his strength, and why he wakes up every morning. You’ve been having nightmares and suffering from PTSD since they found you. Izuku asked you to move in with him not even an hour after he found you- you all being together for two years, it was understandable. Now you’ve been living with him, and he’s been helping you through your trauma and nightmares. He is there to protect you, and it’s why you can’t sleep without him. You worry about him not only because he’s Japan's number one pro hero but because you love him dearly. You are a little obsessed, but you find it healthy as he is your hero and love. It is healthy- until someone gets in the way of you two being together- or until someone hurts you or him. You become unhinged and forget your natural morals as you don’t want to lose the only person you have left. You didn’t know he was the same way.

“Puppy, you know I’ll come home. Always. Tell me the real reason you are up?” he looks at you with a soft stern look, making sure not to scare you like he does others.

“I- I did tell you, are you hungry? Have you eaten?” you say, trying to change the subject and not get caught in a half lie. You haven’t eaten being so worried about him, and you barely eat anything due to your fear and anxiety due to your trauma. It has affected you greatly, but you try and hide it. You can’t hide anything from Izuku tho, though he is very observant. He sees right through you hiding your fear and pretending to be okay. He knows what that man did to you, and every second of every day since he found out you’ve been kidnapped, his anger grows. It’s like a hot flame that won’t go out even when you pour water on top of it. The only thing that can take out this flame is you being with him, safe and happy. You are safe and comfortable but scared and traumatized. You’ve been going through stages of depression for years now, and this has made it worse, even if you don’t admit it. He sees it all, though, and it makes him angrier at the people who have hurt you in the past and the man who hurt you recently. That man had no right to touch what was his, you.

“Now, puppy, no changing the subject. No, I haven’t eaten yet, but I was going to after I showered,” he says softly but sternly. “Have you eaten?” he looks at you up and down, seeing if any signs of malnutrition are there. You have gotten skinnier since the kidnapping, but you also became weaker physically. Do to the things that man has done.

“I-um…” you hesitate. You hate lying to him. You know if you lie, he will find out the truth. Even if he doesn’t get angry with you but tries and talk to you about why you should eat- sleep- or do anything to keep yourself healthy, you are scared one day he will snap at you as your past exes have. Like your mother and father did when you were a child, like your foster parents, or the kids you went to school with.

You look down at your feet, thinking of how to change the subject, but with your luck, your stomach growls. You go wide-eyed but quickly return to normal as you don’t want to give away what you haven’t eaten.

“I’ll take that as a no, baby; look at me, please,” he says quietly and softly. He tilts your head up by the chin and looks at you in the eyes. Your eyes help him see everything he needs, they help him calm down, and they are like stars in the night sky to him- beautiful. “Baby, why haven’t you eaten? What was the last thing you ate today?” he asked curiously and was full of concern.

“I- I ate some yogurt and fruit this morning after you left. I guess I just forgot to eat again,” you say. Your lips quiver in guilt as you hate doing this to him. Hate seeing him so concerned with you- and for what? Because you haven’t eaten or slept. “I’m sorry-“Before you could even finish your apology, he kissed you softly. It’s the only way to get you to stop talking when you are feeling like this. Kissing and holding you tight is the only way to help you see he isn’t angry or upset- he loves you with everything in him and wants you to be okay.

“No apologies, puppy. I’m not angry or upset, okay.” He looks at you softly and lovingly. “How about we go shower and eat something, okay? Then we can cuddle and try and sleep,” he says softly.

“O-Okay. But you never told me why you are covered in blood. Is it yours?” you say, wiping away the tears that were about to fall. You look over him closer and realize he isn’t hurt, not one scratch or bruise. You become concerned about what happened for him to be covered in blood like this.

“Don’t worry ab-“Before you can even finish, you stop him.

“No, tell me please,” you say desperately. You want to know, and curiosity is eating at you now. “I just want to know, Izu, you never come home this late without calling- even with your hero work. Let alone come home covered in blood,” you say. You start worrying more and more as he won’t tell you.

“Puppy, if I tell you- you might see me differently,” he says quietly and sadly. He takes his fingers off your chin, making you sad, but you ignore that for now. You are more concerned about why he thinks you might see him differently.

“What? You know I can never see you in any other way than I have- I always have. You know I love you.” you say with a small laugh. You are trying to help him see you will be okay with anything he tells you as long as he’s okay.

