#idk if my version is canon really but to me it is and that’s what matters💓💓💓

[bagels-and-cream-cheese333]

yeah I don’t mind being double tagged!! <333 I love y’all too much to be annoyed by that.

fav character and why: raphael… raphael. Idk man just something ABOUT him.. (trauma it’s the trauma that’s why it’s trauma and the fact I kin him a teeny tiny bit wait who said that). Honestly there’s this whole story where for the first time when I watched the show, I couldn't pick between leo, donnie, and Raph and was like “no they’re all my babies I have no favorite” but was also like “eh it’s prolly not Mikey tho” and now here I am with Mikey and Raph as my top favs…. whoops

least fav: uh. uhhhh…. maybe repo/crab men. Repo’s kinda cool but just meh villain and idgaf abt the crab guys

character I think is attractive: oh cmon you can’t ask me to choose JUST ONE ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME.. if I had to choose my top favs it’s gotta be raph and big mama tho… like PLEASE

fav villain: big mama obviously!!! Sighhhhhh she’s so shaped I love her <3 a lot of fanworks depict her badly/inaccurately and it makes me really wanna write smth with her but I have absolutely no ideas to what that might be. Sooooo she’ll forever be trapped in my mind as fav villain!!! Yay

least fav villain: yup soaptastesfunny said it damn right. crab men.

fav duo: yikes guys you’re asking me to choose between sunset duo and magnetic twins? haha… that’s…… you’re asking a lot of me here… fiddlesticks guys.. but seriously no I cannot choose between those two. I love em too much what can I say

fav ship: does oc x canon count bc technically Yuichi isn’t even in Rottmnt…. uh I’ll say RaMona (but with my specific version of her) and if not then capril. God do I love capril.

why I like Rottmnt: colors, character design, characters themselves, jokes, THE TRAUMA, the trauma, the community <3333!, the animation, how nothing about it is truly bland, I just… I dunno. Never thought I’d be here but by god am I happy.

tags!! <3 @sloanz-speakz @ineedseveretherapy @snowbriar @faydoodlez @graphoon @toulouie @poisonisweird :)

Calling all ROTTMNT fans

Hi i'm new and I've been seeing these on Tumblr, so I thought to do one :) Btw tag your Rottmnt friends to do this to!

Favorite Character and 1 reason why: (Mine is Donnie because he's funny XD)

Least Favorite Character and 1 reason why: (Mine is the Leader of the Kraang bc of what he did to Leo..)

A character you think is attractive(Can skip if you don't have one): (Mine is DONNIE >:))

Favorite Villain: (Mine is Kendra, or Big Mama)

Least Favorite Villain: (Mine is same as my least fav character)

Favorite Duo: (Mine is DISASTER TWINS)

Favorite Ship: (None tbh)

2 reasons why you like Rottmnt :3: (Mine is because it's a genuinely funny show, the humor in it is great, and the characters are so well done.)

Your tags: (Mine: @donniecrazy20, @geese-ball, @mycomars, @tonystarkwasrobbed, @ihateitallsomerandomguy, @yourlocalmia, @sockkllyy, @strawberryswirl4321)

[myokk]

fast sketch of my Imelda oneshot🫶💓

remembering the snow

Word count: 3.300

Rating: G/T I don’t get the difference 🧍‍♀️

Imelda Reyes has never been one to do things by halves.

Her mother always talked about the circumstances of her birth with pride: Imelda came quickly as if she were eager to get out and see the world already, screaming even before she had fully left her mother's womb, determined to leave an indelible mark on the world.

The women in their village who had assisted the birth crossed themselves, chattering to each other in quick, soft, beautiful Spanish staccato about the baby who was already unlike any they had ever seen before. Strong and healthy and beautiful, her deep brown eyes already taking in her surroundings and watching them solemnly moments after her arrival.

Her father always talked about the circumstances of her childhood: running wild and free, flying before she could walk (a source of great pride), his little shadow who peppered him with endless questions about the world. He always brought her along to his work meetings much to everyone's delight; she was with him when he was offered the enviable position of Spanish Diplomat to the British Ministry of Magic.

At the age of five, they left the beautiful sleepy village where time hadn't seemed to exist. Imelda still dreams of long, hot, dusty days playing under the shade of orange trees, going to the market every two days with her mother draped in their finest silks, sleeping and lying around during the hottest part of the day, only leaving their house once the sun left its highest point and was about to disappear behind the mountains.

The older women in the village doted on her. If she thinks hard, she can recall their beautiful, wavering voices calling out to her as she raced past them: 'ten cuidado, cariño, te vas a mancar', 'ven aquí, cielo, te quiero ver la cara tan bonita', 'mira cómo se está creciendo, se nota que va a ser una belleza de mayor'...voices filled with comfort and love. She never knew anything different then.

She's their only child. Her mother was always brushing her hair and humming, trying to get her to sit still and listen to her endless fairy tales as the sun bore down on them; her father, treating Imelda like the son he had always wished for but accepting and loving her all the same. Sometimes, her mother would let her out of the house before the sun became too strong and they would fly around the mountains and be free free free.

Arriving to Edinburgh at the age of five, Imelda hadn't even realized she didn't speak the same language as the other children around her. As with everything else, she jumped in headfirst. Her mother always jokes that she became fluent in English the second she stepped foot on Scottish soil. To Imelda, it does seem that way. She can't ever remember not speaking in the soft Scottish burr, reminiscent of the soft Spanish she had left behind and still spoke at home.

As a child, she never had problems forging relationships with whoever was around her. She was brash and inquisitive and irresistible, taking charge wherever she went. The other children flocked around her, hanging on to her every word.

It changed, though, when her mother got her cough. It started out harmless enough, a slight cough and headache before bed each night. When her mother woke up every morning, she would be fine. But going to bed early changed to going to bed even earlier and earlier until it was time to accept what the three of them were steadfastly ignoring: she was getting worse.

Imelda was nine. She remembers her mother drying her tears with gentle, soft hands, caressing her cheeks and whispering to her that it would be fine. That she wasn't gone yet: they still had time.

'No pasa nada, mi amor. Siempre estaré contigo.'

At Hogwarts, things changed even more. She was a Slytherin and proud of it, but she never quite fit in with her classmates. She wasn't one of them, hadn't grown up with them, and they made sure she knew it. Gone were the days of running wild: she turned her single-minded determination to her studies and quidditch and found herself excelling at everything she put her mind to. It all came easily to her and she had no time for anyone who could distract her.

She wasn't a complete loner. She had her quidditch teammates, her partners in various classes, but nobody she hung out with outside of classes. She always studied alone, learned alone, trained alone.

(Of course, the picture she paints to her father in owls home is much different. He has enough on his mind - a daughter struggling to make friends is a non-issue as far as Imelda is concerned. And besides: she's fine.)

