#it's a really uncomfortable tension and i think it has to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

billiesbabygirleilish · 14 hours ago

Note

Billie and the reader have been friends since childhood and Billie has a huge Crush on the reader but the reader has a boyfriend her boyfriend is like super possessive and abusive like won’t really let the reader go anywhere without him and doesn’t like when the reader hangs out with Billie because he know that Billie likes the reader

Billie and her family/friends know that the reader is being abused but every time that try to talk to the reader she always brush it off and tells that they are over reacting and she’s fine one day the reader is hanging out with Billie while her boyfriend is out boyfriend come home and see Billie after Billie leaves the reader and her boyfriend get into a fight the reader the reader ends up going to Billie

I don’t know how to end this but Billie and the reader end up together

Fractured Love

⚠️Mentions of abuse/abusive relationship. Please don’t interact with this post if these themes make you uncomfortable⚠️

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╰.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*╯ The scent of lavender and old books always calmed you. Billie’s childhood bedroom, with its mismatched posters and overflowing bookshelves, was your safe haven. You stretched out on her bed, absently tracing the pattern on the worn quilt while Billie fiddled with her ukulele in the corner.

“He’s out of town for the weekend,” you said, trying to sound casual, but the tightness in your chest betrayed you. “Said he had to… help his dad with something.”

Billie strummed a discordant chord. "Right. ‘Help his dad.’ Like he ever does anything remotely helpful." She didn’t look up, but you knew what she was thinking. You knew everyone knew. The strained smiles, the subtle glances, the way Maggie hovered a little too close whenever Liam, your boyfriend, was around – it was all a silent testament to what they saw happening to you.

“He just gets… jealous,” you mumbled, twisting a stray thread on the quilt. “He just cares about me.”

Billie’s head snapped up, her blue eyes flashing. “Caring doesn’t look like telling you who you can and can’t see, who you can and can't talk to. Caring doesn't look like…” she trailed off, her jaw clenched.

You rushed to fill the uncomfortable silence. "It's not that bad, Billie. You guys are just overreacting." You forced a laugh, though your voice wobbled. “I’m fine.”

Billie slammed the ukulele down on the floor, the sound reverberating through the small room. "God, why do you do this? We just want you safe! He’s isolating you, (Your name), are you blind?"

You flinched. “Don’t yell,” you whispered, your voice catching.

Billie’s anger deflated, replaced by a deep, aching worry. She sat beside you on the bed, her hand hovering over yours. She didn't touch you. Not anymore. Not since Liam had made his feelings about your friendship with Billie crystal clear, with words that still echoed in your head.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "Just… I hate seeing him control you like this. You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine for months." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small, smooth stone, a piece of sea glass she'd found on the beach. "I… I brought this for you. Said it reminded me of your eyes."

You took the sea glass, its cool surface soothing against your palm. "Thank you, Billie."

Later that afternoon, Billie walked you to your door. As you were unlocking it, Liam’s car pulled up to the curb. He’d come home early.

“Hey,” he said, his voice clipped. He glared at Billie as he approached. “What’s she doing here?”

“Just… hanging out,” you stammered.

“She knows you’re busy. She knows you’re with me.” His eyes narrowed. “Does she even have any respect?”

Billie’s jaw tightened. "I was just leaving," she said, her voice even, but you could see the tension in her shoulders.

As Billie turned and walked away, Liam grabbed your arm, yanking you inside the apartment. The door slammed shut behind you. It wasn't the first time you had been dragged inside. It wasn't the only form of abuse you had endured from him.

The argument started small, a simmering resentment bubbling to the surface. But it quickly escalated, his words sharp and cruel, his grip on your arm painful. You tried to reason with him, to appease him, but nothing worked. He accused you of lying, of flirting, of… who knew what else. Your voice rose as you fought back, tears streaming down your face.

"Just leave me alone!" you finally screamed, pushing him away.

He recoiled, his face contorted with a rage that frightened you. "You think anyone else will want you? You think Billie gives a damn about you? She's just… using you. Playing you for a fool."

The words cut deep, even though you knew they weren't true. The anger drained out of you, leaving you hollow and trembling. You couldn't breathe.

"I'm going to be sick," you choked out, pushing past him.

He let you go, and you stumbled out of the apartment, running blindly until you reached the familiar haven of Billie’s house.

You pounded on the door, tears streaming down your face. Maggie opened it, her expression immediately softening when she saw you.

"Oh, honey," she murmured, drawing you into a hug. "Come in, come in."

She led you to the living room, where Billie, Patrick, Finneas, and Claudia sat, their faces etched with concern. You collapsed on the couch, sobbing uncontrollably.

Billie knelt beside you, her hand finally finding yours. Her touch was grounding, a lifeline in the storm. "What happened?" she asked softly, her voice laced with worry.

You told them everything. The possessive control, the constant criticism, the outbursts, the fear that had become your constant companion. You spoke through sobs, the words tumbling out in a torrent of pain and relief.

When you were finally done, the room was silent. Finneas squeezed Claudia's hand, his face dark. Patrick just nodded, his eyes filled with a quiet fury. Maggie sat beside you, stroking your hair.

Billie’s grip on your hand tightened. “You don’t have to go back there, you know.”

You looked at her, your eyes red and swollen. “But… where else would I go?”

Billie hesitated for a moment, then met your gaze with unwavering intensity. "You can stay here. With us. We'll protect you."

The offer hung in the air, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Leaving Liam meant stepping into the unknown, but staying meant… more of the same.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Okay, I'll stay."

The next few weeks were a blur of healing. Maggie’s gentle care, Patrick’s quiet strength, Finneas and Claudia’s unwavering support – they all helped you piece yourself back together. You started therapy, learning to recognize the signs of abuse and to rebuild your shattered self-esteem.

But it was Billie who made the biggest difference. She was there for you, always, a constant presence in your life. Late-night talks under the stars, walks along the beach, quiet moments spent reading together in her room – she created a safe space for you to be yourself, to laugh, to cry, to simply exist without fear.