“You- you wouldn’t look at me the same. You might become scared of me and lea-“He starts the last part, but you shut him up with a kiss. You pull him closer, not caring if you get blood on you. It wouldn’t be the first time you were covered in blood for him anyways.

“Hush!” you say after the deep kiss. You say this loudly, which is very rare for you. It causes him to go wide-eyed and look at you in shock. You never speak louder than an inside voice- speaking this loud means you are serious about this and want to know. That or you got upset about what he was saying, if not both.

“I will never leave you, Izuku. I love you more than anything, and I will never be scared of you, understand?” You say sternly. Which is even more of a shock to him- and honestly, a turn-on. “Tell me please, I want to know Izuku,” you saying his name like this makes him want to kiss you deeply and never let you go, but it also makes him sad that you are getting upset with him enough to call him his full name.

“I.. I killed someone.” he whispered. He backs up and turns his back towards you. You look at him in shock- him killing someone? Never. You seen him get angry at villains before but never seen him at a point where you thought he would kill them. “I killed him Y/N. The man who hurt you. The man who-“ he stops for a moment to collect his words, “the man who kidnapped, tortured, and r*ped you. I killed him, happily. I was so happy when I did it. I was so happy when I found him finally. I would do it again for you- I will always do ANYTHING for you.” he says loudly and sternly. He tries and speaks softly with you always but right now he is so scared of what you might do he forgets everything.

You look at him, his back still facing toward you. You were shocked but had butterflies. Did he kill someone for you? All because they hurt you. You didn’t care he brought up what happened, and you didn’t care he mentioned what the horrible man had done to you. You just cared about him. The fact he killed someone for you makes you blush and have a belly full of butterflies. It makes your heart jump out of your chest with happiness and love. Sure, anyone would be scared hearing that, but you? You killed multiple people for him. The people that dared lay a finger on your man and get away with it. The women who try and get in between you, too- you don’t hesitate. Like him, you are happy when you do it and would do it again. You never told him as he is a hero, and murder is a crime.

You walk closer to him, which he hears and tenses up. He is scared of what you will say and do. He doesn’t want to lose you- he would go crazier than he already has. When he feels you behind him, he slowly turns around halfway but doesn’t look in your direction. His hands are in fists as he tries to control his fear tears.

“Look at me, please,” you say quietly and softly, which shocked him but made him more scared as you might leave him like this. He slowly turns his head towards you and looks you in the eyes. You see the fear and anger of mentioning that man again in his eyes. He, right now, is blind by fear and can’t tell what you are thinking or feeling.

“How? How did you kill him?” you say softly and curiously. This made him hesitate, but he was shocked. He isn’t going to hope you will stay because who will remain with a murderer? Yeah, who would stay with a murderer?

“I- I tortured him,” he whispered, looking done. He can’t make eye contact with you telling you this. “I stabbed him, choked him, everything someone does in a torture chamber. I got creative with some of it, but most of it was to see him in pain, like the pain he caused you,” he says, trying not to smile or smirk when thinking of that man’s face in agony.

“Oh, wow,” you say a little louder. What shocked him was you sounded interested- you had wide eyes and a slight smile, but he was still looking down, so he didn’t see this and got scared. “Did he beg?” that made him look up quickly. That’s when he saw the wide eyes and slight smile you were trying to hide.

“Yes,” he says carefully. Trying to examine your reaction, but he was too confused and blind by fear still to understand anything you were expressing. “Yes, he begged, like a bitch.”

“Good,” you say. He goes wide-eyed as your smile is clearer to see, and you hug him tightly.

“W-what? You aren’t mad or upset?” he says, still shell-shocked at what is happening.

You stop the close hug just enough to look him in the eyes. “No, why would I be?” you ask curiously. You see nothing wrong with killing someone for the person you love most.

“I-I killed someone-“ he says, wide eyes and shocked still.

“Yes, and I’ve killed for you,” you say quietly, like telling a secret.