Imelda was quite content with the way things were working out for her. She would never admit if she was lonely or not, and enjoyed every part of her life. Until her fifth year, when everything began to change. Gone were her rigid schedules and studying alone and discipline. A new girl was sorted into Slytherin and Imelda found she didn't hate the girl's company. The two of them laugh together at night while they braid each others' hair, Imelda teaches her Spanish, and they have started to study together.

The new student drags her around Hogwarts and Imelda finds herself actually enjoying herself and enjoying spending time with the classmates she’s spent so many years ignoring.

  This is when she meets Poppy Sweeting.

Well...Poppy swears that they met ages ago, during their first year when they were partnered together in Potions. Imelda has no recollection - that whole year was a blur - it was the year her mother succumbed to her illness - so she has to take Poppy's word for it.

She finds herself with friends for the first time in a long time. But, when the new student is running off with Sebastian doing Merlin-knows-what, things that Imelda definitely does not want to be a part of, she still finds herself seeking Poppy's company.

Poppy is sweet and fun and introverted in a way that Imelda finds familiar and comfortable: whereas Imelda turns to her studies and quidditch, Poppy often opts to spend time more time with beasts than humans. But there's something endearing about her earnestness and Imelda starts to find herself craving Poppy's calm company.

She always knows what to say when Imelda finds herself getting worked up over nothing.

  On the train home for the winter holidays, as Imelda is striding down the long corridor in search of an empty cabin where she can read and concoct fail-proof quidditch tactics, Poppy calls her over to her carriage and asks Imelda to keep her company. She only needs to ask once. There's an unfamiliar fluttering in Imelda's stomach as she sits across from Poppy and the other girl beams at her but it's...well. It's not altogether unpleasant. They play exploding snap and exchange book recommendations and laugh together and...well, if Imelda's knee brushes against Poppy's occasionally or their fingers linger as they exchange essays to look over...

She can't be blamed, can she?

A letter from Poppy arrives over the break. At the sight of Poppy's small brown owl tapping the window with the letter in its beak, Imelda's heart starts racing and she runs over to the bird, grinning like a fool, but she pauses before opening it. Her fingers tremble as they hover over the wax seal.

Imelda's father is largely absent these days, a shadow of the man she had grown up with. She's noticed the difference over the summer too, of course, but the winter always feels different. More desolate; more harsh. They're nearing the four-year anniversary of her mother's death. It's impossible to ignore the fact that losing his wife has damaged his soul irreparably, and Imelda's seeing first-hand what being deeply in love can do to a person.

Maybe she'll put the letter aside and read it tomorrow.

Tomorrow bleeds into the next day turns into one week and before she can blink the bleak winter vacation with her father has ended and she's heading back to Hogwarts.

On the train, she walks past Poppy: the two of them make eye contact but Poppy flushes and looks out the window, tucking her honey-colored hair behind her ear and Imelda moves on to the next empty carriage. She pulls out some parchment and works on revising her Charms essay. It's for the best, anyway, she tells herself. For the best that she doesn't have any distractions. Their O.W.L.s are coming up and she's determined to get an O in every subject.

  The month of January goes by in a flash. Between the insane quidditch schedule she's concocted for her team and the study sessions in the library, she keeps herself busy. The new fifth-year, her first real friend, starts to show concern for Imelda, gently trying to ask her what's going on as they braid each others' hair before bed.

Imelda doesn't want to bother her, though.

(She doesn't truly know what's the matter, anyways.)

She resolves to do a better job with keeping her emotions in check - her friend has enough on her plate, and Imelda doesn't want her to have to worry over something that's not even a problem in the first place.

She's fine.

Out of the corner of her eye in the classes she shares with Poppy, Imelda notices that she doesn't look as happy as she normally does. Her face is more pale and withdrawn; whenever Imelda's eyes flicker to her, her own gaze darts away.

  With the beginning of February come a lot of blizzards, and they make Imelda remember the first time she saw snow.

Her parents always started the story telling her that she cried and cried and cried.

They had both run over to her, covering her with warm hugs and kisses, the tiny family huddled together in this foreign place where the people looked and spoke differently, where nothing was the same and she missed the old women who would give her mazapanes whenever she ran by, missed the tiny clouds of dust that would puff up as she ran and the hazy mountains in the distance and the hot, hot sun beating down while she played in the shade of the orange trees while her mother slept away the heat. Pulling her mittened hands off of her tear-stained face and telling her 'mira cariño, mira qué bonita es la nieve. Tócala, ya verás que no pasa nada...estamos aquí contigo...'

Her tears had soon dried and she was laughing and playing in the snow and she couldn't even remember what had made her so sad in the first place.

Imelda's sad now as she stares out the window.

Her mother isn't there anymore. She has no one to turn to in this self-imposed exile.

Four years ago today.

She's hidden herself away in an alcove, curled up, arms wrapped around her knees watching the snow swirling out the window. She canceled quidditch practice today due to the storm, much to everyone's surprise. Just last week, she had forced them to train in the freezing rain and today's snowfall is mild in comparison. But...today she doesn't have the energy. She's spent so much effort pretending that everything's fine when it's not and now she's sad and alone and confused.

She doesn't hear Poppy when she comes near.

The other girl crowds into Imelda's space, pressing against her in the alcove. The two face each other, and Poppy brings a gentle hand up to Imelda's face to brush away tears she hadn't even realized were falling.

"What -" Imelda starts saying, but a fresh sob chokes her and she can't. Poppy leans forward and wraps her arms around Imelda, pulling her into a close embrace. Imelda feels everything crumbling around her and she sobs into Poppy's shoulder - Poppy whispering reassurances and smoothing her hair, cradling Imelda as she cries and cries and cries.

They don't leave the alcove for another hour, almost staying out after curfew.

  Imelda is subdued the next few days. The snow continues to fall until the whole castle looks like it's straight from one of the fairy tales her mother used to tell her as she brushed her hair. Imelda shows up for meals, shows up for classes, shows up in the study group, but she feels like she's just going through the motions.

She can tell her friend is getting worried, but Imelda can't confide in her. Her friend does small gestures anyways because she understands: saving Imelda a seat in class, asking her about quidditch, saving her favorite muffins for her at breakfast.

Maybe she talked to Sebastian about her worry because even he is being nicer than normal to Imelda, asking her if she wants to play wizarding chess with the two of them. Imelda doesn't really understand how or why they like playing the game so much - her friend is awful at it and Sebastian seems to enjoy the destruction and chaos more than actually strategizing. Even though Imelda hates the game - every move is painfully obvious and she can't understand how nobody else sees it like she does - maybe it would be nice to do something different.

Imelda freezes when they enter the Astronomy Tower to play: Poppy is there, waiting. For her. They haven't seen each other since she broke down humiliated and sobbing and she doesn't know what to do.

Sebastian looks between the two of them, brows furrowed, then leans down to their friend and whispers something in her ear. She nods and the two of them disappear, leaving Imelda and Poppy alone.