One evening, as you sat on Billie’s bed, listening to her strum a new song on her ukulele, you realized something had shifted. The fear was still there, a lingering shadow, but it was no longer the defining force in your life. You were starting to see yourself again, to remember the person you were before Liam had chipped away at your spirit.

Billie finished the song, a soft melody with heartfelt lyrics about resilience and hope. She looked at you, her blue eyes filled with something that made your heart skip a beat.

"Do you… do you feel safe here?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. "More than I've ever felt."

She reached out, gently cupping your cheek. "Me too," she whispered, her gaze locked on yours.

And then, she leaned in and kissed you. It was a soft, tentative kiss at first, but it quickly deepened, a rush of long-suppressed feelings finally breaking free. It was a kiss of comfort, of safety, of longing, of hope.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, you looked at Billie, and for the first time in a long time, you saw a future. A future free from fear, a future filled with love, a future where you could be yourself, completely and unapologetically.

It wasn’t a fairytale ending. There would still be challenges, still be healing to do. But you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your soul, that you weren't alone anymore. You had Billie, her family, her friends - a whole world of love and support to guide you. And you knew, with equal certainty, that you were finally on the path to a life that was truly your own.

#billie eilish #billieeilish #billie eilish x fem! reader #billie eilish x reader #billie x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n #billiesbabygirleilish #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish angst #wlw

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getaapologist · 3 days ago

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The Tension and the Terror............Part XIII

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: Geta is starting to realize something isn't right. Letha has to fight for her own protection. Caracalla wishes to save his brother from himself, because he's being Rome's biggest idiot (not so affectionate).

Warnings: violence, death, period-typical sexism, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 13 of 15

[ Part XII ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I think writing action (be it the fun kind or the dangerous kind) is the hardest part. I hope this is even slightly entertaining. Next part might not be the last, I'm still writing so it depends on how long it gets. I would also like for there to be some sort of resolution as well so it doesn't end so abruptly. We'll see. I should really thank one of my favorite bands for putting out a particularly angry song that helped me get in the headspace for this. Thank you for reading.

The Emperor’s box remained empty until moments before the event began, the usual pomp and circumstance of the games abandoned for a dour display of punishment.

The games held the people’s attention. Watching men fight for a chance at glory, to possibly better themselves, it was entertaining. Tactics could be observed, armor and weapons utilized in new and unique ways. Legends were written by the combatants and their actions daily. Physical prowess could be appreciated and admired.

Fighting desperately in an ultimately futile battle to survive a few short minutes longer didn’t hold much attraction. There was no one to root for, no underdog to champion. No one to bet on beyond who might die first. Only the most voracious Romans attended these events.

As Geta stared down at the empty arena, he felt ill. Ill at the thought of the previous 24 hours. The visible fear he’d seen in Letha’s eyes as he stood over her made Geta’s stomach twist uncomfortably. Sleep eluded him. He feared what horrors awaited him in his dreams.

He distrusted people on principle, but for him to be so wrong, let alone twice… It left him reeling. He resisted looking over to Macrinus who had visited upon them this horrible news. Something was off about the man he’d dared call a friend. Ever since delivering Geta’s own death knell, the man lingered nearly everywhere about Palatine Hill.

As if he were taking over in the absence of Letha.

And what he had said… the party. It was clear to Geta that Macrinus had no clue about the specific nature of his interaction with Letha. He’d clearly made some assumptions, but the idea that Letha had somehow found time to not only speak with Thraex, but concoct a scheme against him and his brother felt impossible. Especially when accounting for the small slip of time in between him dismissing Lyra and stepping out to meet Letha in the hall.

No, there was something else. Something Geta hadn’t quite cracked yet. He had considered visiting the miserable cells where Letha waited for her doom to ask her himself, but he didn’t trust himself. He couldn’t possibly predict what his reaction would be to seeing her again. That scared him.

Caracalla sat in the seat beside him, staring daggers into the side of his head. On the ride over, he’d insisted again that there was something wrong here. And Geta did agree, though he didn’t say as much to his volatile brother. Regardless, none of it changed Letha’s sure guilt. He would not relish today, not by a long shot, but it was necessary.

And to think, he would’ve sought to marry her.

“Emperor?” Ancus questioned quietly.

Geta glanced over to see Caracalla in close conversation with Ancus, his eyes fixed on his personal guard. What was said, Geta couldn’t make out. But he did notice the way Caracalla’s hand lingered on the Praetorian’s forearm.

“There will be three others,” Ravi warned quietly, wrapping the gauzy fabric strip around her shoulder, beneath her arm, and across her chest, the pressure of it easing the difficulty of moving her arm. “You must be first to get to the sword.”

“Or I definitely die first,” she lamented.

“Or you definitely, probably, will die first,” Ravi agreed, tying off the thick wrapping. “Sorry, princess.”

The mood was deeper than melancholic. Letha pulled up the straps of the plain scrap of cloth she’d been provided, a familiar sight. It still bore Hyacinthia’s signature stitching.

Letha remembered Hyacinthia insisting to Macrinus upon her arrival that she be provided something more suitable to wear. Within a day of Macrinus’s assent, Letha had been provided with this top and some modified braccae. Though they were discouraged among men, it relieved Letha to be able to wear something more concealing around the stable of gladiators.

And she treasured it now, eager to get rid of the bloodstained dress.

Ravi broke the uncomfortable silence first. “Did he hurt you?”

Letha played dumb. “Who?”

Ravi sighed. “The tyrant.”

“No,” she answered. “Not at all.”

Perhaps if he’d lived up to his reputation, it wouldn’t be so painful.

Before Ravi could ask any other questions, a Praetorian appeared, standing outside the cell. They could hear Viggo chasing him down, shouting that he wasn’t allowed to be back there and needed to speak with Macrinus.

Ravi bristled beside Letha, but she stood, approaching the cell bars.

“Ancus?”

“Get away from there!” Viggo ordered, finally catching up.

Ancus didn’t bat an eye. “I’m here on orders of your Emperor. It would be in your best interest to leave us.”