He goes wide-eyed, looking at you. He never thought you, out of all people, could be capable of murder. It all runs through his head, and some things start to connect. The secretary that went missing after locking herself and him in the bathrooms at his agency, trying to have sex with him knowing he was taken. The couple of girls at the coffee shop grabbed his ass when he went in to check on things turned up dead- murdered brutally-actually. The villain who stabbed him during a mission in Tokyo died in his jail cell. Everyone who has landed a hand on him in a harmful or nonconsensual way- dead or missing still. You killed them- brutally. Tortured them just because they put their hands on your man. His shock suddenly goes into lust and love as he looks at your eyes and face.

“You- you have?” he questioned. That is a dumb question if you ask yourself. He looked at your eyes and lips, begging for an answer.

“Yes, and I would do it again in a heartbeat,” you say calmly. To anyone else, it would be creepy, but to him, it was beautiful and sexy. He quickly catches your lips with his- kissing you softly but urgently. Never would he thought you would kill for him- this isn’t the first person he’s killed for you. Won't be the last.

“Fuck,” he whispered after you two separated for a breather. “Tell me how, baby, please,” he says lowly and quietly, ready to kiss you again. He pulls you closer, not caring about a single thing- not his clothes- not the blood all over him- nothing.

“I mean, you read their autopsies, right?” you look at him, questioning. He smirks and kisses you again roughly, but it ends as he speaks again.

“Yeah- I wanna hear it from you. That beautiful mouth of yours, And I’ll tell you how I’ve killed the others that dared lay a hand on you,” he whispers in your ear. It gives you tingles and causes you to shiver. Has he killed more people for you? This turned you on more than you thought it would. You jump up, wrapping your legs around his waist and staring into his eyes, smiling.

“Izu, you’ve killed multiple people for me?” you say as you look at him, getting closer to his lips, “that’s sexy, baby,” you whisper as you kiss him, in which he grabs your ass to hold you up and pushes his tongue past your lips.

Now tongues swirling around each other, sloppy kissing, and him grabbing your ass with your legs around his waist and arms around his neck to have him as close as possible. It becomes heated quickly, as you two haven’t had sex since before the kidnapping- him wanting to give you time- and you being too traumatized to think of anything like this. But now, you two have found out each other's dirty little secret and are as turned on for each other as animals in mating season.

He puts one of his hands in your hair and deepens the kiss even more, walking slowly to the bathroom. When he sits you on the sink counter, you gasp, giving him more access to your mouth. Tongue deep in your throat, you moan when he tugs on your hair in the right spot. He stops to breathe but only briefly as his lips find their way to your neck- leaving love bites and his marks all over your soft sweet skin. He soon discovers the sweet spot and sucks like a leech; making your moan louder. You are a panting, heaving, moaning mess when he stops and rips off your shirt. Seeing you aren’t wearing a bra- as you were going to go to sleep when he arrived home safely- he latches onto one of your nipples and flicks his tongue rapidly. Squeezing the other and sucking on your other nipple, he moans onto your nipple when you start to grind against his dick. Oh, how hard he is for you and how you love it. He stops just for a few seconds to catch his breath.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, kissing your neck, “tell me how you killed those bitches.” He speaks into your skin and starts to suck, leaving more of his marks.

“I- I had to find out where they lived first,” you say, panting a little from the sensation of his lips on your skin. “Then I just waited till they were alone to sneak in. Dumb whores didn’t lock their windows.” You giggle a little remembering how the dumb ass girls didn’t lock their windows at night and how the men were so easy to find.

You hear him chuckle into your neck, “Oh? Now that isn’t very smart of them,” he says, licking over a new mark he just left.

“They didn’t know how to fight either. It was easy dragging them out of their soft little beds and tying them up. The men, not so much, so I just knocked them out.” you say as you are a panting moaning mess. He licks down your breast to your belly button sucking and leaving marks all the way, “I used things they had, like their knives and other things that can cause damage. One had a fun crowbar.” you giggle. “Most of them didn’t last long enough when I was cutting each of their fingers off and passed out, but the ones who did last had some interesting words to say to me. It was so funny and fun hearing them beg and curse at me,” you say, stopping and gasping as you feel your shorts being ripped off. Izuku lays you back to pull your panties off with his teeth. Sucking and licking each part he goes by. You were lost in his eyes as they looked at you, pulling your panties down.

“Awe go on, baby, I wanna hear what all you did to those son of bitches.” he says as he licks your pelvic bone down to your thigh. He sucks the inside of your thigh, leaving marks near your sweet little sex, stopping and hovering, waiting for you to start talking again.