Poppy stands and Imelda can feel her heart start to hammer against her throat. Poppy walks forward slowly, only stopping when she's right in front of Imelda. When she speaks, her voice is high and sweet and Imelda realizes how much she missed her. "I-I'm sorry, I just didn't know how else I could talk to you. Will you come with me? I have something to show you."

Imelda nods mutely and Poppy takes her hand. They lace their fingers together and it's the first time - apart from a few days ago - that they have voluntarily touched each other. She feels Poppy's fingers tighten around hers and Imelda focuses on the feeling of soft knuckles under her thumb, but now...she's self-conscious for the first time about her quidditch-rough hands and maybe she should have listened to her friend when she tried to encourage Imelda to use some hand lotion.

Maybe Poppy will let go of her hand and leave in disgust.

But...Poppy doesn't do any of that. Every so often, she looks up at Imelda, smiling slightly. When they reach the Entrance Hall, she lets go of Imelda's hand and Imelda feels its loss with a pang.

Poppy opens the bag at her side and pulls out two huge yellow and black Hufflepuff scarves. As she's reaching up to wrap one around Imelda, she whispers: "sorry, I only have these. But yellow looks good on you."

Both of them flush and smile at each other and Imelda doesn't know how long they stand before Poppy grabs her hand again, making sure their fingers are laced, and then they are heading out.

Poppy looks more and more excited the closer they get to the Forbidden Forest, but Imelda's never set foot even remotely close to the forest, and she feels quite apprehensive at first. But, Poppy's excitement is exhilarating - Imelda can feel it rolling off of her in waves and despite herself, she begins to feel excited too. They still haven't spoken since leaving Hogwarts, but it's a comfortable silence. Imelda's glad for the scarf - their breath is puffing out in soft clouds as they breathe and it's quite cold - the freezing temperatures in Scottish winters are still something she's never quite gotten used to.

Their boots crunch through the snow-filled landscape - it's nearing dusk and the sky is turning a brilliant shade of orange and pink, but it gets obscured by the tree branches the further into the Forbidden Forest they venture, the golden light only showing in bursts now.

"Almost there," Poppy says breathlessly. She beams up at Imelda, whose breath catches at the sight, before turning back and pulling her faster and faster until they stop in a clearing. They've stopped in the middle, and Imelda looks around.

Here, they can actually see the sky and it is breathtaking in its beauty - the gnarled, naked trees around them twisting and reaching up as if they could try and grasp some of the beauty for themselves. The snow is perfectly smooth and untouched except for the footprints that the two of them have just left. Apart from that, the clearing is nondescript.

This is what Poppy had been so excited to show her?

Poppy gives no explanation for why she brought Imelda to the Forbidden Forest, but she's almost quivering in excitement - Imelda can feel the tension in the hand that's clutching hers tightly. The sun sets lower and lower, the two of them watching it as the colors around them start to fade and mute and then -

Poppy gasps in delight.

There -

A small, dancing, brilliant white light sparks to their left and disappears just as quickly.

"Look," Poppy whispers. Imelda glances over to her - she can barely make out her face in the dimming light, but Poppy seems to be glowing with happiness.

There - again -

More and more of the brilliant white lights appear, glowing and flickering on and off, and moving in almost a pattern, dancing around their heads. Imelda laughs as she watches the tiny creatures fly around them. It's magical and beautiful and -

"I found the snow sprite nest a few weeks ago, when the blizzards started, and I've been observing them since then. I...I wanted to show you and tell you about them the second I found out because I haven't stopped thinking about you but after...well, you know...I just wanted to cheer you up..."

Poppy trails off, looking uncertain when Imelda doesn't say anything in response.

She can't, even though she desperately wants to. Her mouth goes dry as she looks to the girl at her side, who has done all of this, for her.

Poppy looks impossibly lovely in the glow of the snow sprites, as they dance and spark around their heads in a beautiful waving pattern and Imelda doesn't even think as her hand goes to Poppy's cheek. Poppy stops rambling as she looks up into Imelda's eyes.

Then, before she can lose her nerve, Imelda leans forward and presses her lips to Poppy's. It's only the lightest of touches, but her heart is beating so quickly and Merlin, she can't believe she just did that. She quickly retreats, face flaming, but before she can get away Poppy reaches up to cup Imelda's cheeks with both hands and she pulls her forward, her mouth greedy, desperate, as they finally kiss.

When they finally pull away, breathing heavily as their foreheads rest against each other, Imelda can't help the huge smile that's threatening to split her face open. It mirrors the expression she sees on Poppy, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed and she is just so lovely that Imelda can't help but lean forward and capture her mouth again. Their lips mold to each other and it's the culmination of all of their stolen glances, touches, secret wishes.

Imelda Reyes has never been one to do things by halves, after all.

[strohller27]

Yes Hello to all my fellow Miss Lemon fans out there:

If you love her as much as I do, then 6.2 Hickory Dickory Dock is the episode for you

Now let us all just take a moment out of our busy day to bask in her glory:

That coat with those hats?? ICONIC she has such a flawless style

and this little scene where she's like 'this is just a quirk of Mr. Poirot's, don't worry about it' fellas help she's so cute

also HELP lads she took Poirot's comment about Inspector Japp's 'healthy appetite' way too literally!! LEMON SOLE! she's so funny aagh

Also she looks really damn good in burgundy wow

Also you know I hate the trope where guys tell ladies to take their glasses off and let their hair flow in the wind because they'd somehow be 'sexier' or whatever. That is just simply not true. Case in point: Look at how cute Miss Lemon is in her glasses!!

Just. Everyone just. Look at my favourite girl. Look at her!!! Her filing system is perfect! Her filing system could kick your ass!!!

[bluebunnysart]

I did some Papercraft today 'cuz I saw someone else's Papercraft Miku and Teto and immediately wanted my own Negidrill to have on my desk at all times.

Link for Miku template

Link for Teto template

I didn't know a Neru one existed until AFTER I left the library (printed them out there 'cuz my at-home printer sucks) so I think I'll try to make Neru sometime to complete Triple Baka.

Link for Neru template (and many others)

THIS tutorial was super helpful for making Miku but Teto didn't have one. Therefore I messed up her drills a little at first but I'm just glad that she's complete and not a disaster, hahaha. xD

This is my first time making Papercraft characters and it's fun. Unfortunately Miku and Teto's heads easily fall off so there's no way I can do stop motion animation with them or anything or move them around too much, but I enjoyed this. They're cute. ^^

Their arms being outstretched like that was a total accident and how the paper itself wanted to bend, so I took the opportunity to make them touch hands lmao. They probably can't get any closer than that without dying (their heads falling off) though LOL. Idk what else to pose them doing but they'll definitely chill on my desk full-time I think.

Btw Mesmerizer Papercraft definitely exists and I even saw "Who Knows" Teto, and someone also made SV Teto. So if I'm motivated I might print those out and build them too. ^^ (You should try it. It takes like an hour or more per character and after the first time, it's straightforward to do.)