Viggo looked for a moment like he might argue before he turned tail and fled, most likely in search of Macrinus.

Ancus returned his attention to the cell and its current occupants. He glanced from Letha to Ravi, then back, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s trustworthy,” she assured him.

Ravi played it cool, shooting an unbothered smile Ancus’s way, though Letha knew he was brimming with curiosity.

“I was told to deliver this to you. If it is as planned, you may need it.” Ancus reached through the bars, a small bundle wrapped in cloth in his hands. Letha took it, pulling some of the material back to get a peek at what was inside. Letha saw the familiar shape of the dagger she’d used all those nights ago. Someone had kept it.

“Tell Geta I am thankful,” Letha begged.

Ancus frowned. “I’m sorry, my lady. It is Caracalla who has sent me here.”

It shouldn’t have left her feeling so cold, but it did. Of course.

“Well, tell him the same.”

Ancus nodded. “I will have an eye on you.” He moved to leave, but came back. “Good luck, Letha.”

She couldn’t say anything in return, just nodded and looked down at the bundle in her hands as he walked away.

“Friends in high places, princess,” Ravi commented.

She unwrapped the dagger, finding it still coated in dry blood.

“Well, if you don’t need the sword, I’d say you should definitely go for the shield.”

The sound of one of the large gates on the edge of the arena opening drew Geta’s gaze. His breath caught in his throat at the sight. She had some cobbled-together armor on her shoulders and arms, but little else. Her hair had been braided, circling her head not unlike a crown. She looked nothing like the woman he had come to know.

All the better. It would be easier to watch that way, he supposed. No, no. What a ridiculous notion.

Nothing about this was easy for Geta. He regretted his choice almost as soon as he’d made it. His suggestion was borne of the grievous injury she’d dealt him. Now that the outcome of it stood on the sand below the box, the selection of weapons waiting in the center of the oval, he sat in his seat stewing in dread.

“You can still put a stop to this madness, brother,” Caracalla reminded him, his voice terse, uncharacteristic. Geta looked over, seeing a conviction he wasn’t used to finding in Caracalla’s eyes.

“Do not speak to me of madness, brother,” Geta spat back, irritated with Caracalla’s needling ever since he’d formed an opinion on his handling of Letha.

Caracalla’s temper flared. “You cannot even stand to look at her now,” he accused.

Geta reared around to face his brother fully, muscles in his neck tensing as he tempered the volume of his words. “Because I cannot bear it.”

The sun burned Letha’s skin, as if Apollo himself decided to visit the arena. Her eyes moved over to rest on the Emperors’ box, seeing the two of them sitting there, in conversation with each other, their copper hair shining. Perhaps they were touched by the divine after all.

Or perhaps the gods were playing a trick, drawing out her pain until she couldn’t bear it any longer. They would send her to her death, despite everything, all thanks to the snake, Macrinus. She got in his way. This would be the consequence.

“Don’t die too quickly, princess,” Viggo jeered from behind the wooden gate, just off to her side. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your lover.”

She didn’t dare look over, focused instead on the gate opening up in front of her. Who, or what, would walk through it? What insurmountable task would she have to deal with? How swift a death could it provide?

Just one moment and it could all be over. All the heartache, the pain, the vitriol, the rage. It could all disappear if she just let it happen. No matter where she ended up, be it Elysium or the pits of Tartarus, anything would surely be better than this.

Maybe she would see her family again. Her brother could mock her once again. She could feel her mother’s hand against her cheek. Her father would seize her in a tight hug, telling her she did what she had to do, even if those words didn’t exactly ring true.

The tears welled up, obscuring her vision until she blinked and let them fall onto the sand. She quickly wiped the trails from her cheeks, breathing deeply.

The man walking out into the arena bore an unmistakable red line across the top of his cheek, just below his temple, and it went all the way to the back of his head. The missing portion of his ear a stark reminder of her fury and how she arrived here.

General Plautianus.

They did this on purpose. She wondered if this was Macrinus’s idea, or if Geta had suggested it himself. This was a former general of Rome, not a gladiator. The idea of dying at his hands repulsed her. He had already claimed her father and brother, he couldn’t claim her, too.

But did she even stand a chance? Her shoulder was still injured, she couldn’t rely on her dominant arm for too much before it grew tired and tender. They had only given her the most basic armor, nothing for her chest or legs. The only weapon she possessed was a dagger. Her dagger. A kind gift from Caracalla. She didn’t think she’d get a chance to properly thank him.

Letha didn’t know how she was supposed to fend off a Roman general. If she had just done what Macrinus tasked her with, none of this would be happening. None of this additional pain would exist. Protecting the twins had earned her no favors, clearly. It all meant nothing.

He felt nothing. And that was almost worse than the death that awaited her.

“I should have killed you. I knew there was something off about you,” Plautianus taunted. “You thought you could take revenge? You? You’re as dumb as your brother. Clearly fated to die by my sword. My hand was stayed once, it will not be again,” he promised, flexing his hands, his eyes focusing on the three items at the center of the arena.

Two other men joined them, standing an equal distance from the items waiting at the center. A gladius, a spear, and a small round shield. That meant someone could be left empty handed. As Ravi had warned her, that couldn’t be her. Still, the idea of rushing to meet all of them in the same place didn’t fill her with confidence, though she didn’t have much choice.

An announcer stepped forward, dressed down compared to the usual games. There was no formal ceremony. It took Letha a moment to even realize they’d been given the go-ahead. The only tell was a flicker of movement from the other prisoners.

Letha snapped into a sprint, her legs fresh after sitting in the cell for so long. The same could be said of the others, however. She could see them approaching the center just as quickly as she was. She did note that the general seemed slower, his bulk and elaborate armor weighing him down. But he was still fast. She didn’t think it wise to underestimate any of them.

Before Letha could get her fingers around the lip of the circular shield, she was body-checked, knocked to the chalky gravel, and one of the other prisoners hefted it. She scrambled to her feet, grabbing the next thing within reach. The spear.