“I-I stabbed most of them, but the ones who hurt you-“ you stopped and gasped when you felt his tongue run up and down your slit. Back arching a little and watching him lick slowly up and down against your sex makes you quiver and shake. “The ones who hurt you- I-I, fuck, I made sure they felt every inch of what I cut and sliced them with. Some passed out when I got to their toes, but some lasted till I cut off their hand. Chopping them up was-“ you stop as he starts to suck on your clit but then continue, “so fun knowing what they have done to you. Their blood made puddles, and they whined like little bitches.” you start to moan uncontrollably as he sucks and fingers you with two fingers rapidly.

He moans into your sex, and his tongue flicks up and down rapidly and skillfully. “Mm puppy, you taste so fucking good,” he says into your sex which causes vibrations. It makes your back arch even more and pant.

“Come on baby, cum for me,” he says in a low tone voice that causes more vibrations to your sex. When he sucks on your clit again and arches his fingers up to hit your sweet spot, you cum instantly on his face. Lose all focus on anything else, just the feeling of his tongue and fingers inside you. He licks up all the cum from you, sitting up and pulling you close to him.

“Good girl,” he says against your lips as he kisses you. You taste yourself as he roughly kisses you. “Such a good girl for me. Even killed people for me,” he says lowly into your mouth. You grip his shirt, letting him know you want it off. He smiles and pulls off his shirt showing his chest and abs. All those scars turn you on more than you already were.

“Come on, baby, how about we shower? I’m not saying we are finished, but that bastard's blood is starting to get aggravating, and I don’t want his blood anywhere near my girl,” he says, lifting you from the counter to have you stand on the floor. You pull him from the rim of his pants to the shower, which he happily follows. Getting to the shower, you undo his pants, which he slides off in a heartbeat with his underwear.

His length is seeping precum and hard, but he knows he can wait. He doesn’t want that bastard's blood getting on you. Starting the shower, grabbing a loaf to scrub him off, you can’t stop looking into his eyes. He hasn’t looked away from you once, and when you look at him, all you see is him looking at you with adoration and love. Finishing scrubbing the last bit of blood off of him, he starts to wash you with a different loaf slowly and softly. Being very gentle around you injures that bastard caused you. They are healed, but he doesn’t want to risk anything. When he gets to your sex, he puts the loaf down, knowing you are sensitive, slowing and sensually washing your sex but not without fingering you in the process. His chest against your back and your ass against his dick, he fingers your slowly, going faster with each moan you let out.

“Have to make sure every,” he thrust his fingers into roughly but not to the point it hurts,” part,” thrust,” of that body,” thrust, “is clean.” he thrust rapidly into you, now making your back arch and you moan and pant leaning back against him. “Right baby?” he asks knowing he won’t get an answer.

“D-daddy,” you moan, putting a hand against the wall and the other in his hair. You grind against his dick, making him grunt.

Right when you were about to cum her stops and takes his fingers out, making you cry out a whine. “Shh baby, you’ll get to cum. But does my good girl want to make daddy cum first?” he lowly says in your ear.

“Ye-yes, Daddy,” you say as you turn around to kiss him; he kisses back roughly and grabs your ass. You kiss down his neck, leaving marks and bites on his skin, licking the scars on his cheek and abs.

Getting onto your knees, you stare at his length, he is much bigger than average, and you love it. To you, it was a gut wrecker. You look up at him, seeing him look down at you and pet your hair. You start to do kitten licks on his head, which makes him grunt and groan.

“Don’t tease me now, baby. That ain’t nice,” he says lowly with a grunt.

You start to suck his head just as he likes, slowly going down and deepthroating him. He grunts in pleasure and grabs your hair just right. You bobbing your head up and down slowly and sucking ever so tenderly makes him wild. He throws his head back, feeling so much pleasure he can barely breathe right. You always know how to suck him right, and he loves it.

“Fuck. Good girl, so good at sucking my cock.” he moans. He grabs your hair tighter and starts to throat fuck you slowly and rough to the point it hits the back of your throat.