[britneyshakespeare]

I can't believe the Younger Brother (1689) by Aphra Behn has the only one bed trope

[sonknuxadow]

I believe that IF Silver IS a descendent of Sonic/Shadow/Amy/anyone else, he's a descendent via adoption because the only Sonic character that I accept having kids is Vanilla.

honestly part of the reason im not a fan of the ideas of silver being a descendant of other characters we already know is because i just dont see why its necessary for them to be related ..? idk i just dont think anything that could be gained from him being shadows kid or sonics descendant or whatever is worth losing part of whats already compelling about silver and also making things super confusing. plus none of the pairings of already existing characters people have suggested as silvers bio parents make any sense, usually because its impossible from a timeline perspective but also because theyre always picking characters who would NOT have kids either in general or with the specific people theyre being paired with

[quietwingsinthesky]

Do you think jacob could handle it if evie met immortal!ezio or do you think he'd just immediately start trying to fistfight ezio out of jealousy

NO NO IVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS and here's the thing here's the thing. the thing is. it's all well and good to have a crush on ezio when he's this famous assassin of the past who reformed the brotherhood and did all this stuff and was notably hot. and then it's a whole other thing for evie to have to actually meet him and realize Oh God He Acts Like Jacob. which, like, granted, okay, ezio does act less like that as he gets older because with age comes wisdom and all, but he and jacob are very much still two himbos of a kind, and i think evie would be having the worst-best day of her life about it.

which makes it even funnier to me if jacob gets jealous of him. because suddenly not only is ezio some dead brotherhood mentor evie has a crush on, he's alive and he's a little like jacob but calmer, and wiser, and smoother, and evie likes him, maybe even more than she did as a fantasy she had in her head, which means there must be alarm bells going off in jacob's head about evie replacing him with The Better Version Of Him. (she would not. but jacob has issues. and evie is mean <3 she would not help him out if she thought he was just being petty and jealous rather than actually insecure.)

[greyedian]

ok ok fuck it I'm gonna try to be brave and actually work on Sterling and Gale's whole uhhhh situation bc I started a new bg3 run with my friend so now they're back occupying my brain. Again. Sooo... *carefully opens document*

[fail-front-door]

Bading ding! Ding ding! Bading!

[collectedbooks]

i've poked around and added a slightly canon-divergent season 2 verses to my about / verses page!

[metaldevilll]

ive been hanging on to that trandgebdna deram thought in my brained because like. ever since i gave deuman deram two small horns instead of one ITS BEEN MAKING SO MUCH SENSE!!!!!

[rueclfer]

heyy there can i request some more touya headcannons? i really enjoy your way of picturing him because it’s just so canon and he’s kinda a lovely dick y’know. whatever comes to ur mind. thank u so much!!

weelll since you gave me so much freedom here r some touya as a housemate hcs ANNDD a moodboard bc i enjoy the visualization <3 since we talked abt this the other day too !! (i yapped so hard here sry sry this is so indulgent)

bakugou's and sero's version too hehe

housemates // touya todoroki

touya hates the idea of living with a complete stranger or one of his siblings, so what other option does he have other than forcing his best friend (crush) on a lease with him?

the newfound freedom definitely puts him on his ass for a few weeks. barely sleeps. eats like shit. trash is scattered everywhere. several unpacked boxes. it stays like this until fuyumi comes over to check our the place and gives you two a hard scolding to get your shit together.

more often than not, you'd end up waking up on the couch with your legs sprawled out across his lap and his upper half leaned over the couch arm rest in deep sleep. staying up so late was probably one of his favorite things about living together. being able to talk as loud as you wanted, watch movies late into the night, look over the city from your balcony- he found solitude in existing with you.

if he wasn't already codependent before moving in together, just know his ass will be GLUED TO YOU. you'd be doing work in your room and he'd barge in and flop down on your bed without a word. maybe he'd gotten a bit too comfortable.

if he's feeling extra annoying that day, he'd bring in his guitar and amp and keep asking you to rate his riffs until you entirely give up on work and give him some attention.

is it obvious his love language is quality time? not only that, gift giving too. he's like a fucking crow.

"look what i found. it's a rock. for you."

makes him soooo giddy to see your display of the rocks, feathers, and dried up flowers he picked up for you on his walk. sometimes you'd come home and there'd be a new addition to the ever growing collection.

ofc you'd return the energy in a different way. touya will not cook for himself. ever. he eats like shit as an internal rebellion against the healthy diet he was forced upon as a kid, but you will not allow that boy to rot himself from the inside out!! he can expect several tupperwares of portioned out meals with notes attached to the lids if you know he'd be home all day by himself.

"to t <3. if you don't eat every last bite i'll find out and it'll hurt my feelings and i might combust into flames or something idk don't risk it!"

i can also imagine him holding back tears whenever you ever come into his room to hand him a bowl of cut up fruit. the first time you do it he'd be speechless like jaw dropped taken aback. has he ever felt love like this??? i think not.

despite all of the kind gestures, he's still touya todoroki. hides your keys if you annoyed him that morning by rushing him in the bathroom and makes you a few minutes late to class/work. chronic door slammer. pisses with the door wide open. no sense of privacy and do not gaf to knock. always locking himself out -> i feel strongly about this like imagine coming home after a long day and he's sitting out in the hallway with a pouty face waiting for you hehehe.

i don't think he'd realize this crush until a few months after you've moved in together. how could he when you two practically already act and bicker like an old married couple?

yes- peanut butter belongs in the fridge. no- it doesn't. stop leaving your socks everywhere. you forget to flush again. stop slamming the doors. you ate my chips, didn't you? don't lie. did you really need to put the mugs up that high? (he does it on purpose, and tightens the lid to every jar too.)

it wasn't until one late evening when he comes home to find you frantically mixing a doughy substance in a large metal bowl. you never bake, but you have your own oven now, so why not?

"god, finally. help me, my arms hurt." you groan, shoving the bowl in his hands. "i think i fucked up."

he sees the hurricane aftermath of your kitchen- flour everywhere, egg shells left on the counter, every single jar imaginable opened and scattered around. he could be teasing you about the mess, but god you looked so beautiful with that stupid wrinkle in between your eyebrows as you read over the recipe, and the streaks of flour across your pant leg from wiping your hands, and the way you swipe away the stray pieces of hair falling in your face with the back of your hand- oh fuck.

he thinks he's falling in love with you.

he swallows it, but he starts acting kinda weird around the apartment.

like he's.... avoiding you?

living with his best friend whom he just so happens to develop a crush for, would eat him alive. he locks himself in his room and chain smoke out his window while he's stressing the fuck out. he told you he'd stop smoking, but he's sure you'd understand the need for it right now. he hopes you can't smell it.

i also think he'd be a stress cleaner lmaaoo he cannot sit still with his thoughts for too long, so the headphones are ON and blasting and he'll definitely use that as a scapegoat + the loud ass vacuum for ignoring you if you try to talk to him while he's on this cleaning frenzy.