Surely not the most optimal choice for her stature, it was better than nothing, the sword getting snatched up by the other man, leaving the General with nothing.

Plautianus approached the group, his eyes raking over the slight build of the man currently holding the gladius. It took him only a moment to dodge the reckless swipe and tackle the man to the ground. He wrenched the sword from his grip and ignored his protests as he plunged the blade into his chest, rising to his feet with an ease that surely frightened those he fought against in battle.

Three.

Letha tried to find a good way to grip the spear, the wood rough lacking any wrap or protection for her bare hand. Even having the weapon, her options were slim. Even if she took out the man with the shield somehow, that would leave the General. And she didn’t like those odds.

It seemed Plautianus was similarly assessing his options, and as his gaze fell heavy on the shieldbearer, she knew he’d made a decision. It wasn’t what she would’ve done, had she been in his place, but she was no general, had no tactical prowess. Or maybe he was just saving her for last.

She couldn’t do nothing. Nothing would get her killed.

As Plautianus charged, she almost lost her nerve. He reached the shieldbearer, holding the sword threateningly in his direction. As he swung it overhead, the shieldbearer hefted the round disc high to block his blow.

Letha moved in.

She jabbed the point of the spear into the back of his knee, as hard as she could. The roar Plautianus let out echoed around the arena. Before she could pull it free and step back, a swipe of the gladius cut through the pole of the spear, sending her on her ass. She got up as quickly as she could, keeping hold of the useless pole just in case.

Stunned by her action, the shieldbearer stood no chance, taking the brunt of Plautianus’s fury as he gutted him. He ripped the shield from the man as he fell, hopping a bit to take pressure off his injured leg as he faced her.

As he stared her down, she felt like she was back on the floor in the entryway to her house, shoved down to her knees. She could picture her brother slumped against the wall, his biting wit still being used to lash out at the Romans standing around them. It did nothing but earn him a few extra kicks to the ribs. But still he sat there, making use of the only tool he had left, right up until her impulsive action got him killed.

“You are the thorn in my side no longer,” Plautianus promised, leveling the sword at her, shield held close to his chest. He did not charge at her, no, he moved with purpose, a significant limp the only sign he’d been injured. It didn’t show in his face or his focus.

There wasn’t anywhere to go. She couldn’t run or hide. There were only the two of them. She was forced into a defensive position after sacrificing the tip of the spear, for all the good it did her now. He would still bear down on her, he still had the sword.

Plautianus moved quickly, striking like a viper. She brought up the spear’s shaft to attempt to deflect the blow. The sword skated off it and cut a hot slash into her upper arm, thankfully only splitting the skin and not going deeper. Her hand went to the fresh wound and she backed away from the general, trying to pay attention to his movements as he stalked her.

He moved in swiftly. She chucked the pole at him for lack of anything else. He raised the shield to smack it away, giving her a small opening. She drew the dagger quickly and advanced, ducking under another slash to drive it into his thigh. It had worked, another blow in this war of attrition, but she left herself open, the lip of the shield colliding with the side of her head, the crack of it audible.

She scrambled back, seeing stars. It was hard to recover from, her stunned state causing her to lose her balance and crash down onto the fine pebbles. The chalky surface stuck to the sweat on her skin.

Plautianus let out a roar and reached for his bleeding thigh, inspecting the damage done. With a gut-wrenching glare, he abandoned the sword and shield. He wouldn’t need them.

As she tried to regain her breath, her vision swimming, his foot caught her injured shoulder, knocking her back onto the ground. The small stones bit into her palm as she pushed herself up onto her knees, holding the dagger desperately. Her chest burned as she tried to steady her breathing.

He just kept coming at her. There was only one way this would end. This had been orchestrated since the order was given to claim the lands she came from. Perhaps the gods were here in this arena after all. Putting things into motion in order to amuse themselves later. They must view the people as playthings, acting out plotlines for their entertainment.

It bothered Letha that she might have always been going to die at the hands of General Plautianus. Someone above surely had a penchant for torture, letting her fool herself into thinking there could be anything else but this waiting for her.

None of it mattered. Not to her outcome. Not to him.

It was hopeless to try to salvage her feelings now. Let it hurt, let it burn her up. If she was to meet her end here, by his order, within his view, then she could allow herself to feel the sadness of it. It was sharper than any blade. It cut deeper. By that measure, she was already dead. No point in fighting it.

She threw the dagger down onto the sand, abandoning any effort to stand.

General Plautianus laughed. “Surrender? You’ve been watching too many gladiator matches. There’s no such thing here. The gods don’t intervene to save treasonous whores.”

She watched him turn around and hobble over to where he’d abandoned the sword, something close to happiness in his face as he reclaimed it.

“You put up this fight, all this bluster, but you’re ineffective,” he spoke, gesturing to the scar along the side of his head. “At least you’ve realized that now, and I can put right this wrong.”

Letha would not rise to his taunts.

She waited for the sword to meet her neck, her head bowed low, the careful plait of her hair exposing the back of her neck for the blade. Plautianus was strong, she’d seen him wield that blade before. Her death would be swift.

She rested her hands on her covered thighs and closed her eyes, letting the breeze blow in the scent of the heat, the stench of Rome. She would soon add to it, a carefully crafted perfume of misery.

The crowd had gone quiet, their breath bated for the spilling of her blood. She could hear the crunch of the gravel underfoot, could just about picture how close General Plautianus was standing. Would he cleave her head from her shoulders in one blow? Or two?

“Stop!” Geta roared, his voice echoing around the colosseum. The silence stretched, no one sure of what was happening.

Letha opened her eyes, turning to see Geta leaning out of the box, his chest heaving.

“Enough,” he spoke, his voice not as loud this time. She could hear the pain in his voice. She didn’t dare let herself indulge in it. It changed nothing.

“Mercy,” Caracalla agreed, standing beside him.

Letha heard Plautianus scoff, his shoe scuffing the ground. “Mercy?” he spat. “I was promised blood,” he yelled at them. She looked up at him, alarmed, as he began to ready his arm for a swing despite the Emperors’ wishes.