“Such,” thrust, “a good,” thrust, “cock sucker,” thrust. He thrust into your mouth, repetitively groaning. Tears start to run down your face, and all you hear is the slurping sound you make, sucking his dick. “Yeah? You like sucking daddy’s cock?” he groans. You suck a little hard to let him know you say yes. He grunts more and thrusts, becoming more sloppy, “fuck I’m going to cum,” he says, thrusting faster into your mouth.” Swallow it like a good cocksucker.” he says. Thrusting more, he then cums down your throat, throwing his head back and moaning. “Fuck.”

When he takes his dick out of your mouth, you show him all the cum you will swallow. This makes him groan and become more turned on by the second. He picks you up and wraps your legs around him putting your back against the shower wall.

Kissing you, he wraps his hand around your breast and squeezes them right. “You want daddy to fuck you now? Or do you need more time, baby? I understand if you do.” he says softly, rubbing his thumb against your cheek and looking you so lovingly in the eyes.

“Please,” you say. “Please fuck me, Daddy,” you say quietly. You want him as much as he wants you, and nothing will stop you from having your man.

“Mmm fuck baby,” he says and kisses you, “you sure? I don’t want you to feel rushed or anything.” He says sweetly, he cares too much about you to rush you into things like this, and he understands if you want to say no.

“Please, Daddy. I want you so bad,” you say louder but not too much louder than usual. He looks you in the eyes one last time until he starts kissing you roughly but tenderly again. He lifts you so he can line up his dick with your entrance. Slowly pushing you onto his dick, you both moan at the feeling. Inch by inch, you lower on his dick till it’s inside you.

“Fuck. You feel so good,” he moans. “Tell me when to start moving, okay puppy?” he grunts—kissing you sweetly and waiting for your okay. Once you give the OK, he slowly thrusts in and out of you, not wanting to hurt you. You both moan and look into each other eyes. Never would you think you would have sex with someone as yandere as you. You love that he killed someone for you. You love, he would kill for you. To you, it’s the biggest turn-on, and to him, it is too. Both of you think about how lucky you two are to have each other. You love each other more than life itself, and nothing can or will change that.

“F-faster, Daddy,” you moan. He then starts to thrust faster and faster. He was soon going as fast and hard as he could. You become a moaning mess as he hits your sweet spot repeatedly. “Daddy! Fuck!” you moan.

“Yeah? You like it when daddy fucks you like this?” he grunts as he fucks as fast as he can, “Fuck, such a good girl taking all-, “ he moans, “of my fucking cock.” he moans and groans as he fucks you. He loves watching your face twist in pleasure; he loves hearing your moans as his dick is deep inside you.

“G-gonna cum, Daddy,” you moan and arch your back. You moan as he pulls your hair and sucks your neck and breast.

“Fuck.” he is now pounding into you at an inhuman speed, gripping your hair and ass. Sucking on your breast as you moan for him and clench around him. “Good girl- cum for daddy- cum for daddy,” he says and moans throwing his head back as he feels himself getting close. “Be a good little cumslut and come for daddy,” he says.

That was your final straw as you came instantly clawing his back and moaning into his ear. He loves every second of you clawing and moaning as it makes him cum deep inside you. “Fuck, that’s my fucking girls, that’s my-“ he breaths heavily, “girl.” he finishes his compliment and kisses you sweetly and tenderly. Not wanting to take it out of you like it’s his favorite place to be.

You breathe heavily and lay your head on his chest. In which he happily accepts and kisses the top of your head.

“Good girl, I love you so much, puppy,” he says as he kisses your head and holds you tighter. He pulls out of you, saving you still in his arms, and putting you towards the water, he rinses the cum off and out of you. After he turns off the shower, he lays both of you down in the bed, not worrying about clothes.

You cuddle more into his chest, happy he is lying with you and finally home. You are worn out from worrying, crying, panicking, and loving sex. He is, too, but he is also worn out from dealing with an issue before coming home to you. He is happy you accepted what he did and who he is, as well as glad you are the same type of crazy as him. He never wants to let you go and never wants to lose you. You are His light in the darkness and will forever be that light that never goes out.

“Come on, baby, make some ramen and watch a movie. We can sleep when we are done eating, okay?” he says quietly into your ear—looking at you as you look up.

“Okie, can we watch a Marvel movie?” you ask with big puppy eyes.

He chuckles as he figures it would be Marvel or Godzilla. “of course, baby, what else would we watch?”

THANK YOU AHHH… okay it took me a couple of hours but I finished it. My god that was something to write right off the top of my head at 3 am.