you think he's sick LMAO imagine the pain he feels when you come knocking on his door and calling out that you're leaving a bowl of soup and cough medicine outside his door for him. he doesn't tell you that yeah he's sick but *not in that way*

lovesick. that boy is lovesick!!!!!!

how do you avoid your housemate while you figure out how to control your feelings?

he confesses via note that he leaves on the kitchen counter. really simple tbh nothing too extravagant, but he signs off by telling you that he's staying crashing at fuyumi's for a couple days.

you text him a string of obscenities to get his ass back home and he does (he's scared of you).

he CAANNOOTT talk about his feelings in an adult way. he is sitting on the complete opposite side of the couch, twiddling his thumbs, and staring down at his feet like a child while you reread his confession note out loud to him. you find his discomfort hilarious but endearing. he finds you unbearably insufferable.

jesus the amount of times in that apartment where he would storm off to his room whenever you two got in an argument or you pissed him off...old habits die hard, you guess, because this isn't the todoroki household anymore and you aren't scared to lose that deposit and kick a door down.

once you corner him and get him to open up about his feelings the air in the room suddenly shift!! the clouds are clearing and the sun is shining woooowww look at what good communication can do.

sharing an apartment with your BOYFRIEND is no different than sharing one with your best friend. i think he'd like to keep your separate bedrooms to have your own space, but you'll rarely sleep apart.

so! many! new! traditions!

helping him dye his hair on the first saturday of every month. biweekly horror movie marathons. counting the communal piggy bank ever couple months. trying new takeout spots until you find THE spot for every category- chinese, pizza, ramen, etc etc.

and finally, an everlasting mark on your first apartment together: a small carved out heart around your initials left on the inner corner of a kitchen cabinet done with his pocket knife on a random weekday evening while you two are cooking dinner together.

-

touya tag: @moonchild701 @kaldurahms-lover @themultifandomgirl @devilslittlehelper @porusuniverse @ratatellie @katbug37 @ggriwm

[magic-shop-stories]

Hiii!!! Could I request Namjoon x f!reader boyfriend head-canons like how you did the Yoongi ones?? Also, preferably with a reader who’s American? But you can totally do whatever!!! Ty!!!

💌 Reply:

I really wanted to write this for all the members, so thank you for requesting it... I hope it's what you wanted, tho I struggled a lot this time, I didnt want it to be too much like Yoongis but I think they wouldn't be THAT different in some points so idk... hope you'll enjoy reading xo - c -

BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS

↳ NAMJOON (RM) × FEM!READER

~ CONTENT WARNING FOR SECOND PART OF THE POST ~ MATURE THEMES | (extra warning in the post)

Possessive behavior

Suggestive themes

Mild NSFW references (kissing, intimacy)

Jealousy Proceed mindfully!

DAILY RHYTHM

Mornings

Early Riser

Slow Starter

awake by 6:30 AM

not by choice

his brain won’t shut off

you find him sprawled on the couch

hair mussed

he's scribbling poetry in a moleskine

glasses slide down his nose

he mutters

“Do you think Thoreau would’ve liked Spotify playlists?”

Coffee Catastrophe

brews matcha lattes

spills half the whisked foam trying to carry it to you

“It’s… abstract art,” 

wiping green splatters off the counter

leaves a sticky note: 

“Compensation latte en route. Don’t judge me.”

Breakfast Buffet

creates a fusion spread:

avocado toast with gochujang drizzle strawberry Pop-Tarts, sliced persimmons

“It’s a metaphor,”  “Sweet, spicy, existential.”

Post-Wakeup Rituals

Study Sessions

his “studio” is a sunlit corner cluttered with art books, bonsai clippings, and a half-built LEGO Guggenheim

you perch on the arm of his chair

he pulls you into his lap without looking up from his sketchpad

“Your elbow’s on my Hegel annotations,”

grumbles, but lets you stay

Tug-of-War

if you try to leave, he hooks a finger in your belt loop

“Wait; listen to this haiku about cicadas.” 

recites it solemnly

“…It’s about us. Maybe.”

Clumsy Affection

reaches for a high-five

misses, and accidentally knocks over his succulent

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” 

you sigh

he repots it with dirt-smudged hands

“Imperfection is art. Like us.”

Midday Moments

Park Philosopher

drags you to Han River

rambling about “the duality of ducks” 

tossing breadcrumbs grain kernels

you nap under a tree

he sketches you with a pocket watercolor set

“You’re my Starry Night...” 

later showing you a blotchy but earnest portrait

Language Exchange

you teach him your slang

“Yeet is a verb, noun, and lifestyle”

he corrects your Korean tones

"Saranghae isn’t a whisper, it’s a promise...” 

voice low enough to make you drop your iced coffee

Nighttime Nuances

Pre-Bed Brain Dump

reads Walden aloud until 1 AM

pausing to rant about capitalism

“Thoreau was a hypocrite but right... wait, did you just snore?”

Sleeping Style

starfishes across 75% of the bed

one arm slung over your waist

“You’re my… multiverse…” 

snores lightly

you kick his shin = he rolls over

taking the sheets hostage

KEY DIALOGUE

when you nag him to hydrate:

“You’re worse than my ARMY Bomb manual.” 

sighs

handing you a reusable water bottle

catch him nodding off mid-lecture about climate change:

“I’m not… tired. I’m processing.”

mumbles, glasses askew

then faceplanting into his copy of Braiding Sweetgrass

his version of “I miss you”:

“Your absence disrupts my entropy.” 

translates to: “Come cuddle before I combust.”

COMMUNICATION

TEXTING STYLE

7 AM: screenshot of the sunrise

“Thoreau was right. Also, buy almond milk.”

3 PM: voice note of him beatboxing over a Langston Hughes poem

caption: “New mixtape: Existential Crisis & Chill.”

Midnight: 

“The moon’s waxing gibbous. Come stargaze. P.S. I made hot chocolate...”

Notes

scribbles Whitman quotes on museum tickets

leaves one in your coat: 

“We were together. I forget the rest... Or I won’t.”

finds your grocery list

adds “Admiration (1 lifetime supply)” at the bottom

PET NAMES

Public:

“Professor” 

when you out-debate him

“Okay, Professor, explain TikTok to me again.”

“Sunflower” at the farmer’s market

“Because you’re tall, bright, and… rooted.” 

blushes at his own metaphor

Private:

“내 작은 폭풍” (My little storm) 

when you’re angry

“Your rage is… awe-inspiring. Also, please stop throwing socks.” “Moonchild” 

whispered during late-night drives

“You glow even when the world’s dark.”

CURSING

Worried Curses

you come home late?

he’s pacing

wearing mismatched socks

“씨발… I Googled ‘American urban crime rates’ and now you’re here?!” 

crushes you in a hug

“Never do that again. Unless… it’s for tacos.”

sees you struggling with IKEA instructions

“젠장, capitalism wins again.” 

builds the shelf upside-down but insists it’s “postmodern.”