“Ancus!” Caracalla shouted.

Before she could bring up an arm as if to shield herself from his blade, the shunk of an arrow sounded as it struck Plautianus in the chest, piercing the armor. The sword clattered to the ground. She sat there, shocked, as he sank to his knees right in front of her, his expression one of disbelief as he reached for the arrow lodged in his lung. He choked on blood as his face turned an ugly color. He finally fell back, landing on his side as he continued to claw at the wound.

The Colosseum filled with uncertain murmuring. Why was she still breathing? Why did their general lay there, dead? Why was Emperor Geta so upset? Why did they intervene?

Letha refused to look up at the box, refused to look for Geta. Refused to let herself hope. She heard the Praetorians before she felt them hauling her to her feet. Despite being carried out of the arena still alive, she felt far from safe. In fact, nothing was certain now.

What would Macrinus have to say about Geta’s intervention? Was he fuming in the box, wishing to crack the brothers’ skulls together and be done with it? She assumed he wished to see her dead before he enacted the final steps of his plan. Now that it was foiled, the twins weren’t safe, and she was stuck in the belly of the Colosseum, unable to help them. If they would even welcome her help.

If she somehow got the chance, she would see Macrinus dead. And then, the fates could have her.

[ Part XIV ]

#emperor geta x ofc #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta #gladiator ii x reader #joseph quinn x reader #gladiator 2 x reader

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itsnesss · 2 days ago

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𝐏.𝐒. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬; minho moon ( series ) O2

pairing ; minho moon x female!reader

content ; fluff, romantic tension, angst, personal conflicts, rivalry, enemies to lovers

summary ; you never imagined your life would change so much with a simple exchange. in canada, everything was predictable, but when the chance to study in seoul came, you took it. you met minho. a tall, serious guy with a cold attitude who made you feel even more out of place. from the very beginning, you hated each other. every encounter was filled with disdainful looks and harsh words. your first meeting was so uncomfortable that all you wanted was to escape his indifference. but as time went on, you realized that minho wasn’t just an obstacle—he was the beginning of something unexpected. what started with hatred and a simple fall led to a connection that made you feel more alive than ever

status ; ongoing !!

— navigation ; OO1. OO2.

TWO ; P.S. People Often Judge

You walk towards the dormitory with a slight sense of frustration. There were no available rooms for you after talking to the director. When you arrive, the girls are already settled.

"Hey, Kitty," you say, trying to sound calm. "How are we going to organize ourselves for sleeping?"

Kitty, with a somewhat uncomfortable smile, looks up.

"Well, Yuri and Julianna decided to share a bed. So, you’ll sleep with me. At least you won’t have to sleep on the couch, right?" Kitty laughs, but there’s something in her tone that makes you think she’s not entirely comfortable with the situation.

You nod, relieved that you won’t have to sleep on the couch, but you can’t help but feel awkward.

That night, when everyone settles in to sleep, you move closer to Kitty.

"Kitty, has anything weird been going on with the girls?" you ask, bluntly.

Kitty looks at you, a little surprised by the question. She doesn’t know how to respond, but when she sees your expression, she knows you want to talk.

"A bit. I feel like there’s something uncomfortable, especially with Yuri and Julianna. They’re always... sticking together. It’s weird."

You nod, feeling a slight melancholy in your gaze.

"I try to keep myself busy so I’m not the third wheel." Kitty sighs. "But the truth is, I like Yuri, and I didn’t know how to tell her. I wrote a letter. But when I got here, she was already back with Julianna. It was a blow for me." Kitty laughs bitterly.

You look at her in silence. You didn’t expect such a personal revelation from Kitty, and it makes you feel a deeper connection to her. Kitty, always so extroverted, seems to be struggling with something much deeper.

"Wow, Kitty, I didn’t know…" you say, genuinely surprised.

Kitty smiles with a mix of sadness and gratitude.

"It’s not something I talk about much, but... well, thanks for listening." Kitty shifts a bit in bed, trying to get comfortable.

You nod, knowing that you understand more than she thinks. Despite the tension of the past hours, you feel closer to Kitty now.

The next day starts like any other, until you walk into the room where Mr. Moon’s project is going to take place. Kitty, as always, is with you, talking about anything to pass the time. However, before entering the room, you stop when you hear a conversation that makes you feel more distant than ever.

"I don’t like Stella that much," Minho says, with a casual attitude that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Kitty, surprised, asks with a teasing smile:

"Really? Doesn’t she appeal to you at all?"

Minho doesn’t beat around the bush:

"No, she doesn’t appeal to me. I saw her at the event, and there’s no chemistry. I don’t know, she’s just not my type." Minho shrugs indifferently. "What about you, though? How do you feel about Y/N?"

Your chest tightens when you hear your name. You can’t help it. The pain starts seeping into your chest.

Kitty responds with a nervous laugh:

"Well, yeah, Y/N is a good girl. I don’t understand why you’re asking, Minho."

Minho, with his usual tone, grimaces.

"I don’t know, I feel like something’s off about her. She doesn’t really convince me."

You freeze. It’s like you’ve been hit in the stomach. That’s the confirmation of something you already suspected. Minho doesn’t see you in a good light, and the discomfort you feel seems to be mutual. Without letting anyone see you, you turn away, your heart full of disappointment, and quickly walk off.

You walk briskly down the hall, not looking back. Minho’s words hit you like a wave, a cold pain slowly filtering into your chest. You don’t understand why he said it, why he made those assumptions about you when he doesn’t even know you well. What right did Minho have to say something like that? You think, your hands gripping the edges of your jacket as if you could erase the feeling of rejection that’s settled in your body.

At first, you try to ignore your own feelings, telling yourself it’s just a conversation without importance, something fleeting. But Minho’s words keep echoing in your head. He made assumptions without knowing you, and not only that, but he tried to sow doubt in Kitty. Why did he think he had the right to judge you?

The idea of going to the cafeteria seems like a useful distraction, so you head there to get something hot to drink.

When you arrive, you head to the coffee machine, hoping the smell of the brew can calm your anxiety. You take your drink in silence, watching as the other students chat and laugh, unaware of what’s going on in your head. You don’t want to think about Minho, but it’s impossible not to. The words he said about you, his assumptions about your life, all of it hurts.

With your drink in hand, you head to the Art Expression room. You don’t feel like socializing, but at least there you can focus on something different for a while. When you enter the classroom, you see Kitty, who is already sitting.

"Hi, Kitty," you say, dropping your backpack on the table before sitting down.

"Hey, Y/N! How’s it going?" Kitty responds, looking at you out of the corner of her eye but not pressing too much.

You sigh, preferring to leave the topic from the morning behind. But just as you’re about to say something else, Minho walks in. His presence fills the room immediately, as it always does. You tense up, and a thought quickly crosses your mind:

"It can’t be…"

Minho walks straight to his seat without even looking at you, but you already know it will be impossible to avoid any kind of interaction. The tension between you two has been in the air since the morning, and you feel it.

As if he hadn’t noticed the heavy atmosphere, Minho casts a mocking glance at you before speaking.

"Wow, what a coincidence. Seriously, can’t you sit somewhere else?" he says, looking at your seat with a mixture of annoyance and sarcasm.

Kitty, seeing the tension beginning to rise, quickly intervenes.

"Come on, guys. Can you stop fighting for five minutes? It’s not that serious," Kitty says, rolling her eyes and placing her hand in the center of the table, as if she’s some sort of mediator.

The atmosphere in the classroom becomes tense for a moment, but soon the door opens with force, interrupting the conversation. All the students turn to look at the entrance. The man who appears is tall, with a firm and elegant posture. It’s none other than Mr. Moon, Minho’s father, who is also the teacher in charge of the class. A murmur of surprise spreads across the room.

"Good morning, students," Mr. Moon greets in an authoritative voice. "Today we’re going to do something different. This isn’t just any class."

You and the rest of the students pay attention. What could he have in mind?

"Today we’ll determine who among you will earn a spot in the Advanced Voice program. We’ll also decide who we’ll cut off the mic as judges."

A feeling of excitement and nervousness fills the room. Some students seem excited, others tense. You, though somewhat surprised, can’t deny that the idea of participating in such an important event gives you a mix of anxiety and adrenaline.

"Each of you will present your performance, and I will be scoring. I’ve prepared a sheet with options for notes, so make sure you’re ready. Remember, it’s not just about talent; it’s about the connection you manage to convey. Trust your instincts," Mr. Moon adds.

You try to calm your nerves. You look at your sheet, quickly writing down some notes, before looking at the rest of the class. Minho, of course, seems completely confident, while Kitty can’t help but look at you with curiosity.

Finally, Mr. Moon begins to listen to each of the students. The room fills with singing, some more confident than others. You watch carefully, noticing how Minho, despite his arrogance, has a presence that draws attention. However, it’s not the only thing that stands out that morning.

At the end of the exercise, Mr. Moon begins announcing the results. Dae is the first to receive praise. Mr. Moon looks at him and says firmly:

"Dae has received unanimous approval. Well done!"

The class breaks into applause, and you can’t help but feel relieved for Dae, though your mind is preoccupied with what’s coming next.

Mr. Moon continues with the ratings until it’s Stella’s turn.

"Stella, I’m afraid I can’t accept your performance. Only one person voted for you... and that was the only one who agreed that your presentation had something to offer," Mr. Moon says with a neutral tone.

Stella stands in silence for a moment, looking at the other students before speaking.

"I didn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings," she says softly, referring to Minhee, who is in the same row.

Minho, who has been silent, can’t help but intervene.

"He’s hurtful to let someone with no talent think they have what it takes," Minho says with a cold look, making it clear that he doesn’t plan to soften his words.

You feel the anger starting to build inside you.

"And what do you know about what it takes?" you respond quickly, not thinking too much about your words. "Maybe the problem is that you think too highly of yourself to judge others without seeing what they really have."

Mr. Moon watches the interaction between the two before speaking again.

"Minho is right, in part. Sometimes the truth hurts, but it’s better to know it. We can’t let false talent take over something this important."

Annoyed but unwilling to let it go, you just looked at Minho one last time. You didn’t know what he was thinking, but something told you that your teacher’s words wouldn’t be the last word in the internal battle you felt toward him.

After a long and exhausting day, you finally returned to your dorm. The living room was empty; your roommates had gone to a gay club. A mix of relief and loneliness filled your chest. You had the whole place to yourself, with no interruptions. You decided to take advantage of the quiet to do homework and disconnect from everything that had happened.

Sitting at your desk, surrounded by books and papers, you slowly worked through your assignments while thinking about what had happened with Minho that morning. You felt exhausted, as if you were incapable of understanding everything that was going on. Despite trying to focus on your studies, your mind kept returning to him—the boy who had turned your life into chaos in such a short time.

When you finished your homework, you collapsed onto your bed, deciding to take a break. You grabbed a bowl of ice cream from the fridge and turned on the TV, looking for a romantic movie to help you forget, even for a little while, the tension you felt. You couldn't allow Minho to keep occupying so much space in your mind.

It was late, and your roommates still hadn’t returned, so you enjoyed the peacefulness of the room. However, something bothered you: Stella had gone out with Minho. What did he see in Stella? You didn’t understand. You couldn’t deny that you felt a little jealous, though you didn’t even want to admit it to yourself. What was Minho doing with a girl like Stella? It was hard to comprehend.

As you got lost in your thoughts, your phone vibrated. It was your sister. You decided to answer, hoping for some comfort in the call.

"Y/N? How’s everything going?" she asked in a calm voice.

"Hey, sis," you replied, relieved to hear her. "I’ve had a weird day. I’m here, doing homework, eating ice cream, and watching a movie… I don’t know, I’m just a little confused."

"Why?" she asked, noticing the tension in your voice.

You took a deep breath and told her everything you had been going through.