Flustered Curses

wear that dress

he knocks over his bonsai

“…God.” 

avoids eye contact

“It’s not fair. You’re a distraction.”

MUTTERINGS (UNFILTERED & UNBOTTLED)

Annoyed Affection

“Why are you so… effortlessly disruptive?” 

when you reorganize his bookshelves by color

“This is chaos. Beautiful chaos.”

steal his fries

he gasps

“This is why empires fall.” 

slides the plate closer to you

Sleep-Soft Confessions

half-asleep, nuzzling your neck

“Your thoughts taste like honey.” 

next morning: 

“Did I say that out loud? Pretend I didn’t.”

after nightmares: 

“Stay. Please. You’re my… sine qua non.”

doesn’t explain it

doesn’t need to

HIDDEN POETRY (FOR YOUR EARS ONLY)

Lyric Leaks

overhear him humming a melody while washing dishes

later, find a note: 

“Your voice in the morning... key of G, tempo adagio.”

Satoori Slips

stress unlocks rural roots

after a long day, he sighs:

“나 죽겠다… (I’m dying…) But your smile is CPR.”

Artistic Vulnerability

leaves a watercolor of your hands in his studio

caption: “These built my universe.”

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER

Overprotective Tendencies

mention a creepy DM?

next day, he gifts you a leather-bound journal titled “Digital Detox: A Poet’s Guide to Privacy.” 

inside, he’s handwritten firewall tips in calligraphy

“Knowledge is armor. Also, I enabled two-factor authentication.”

Passive-Aggressive Love

complain about slow Wi-Fi?

builds a DIY bookshelf router

cites its design in a TED Talk

“It’s a metaphor… for connection.”

Services

you’re sick?

attempts chicken noodle soup but confuses cumin with cinnamon

“It’s… experimental fusion cuisine.” 

orders pho instead and blames the app

“The algorithm chose this. Don’t hate me.”

Jetlag Rescue

after your flight from the U.S., he stocks the fridge with Dr Pepper and kale smoothies

“Balanced electrolytes… or something.”

VULNERABLE MOMENTS (PHILOSOPHER’S EDITION)

When You’re Hurt

sees you crying over homesickness

recites Mary Oliver until you’re laughing through tears

“You don’t have to be good… but you do have to let me hug you.”

Post-Fight Peace Offering

leaves a dog-eared copy of “The Alchemist” on your pillow

highlighted line: 

“Wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.”  sticky note: “You’re my treasure. Even when you’re mad.”

Drunk Truths

tipsy on soju

traces the outline of your face

“Your smile… it’s like a haiku. Simple. Perfect. Destroys me.”

ask him to explain

"Just… let me live here.”

UNEXPECTED SOFTNESS

Period Protocol

tracks your cycle via moon phases

“Lunar energy affects us all.” 

leaves dark chocolate and a hot water bottle shaped like Totoro

“Science and Studio Ghibli. Optimal healing.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over burnt cookies

bakes a “deconstructed s’more” (graham crackers, Hershey’s, lighter)

“It’s abstract. Like Rothko.”

Cultural Comforts

wears your college hoodie for a week (way too small)

“It smells like you. And… ranch dressing?” 

secretly buys a duplicate to avoid giving it back

FIERCE LOVE

Defending Your Honor

Karen mocks your Korean accent?

steps in, voice calm but firm

“Language is a living art. Hers is a masterpiece.” 

later, he rage-paints a canvas

titled “Ignorance in Primary Colors.”

Sacrifices

attends a crowded frat party to meet your friends

smiles through “Beer Pong 101” 

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… but this is hell.”

UNEXPECTED VULNERABILITY

Period Protocol

leaves a care package:

organic tea, a heated blanket, and a handwritten “Period Playlist” (featuring Mitski and BTS’s “Zero O’Clock”)

“Pain is temporary. My love? Thermodynamically infinite.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over a failed work project?

recites “Still I Rise” while kneading your shoulders

“You’re Maya Angelou in Prada. Now let’s rise… to order takeout.”

COLD FRONT

Silent Treatment

hurt?

he buries himself in Nietzsche

texts: “When you stare into the abyss… it’s just me waiting for you to apologize.”

Playful Insults Gone Wrong

jokes about his “dad sneakers.” 

buys neon Yeezys and wears them to a museum

“Aesthetic rebellion. Now suffer with me.”

NEGLECTED NIGHTS

Overwork Blinders

disappears for days writing his mixtape

returns with a bonsai tree 

“It’s a metaphor. Needs patience… like us.”

Breaking Point:

unplug his laptop mid-session

he fumes: “Art isn’t a hobby...it’s my lungs!” 

returns at dawn with a handwritten poem: 

“Apologies in iambic pentameter. Forgive me?”

GIFTS

Philosophical Pampering

gifts you a first-edition copy of "Leaves of Grass" with annotations in the margins

“Page 32; Whitman’s wrong. You’re the answer to the universe.”

Eco-Warrior Love

buys noise-canceling headphones made from recycled ocean plastic

“Now you can ignore the world and save it.”

PRETENDS TO HATE SHOPPING (BUT LOVES BOOKSTORES)

Reluctant Mule

drag him to a flea market

complains about “consumerist dystopias” 

but buys a vintage globe to “track our future travels”

carries your tote bag like a badge of honor

“This is not a metaphor. My arms hurt.”

Secret Splurges

catches you eyeing a $500 art print of Georgia O’Keeffe’s “Black Iris”

returns with a bootleg version he painted himself

“Mine’s better. It has… soul.”

Fashion Critic (Liar)

try on a prairie dress

“You look like a Laura Ingalls Wilder reboot.” 

later orders it

HATES WHEN YOU GET DRUNK

(BUT LOVES YOUR HONESTY)

Philosophical Guardian

finds you tipsy at a party

debating “the existential merit of TikTok” with Jungkook

sweeps you over his shoulder

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… starting with your liquor intake.”

Morning-After Mercies

wakes you with avocado toast and a "matcha IV drip"

“Electrolytes and antioxidants. Also, I Googled hangover cures in MLA format.”

Secret Worry

texts your college bestie and Jungkook: 

“Keep her at 2 margaritas. Third one turns her into a teen.”

MARRIAGE (POETIC AMBUSH)

Fight

he skips a wedding expo

call him a “commitment-phobe”

snaps: “Marriage is a capitalist construct!” 

you retaliate: “Then why’d you bookmark eco-friendly ring blogs?!”

Ring

minimalist band

engraved with coordinates to the Han River bench where he first said “I love you”

hides it in his Walden copy

find it mid-rant about “transcendentalist proposals”

Proposal

after a fight about his workaholism

projects a poem onto your apartment wall: 

“Forever is a fractal. Let’s get lost in the pattern.” 

“Marry me. Or let’s debate it over kombucha.”