"I understand how you feel," your sister responded. "But remember, you can’t control what people do. You have to focus on yourself. That’s why you went all the way to Korea."

You weren’t sure if you felt better after the call, but at least you had a different perspective. You decided to go outside for a bit, get some fresh air, and clear your mind.

As you left your room and walked down the hallway, you ran into Minho. He was standing there as if he had been waiting to see you at that moment. You looked at him and, without being able to help it, frowned.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, trying to control your tone, but your frustration was already evident.

As you walked toward the building’s corner, you heard footsteps. You looked up, and to your surprise, you came face to face with Minho.

"Seriously?" you said, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. You didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to deal with him again, but there he was.

Minho looked at you with a cynical smile, almost as if he had been expecting this to happen.

"What’s wrong, Y/N? Were you hoping I wouldn’t find you here?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Without thinking twice, you immediately responded, showing all your disdain.

"And what do you want now, Minho? Keep making annoying comments and thinking you can tell me what to do?" You were fed up. There was no way you were going to tolerate more of his jokes and condescending attitude.

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly unaffected. His expression was full of arrogance.

"I’m just here to remind you that you’re not as special as you think, Y/N. Sometimes, you need to come down from that cloud you live on. You think you can control everything, but you can’t."

You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your composure. You stepped up to him quickly and gave him a shove, not caring what he thought.

"You know what? I’m so done with you, Minho. You’re full of assumptions, opinions I didn’t even ask for. Do you really think you have the right to talk to me like that? To make me feel like I’m beneath you?" your voice was tense and fierce.

Minho, unfazed by your shove, didn’t move an inch. He stood there, watching you with a mix of irritation and arrogance.

"You have a lot to learn, Y/N. Maybe not everyone is here to please you, did you know that?" he said, stepping closer, his voice laced with disdain.

You glared at him, your eyes burning with anger. You couldn’t believe you were standing there, letting him act like he had control of the situation.

"You know what?" you challenged, your tone sharp. "Enough. Do you still think you’re better than me just because you have some talent and people adore you? Well, don’t be mistaken, Minho—I have my own strengths, and I don’t need your approval."

Minho smirked, unfazed.

"I never said you needed my approval. I’m just making it clear that not everything revolves around you."

Without wanting to hear more, you turned around and walked quickly back to your dorm, leaving Minho behind. There was nothing else to discuss. Every word he said only fueled your hatred toward him. And you weren’t going to stop.

With your heart racing and your stomach in knots, you slammed the door shut as you entered your room, searching for the peace you so desperately needed. Why did Minho have to be like this? What did he want from you? The only thing you knew for sure was that the more you saw him, the more you hated him.

The day of the relay race competition arrived, and the atmosphere was filled with tension. Students lined up on the track, eager to prove their skills, but something was off. Q wasn’t among the runners.

"Where’s Q?" Kitty asked, her voice full of concern as she scanned the empty field. Dae and you looked around too, frowning.

"I don’t know…" Dae replied, glancing around as if expecting him to appear at any moment. "Where is he?!"

You sighed and crossed your arms, looking at the clock that marked the start time of the competition. Something wasn’t right. Q would never miss such an important race. Suddenly, an idea flashed through your mind, like a spark igniting a warning light.

"What if… Jin made him disappear so he couldn’t compete?" you murmured, causing Kitty to react with shock and anger.

"That would make total sense… He was at the bar with him all night, and Jin would totally do something like that, wouldn’t he?" Kitty said, eyeing the competition organizers.

"We can’t let it start, not without Q," Dae said, looking at you with concern. You nodded, already starting to plan a way to interfere.

"We need to act fast," you say with determination, feeling adrenaline rush through your body. Kitty gives you a quick glance before turning toward the track, her mind clearly working at full speed.

"You know what? I have an idea," she suddenly says, her tone filled with excitement. Before you can ask, you see her striding confidently toward a table where an organizer had left a microphone unattended.

Your eyes widen as she grabs it without hesitation and brings it to her mouth.

"Come on, everyone! Let’s cheer for the runners!" she exclaims with exaggerated enthusiasm.

But the silence that follows is deafening. Only a few murmurs ripple through the crowd, and though the discomfort is obvious, Kitty remains unfazed. Instead, she starts jumping, waving her arms as if that alone could ignite energy in the spectators.

"Come on, guys! Get excited, join in!" she insists, but all she gets in return are laughter and a few boos. The organizers, now visibly annoyed, approach her, signaling for her to leave the track.

"No, I’m not leaving!" she shouts, gripping the microphone stubbornly.

You take a deep breath, feeling desperation creeping in. They can't just kick her out, not after everything you've tried.

"I can’t believe I’m about to do this…" you mutter, closing your eyes for a second before moving toward her.

Without giving anyone time to react, you dramatically collapse to the ground.

The impact isn't too strong, but you force yourself to stay still. Instantly, the murmurs grow louder. You hear gasps, whispers of concern spreading through the crowd.

"What’s happening?" someone asks.

You sense Kitty’s presence close by.

"Help! Someone, please!" she shouts, her voice perfectly mimicking panic.

Rushed footsteps approach. You’d recognize that walk anywhere. Before you can react, Minho kneels beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Y/L/N, are you okay?" he asks, his voice carrying a mix of concern and amusement.

For a moment, you hesitate. Is he actually worried, or is he just enjoying watching you in this situation?

You crack one eye open slightly and murmur in a tired voice, "I’m trying to create a distraction, idiot."

The way he rolls his eyes and frowns almost makes you laugh, but you hold it in. He steps back, crossing his arms, though he doesn’t leave entirely.

Just as you start wondering if the plan is actually working, an eruption of cheers and applause sweeps through the crowd. Q comes sprinting onto the track, his figure instantly recognizable.

You spring to your feet, abandoning all pretense, and a triumphant smile spreads across your face as the students begin chanting his name.

"Q! Q! Q!"

You did it. Q is on the track. The race is about to begin.