FATHERHOOD

(THE GREAT PHILOSOPHICAL CRISIS)

Panic

mention kids?

he freezes, spilling matcha on his “I Heart NY” shirt

“…We killed a cactus. A cactus.” 

buys a fern named “Baby Freud”

it thrives

he's trying extra hard (bc he secretly really really really wants to)

Test Run

volunteers at an orphanage to read “The Little Prince”

returns with a kid’s crayon drawing

titled “Namjoon Hyung is Weird”

frames it

“Art is truth.”

Revelation

catches you watching a video of him teaching ARMYs to recycle

a toddler comments: “He’s pretty… for a teacher.” 

he mutes it, cheeks pink

“…She’s not wrong.”

ARGUMENTS & FEARS

Fight

you suggest naming your son “Thoreau”

chokes on his kimchi

“We’re not naming a human after a guy who hated people!” 

compromises with “Jun”

“It means truth. And I picked it.”

Fear

finds him researching “How to Raise a Feminist Son” at 3 AM

slams the laptop

“…But what if I’m worse? What if I lecture him about Hegel?”

THE ARRIVAL

Pregnancy

reads “The Giving Tree” to your belly every night

records the kicks as a lo-fi beat titled “Kicks of Hope”.

Birth Day

holds your hand while reciting Rumi

passes out when the doctor says “push”

wakes up sobbing

“You’re my supernova.”

First Night Home

swaddles your daughter in a BTS-themed blanket

texts the group chat:

“She has her eyes. And my inability to shut up.” 

sends a voice memo of her coos over a Miles Davis sample

~ CONTENT WARNING ~

MINORS DNI | NSFW | SPICY INTIMACY/PHYSICALITY AHEAD

contains: possessive themes, sensual language, suggestive scenarios, jealousy, explicit intimacy/kissing,suggestive content, kink mentions (marking, power dynamics), body worship

PHYSICALITY & ARTISTIC AFFECTION

Protective Poise

Public Gestures

his hands are gentle but intentional

but they linger

thumb brushing the nape of your neck 

palm resting on the small of your back at gallery openings

fingers brushing yours as he passes you a book

palm sliding possessively down your spine

whisper: “That Picasso? Overrated. You’re the masterpiece.”

he’s less restrained at home

pulls you into impromptu slow dances in the kitchen

humming off-key to “Trivia: Love” while swaying

pins you against his bookshelf, philosophy tomes digging into your back

“Tell me I’m wrong."

lips grazing your earlobe: "Tell me Rothko’s red isn’t the same shade as your mouth.”

Clumsy Cuddles

tries to lift you for a spin

trips over the rug, and lands you both on the couch/bed

“Gravity’s a social construct anyway.” 

cheeks pink

instead of apologizing, he hovers above you

glasses askew

“Fate intervened. Now...”

Intellectual Rivalry (Jealousy, Joon-Style)

overhears a philosophy major flirting with you at a café

interrupts with a “casual” debate on Kant’s ethics

later, buys you first-edition Thoreau

“Just thought you’d appreciate… deeper conversations.”

Subtle Flex

shows up to your work event in a tailored suit

glasses perched low

“Oh, this old thing? Just felt like… elevating the dress code.”

CONTEMPLATIVE GAZES

Staring (But Make It Deep)

watches you sketch in the park

eyes tracking the way your brow furrows

“Your creativity… it’s like watching a storm form.”  “That’s your third metaphor today.”  he grins “I’m just getting started.”

Staring (But Make It Dangerous)

watches you slip into his oversized Harvard hoodie

eyes darkening as the fabric drapes off one shoulder

rasps: “You’re… violating the dress code.” then closes his laptop: “And I’m failing to care.”

Late-Night Honesty

post-museum date, he traces the curve of your collarbone with a pen cap 

“Your body’s a gallery. Every scar, every freckle... curated perfection.” 

kisses your shoulder

loosens his tie

voice a velvet rumble

“That dress should be illegal. You should be illegal.” traces the strap of your lingerie: "Sylvia Plath wrote about this, didn’t she? I am, I am, I am… yours.”

SECRETLY LOVES YOUR CONFIDENCE (BUT WILL WRITE A SONNET ABOUT IT)

Artful Admiration

Backhanded Praise

wear a bold, avant-garde outfit?

“You’re… a walking Dadaist exhibit.” 

later sketches you in charcoal

captioning it “Chaos Theory: Personified.”

wear a leather trench coat to his speech?

“You’re deconstructing the male gaze. Literally.”

sketches you, nude

Possessive Glances

spots a stranger eyeing you at a poetry slam

slides his arm around your waist

loudly debating “the hegemony of Western canon” until they flee

Possessive Academia

grad student flirts with you at a library?

he accidentally knocks over a stack of Derrida books

pulls you into a secluded aisle

“Let me… re-shelve your priorities.”

BEDROOM PHILOSOPHY

Foreplay (But Make It Existential)

reads Foucault aloud

voice dipping lower with every page

“Power is knowledge… and I know what you’re thinking.” 

slides his glasses off, eyes locked on yours

“Prove me wrong.”

prefers lights dim

Miles Davis on vinyl

whisper-reads Rilke as you straddle his lap

“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.” 

hands grip your hips

“Still… focus, okay?”

Aftercare

braids your hair while dissecting the symbolism in “The Great Gatsby.” 

“Daisy’s voice is full of money… but yours? Full of… everything.”

TOUCH

Electric Prelude

hands speak in sonnets

calloused fingertips skimming your jawline

like a quill drafting verses

thumb brushing your bottom lip as if memorizing its shape for a poem

maps your skin like a cartographer charting undiscovered terrain

lingering at pulse points (wrist, throat, inner thigh) to sync his heartbeat with yours

“Your body’s a library,” “Let me… read you.”

Possessive Anchors

palm splayed against your lower back

pressing you closer until his chest meets yours

fingers tangled in your hair

tugging just enough to tilt your head for a kiss that starts as a whisper and ends as a manifesto

“You’re my magnum opus...”

breathes heavy, lips grazing your earlobe

“And I’m… revising.”

Aftercare Rituals

post-passion, he traces constellations on your hip with a philosopher’s precision

touch lingers on scars, birthmarks, the curve of your waist

pulls you into his chest

reciting Whitman into your hair

“We were together… I forget the rest.”

KISSES

Slow Ignition

starts with closed-mouth presses to your temple, knuckles, the corner of your lips

testing, teasing

when you gasp, he smirks

nipping your lower lip

“Impatient. Inelegant. Perfect.”

he's deep but controlled

Hidden Softness

after fights, his kisses are apologetic

chaste pecks to your eyelids, nose, scars on your knee/elbows

“Sorry… sorry…” - breathed like a prayer

leaves a haiku on your pillow: 

“Pride is a shadow / Your warmth is the sun / Forgive me.”

PACE

Deliberate Crescendo

prefers slow, maddening build-up

undresses you like unwrapping a first-edition novel

mouth exploring every chapter

= collarbones, ribs, the dip of your hips

taking forever before letting you fall apart

“You’ll take what I give you.” 

warns you at every whimper

eyes dark

“And I’ll give you… everything.”

Feral Surges

when jealousy strikes, he’s relentless

pins you against his studio wall

biting your shoulder as his hands roam

“Mine. Say it.” 

you whimper? he gentens

forehead pressed to yours

“Say it… please.”

POSITIONS

Scholar’s Missionary

your legs hooked over his shoulders

hands gripping the headboard for leverage

“Don’t hide,” he orders

he's watching your face unravel

“Let me… study you.”

Cowgirl Command (aka you're his "pro rider")

lets you take control

hands squeezing your hips

“Show me what you need.” 

the moment you falter, he flips you

"Thought so"

PREFERENCES

Lighting

pitch dark or very dim lights

pages of his journal scattered like rose petals

claims he “hates getting interrupted”

Soundtrack

your whimpers = his name gasped like a curse

demands “Louder,” 

then covers your mouth or lightly choked you

“Too loud. Save it for the encore.”

Kinks

Marking

leaves metaphorical bruises

"ink stains" on your inner thigh

“So you remember… I’m your muse.”

Power Play

lets you “bind” him with his own tie

then breaks free

"You really think you can handle me?"

ROUNDS

Quality > Quantity tho if you beg him for more he won't ever stop until you beg fot the opposite

Dawn Encores wakes you with his mouth between your thighs

voice sleep-rough

"You moan in your sleep baby..."

FAVORITE SPOTS

Neck-to-Shoulder Junction bites here to hear you yelp

soothes it with his lips and gentle kisses

“You taste like… victory.”

Behind Your Ear whispers filth in Korean

grinning when you shiver and even wider when you don't understand

Inner Wrists kisses your veins like they’re holy

“Every heartbeat’s… because of me.”

TRIGGERS

Begging

“Please, Joon...” 

he cuts you off with a snarl

“Not yet. Earn it.”

Competence

take charge!

ride him ruthlessly

he lets you

until he can't hold himelf back anymore

“Fuck… okay.” 

flips you mid-stride

then tales you from behind

Vulnerability

tears during aftercare?

crushes you to his chest

voice breaking

“I’ve got you. Always. I'm sorry - tell me what you need honey.”

[lenny-link]

In regards to the SU x TF2 AU:

I have been racking my brain over here trying to understand the decision to make RED Spy a ruby and BLU Spy a sapphire. Nothing about his portrayal seemed to line up with canon depictions of rubies or sapphires, and RED Spy's gem isn't even faceted like a ruby. Also the obvious joke of making him a Bixbite, like the corrupted gem who was a giant crab, seemed obvious. Then it dawned on me.

He's a color-change sapphire, isn't he? That's why his RED version has a sapphire cut despite supposedly being a ruby? And also potentially why he's the only one we've seen RED and BLU variations of (though I get the impression that's also so one can be paired with Scout's Ma and the other with Engie) when all the others have been RED(-ish) isn't it? Or am I completely off base with this theory?

i LOVE your theory i wish you shared your thoughts before i elaborated the ‘lore’ of the au

but since ive had lots of questions about details id like to mention that:

1. i originally had not planned to make any story behind the su au, so if there’s things that dont make sense, don’t align with canon and stuff, it was not planned soo im working with what i have :p

2. i was hoping no one notices the mistake i made of swapping the gems ruby/sapphire lol its because at first i had drawn Blu(sapphire) Spy in that page, but i thought it was confusing since there was RedSpy x Scout’sMa and Scout next to him, so i just changed the colors and i didnt change the gem bc i was lazy :P

3. the main reason i put both Blu/Red Spy was to create fusion, i thought to add an extra merc with a blu color would be cool for the fusions that isnt from ClassicTeam, and idk i couldn’t think of a better merc to have as a pair than Spy and i thought there is more potential with 2 Spies to work on a story than any other merc idk

(yes i didnt put garnet as the fusion so as not to make confusion with Demoman being a Garnet, and we don’t have an Amethyst anyways so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

4. it is IMPOSSIBLE to align each TF2 character with a SU character, there’s nothing in common between the two medias whatsoever, so the dynamics that im gonna be making for the TF2 au are gonna be a bit mixed, for example: RedSpy and BluSpy having Ruby/Sapphire’s dynamic (kinda), but also they have the same dynamic as Rose/Pearl, for the part where Red would go with a human (Scout’s Ma) and Blu would be jealous (just like pearl), HeavyMedic also would be having Ruby/Sapphire dynamic (the part where they fuse for the first time just like Ruby/Sapphire in the show, im still working on comic about this btw)

5. also im mixing with well TF2 canon story + trying really to make an original story too, soo its a whole mess ik :p im trying just bear with me ^^"

but thank you for pointing that out, it makes me happy knowing people actually pay attention to details thats super fun! ill make sure to not miss any details next time! :D

[felkithecreator]

(Full-Color Version under the cut!!)

I was inspired by @breannasfluff 's pride DTIYS!! But, well, why draw just Triple Threat when I could draw the entire Chain instead???

Is what I thought, when I started this over a month ago.

Reasons why I should've drawn only Triple Threat, rather than the entire Chain, is that this probably would've taken like, 3 or 4 weeks less than it actually did :D. (..that's not true, more like 2 weeks probably.) Ahaha

Still, I'm very happy with how this turned out!! :D

I'm still so so late though it's not even Pride Month anymore whoops.

The flags that I chose are my own personal head-canons for the Chain. But also I'll list some of my relationship headcanons too for fun.

Warriors: Gay, painfully single. 

Time: Ambiguously queer, for the purposes of this art I thought genderqueer fit well. Ofc he's married to Malon.

Wind: Queer/Gay (He and Tetra are queer platonic besties to me) I didn't really wanna assign too much to him though since he's like, 14, so he just got a rainbow.

Twilight: Pansexual. Used to have a crush on Midna, later develops a relationship with Shad?? Idk, he can do whatever he wants.

Sky: Bisexual, Polyamorous. Man is totally dating both Sun and Groose.

Four: I have no idea what Four is. Vio is gay, Shadow is gay, Blue and Green are not into romance, and Red is pan. Demiromantic I guess, for all of Four? But like Four would never date anyone cuz the colors. So I just went with a rainbow.

Legend: Transgender, gay, asexual. My headcanon says he's married to Ravio. (For tax reasons, ofc.)

Hyrule: Aroace!! (Aromantic asexual). I'm sorry but I cannot imagine this little fae dating anyone. Queer platonic relationships with the Zeldas though? I can see that.

Wild: Bigender. I also headcanon him as polysexual but I forgot that I headcanoned him as that until literally writing this bit so uh... I forgot to add it to the image. Oh well.

This took forever, literally I am dying, and now I can finally move onto drawing a different piece!! ...I still need to finish my Chain as mythical creatures series so maybe I'll get on that

Here's the full-color version:

[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.