But your joy fades quickly as the competition starts. Jin, with his usual confidence, surges ahead effortlessly, and even though Q gives it his all, it’s not enough. Jin crosses the finish line first, raising the trophy with his signature smug grin.

Your jaw tightens. After all that effort… Jin is still the winner.

"That was painful to watch," Dae comments with a nervous laugh beside you.

You sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation.

"At least we tried," Kitty says, giving you a knowing smile.

You nod slowly, because even though the outcome wasn’t what you had hoped for, at least you did everything you could. And deep down, you know this isn’t over yet.

tags ; @snowyblossomsx @awhrin @rkivesfilm @dangelnleif

#p.s. im yours #minho xo kitty #minho moon #minho x reader #minho x you #minho #xo kitty x reader #xo kitty

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elliehase-blog · 2 days ago

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Creating Grey, Chapter 10

Crowley puts on his borrowed clothes and follows Aziraphale downstairs. He finds him in the kitchen, fiddling with the teapot. His movements slow, almost hesitant, as if the angel’s usual bright demeanour is clouded by something Crowley can't quite place. Aziraphale glances out of the window, as if he expects divine retribution to befall them at any moment. He doesn’t seem to be concerned – just contemplative.

Crowley, on the other hand, is very much concerned. He watches him for a moment longer, wondering if he's imagining things – or if something really has shifted overnight. Then he can't take the quietness any longer.

»Angel?« Crowley says softly, his voice still a little rough from sleep. Aziraphale turns around, offering him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. »Yes, dear?«

Crowley’s heart twists a little. That smile... it isn’t right. He can feel the tension in the air, even if Aziraphale is trying to hide it. It had been a perfect night, so why did it feel like something has changed?

»Can I...« Crowley hesitates for a moment. »Can I ask you something? I mean, er, even if it's awkward and you might not want to talk about it?« Aziraphale smirks. »That has never stopped you before.«

»Good point.« Crowley clears his throat. »You’ve been quiet this morning. Something on your mind?«

Aziraphale looks thoughtful for a moment, his fingers stilling on the teapot. He glances at Crowley, then away, as if trying to find the right words. Finally, he sighs, setting the teapot down on the counter. »I'm not sure what you try to imply, dear. I'm fine.«

»You know.« Crowley gestures vaguely between them. »Last night. You. Me. The bit where we-« He cuts himself off, running a hand through his disheveled hair. »Oh, you know what I mean.«

Aziraphale’s brows knit together, then soften in something like amusement. »Crowley,« he says, stepping forward, »do you think I regret what happened?«

Crowley huffs, shifting uncomfortably. »Dunno. You’re acting… different.«

»Different?«

Oh for someone's fucking sake! Honestly?

Crowley swallows. He has to push it out. Has to say it. Even if he really doesn’t want to at all. He can practically feel the heat rushing to his head.

»Like maybe I broke something. Changed you. And you-« He hesitates. »You liked being you. Before. What if I-«

Crowley’s chest tightens at his own words, and his thoughts immediately spiral. He has feared this. He had always feared this – the thought that Aziraphale might wake up one day and realize that being with Crowley is the biggest mistake ever. Even worse now, that loving Crowley isn’t something he can just slip into like an old coat. That it comes with consequences. Aziraphale has been a thorn in Heaven's side for long enough. He's now nothing more like an outcast, just like the demon. And Crowley knows, deep down, how much that hurts Aziraphale.

»What if I dragged you down with me? Made you a demon?« Crowley adds, voice almost inaudible. He can't take the tension anymore and sits down at one of Anathema's horribly uncomfortable chairs. If Aziraphales breaks up with him here and now, his body will fail him anyway.

📖 Read the chapter here: Creating Grey - Chapter 10 - elliehase - Good Omens (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

#Good Omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanart #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands

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femmejournal · 1 day ago

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all i really want.

do i stress you out? my sweater is on backwards and inside out and you say,

"how appropriate."

Kn8 + idiots to lovers. In which you annoy your fav

Kafka Hibino finds you offputting. You're an aggressive flirt with seemingly no filter, for one thing, but for another you're unconventionally good looking to him--almost eerily so. There's something about you that bothers him, though he can't put his finger on it; the flirting would bother him if he was your only target, but you do it to everyone so he brushes it off. One day he tells you off for being a little too forward with Reno, who isn't uncomfortable, exactly, but looks...nervous. from that point on, you gravitate towards him, much to his initial dismay. But soon he finds you aren't so bad, just intense and passionate!

Mina Ashiro is appalled at your behavior. You're so....bold, and with her especially. Like, the audacity? Of mouthing off to your superiors?! Of flirting with her directly in from of everyone?! Secretly she's just flustered, but she acts like she's mad, and is really hard on you. But with time, she learns that you're reliable & strong. You even end up saving her a few times, to everyones surprise...although you always seem to be in her blind spots, making sure anything she misses gets taken care of and never reaches her. Soon enough, she's up late at night thinking of you, wondering if your flirtation was sincere...couldn't be, right?

Reno Ichikawa is taken aback by your presence. You're overpowering to him, like when you try a spicy food and you can't taste anything over the heat. He's honestly not sure if he likes it, but he thinks it's funny when you get called on your bs, so at least you're entertaining. He finds himself smiling despite himself when you're around because of this, and you tease him about it which he does not like. Or he's pretty sure he doesn't, at least. Still, he's going back and forth with you pretty quickly afterward, and finds that you're a good teammate. Soon enough it feels like you're the only two in the room, doesn't it?

Soshiro Hoshina finds you thoroughly entertaining, so of course he goes out of his way to be around you--and to bother you. He says you're annoying, but you're not so sure who's annoying who, really, because he bugs. And it's on purpose! By a certain point the two of you are competing to piss each other off. Everyone's sick of you both, they're betting on when you'll finally start making out instead of arguing. Please stop for the good of your colleagues!

Iharu Furuhashi is stunned by your boldness. He's kind of enamored with you because of it. He's not exactly thrilled with your attitude towards authority, but he admires your willingness to be who you are without shame, even if "who you are" us abrasive and rebellious. Kinda wants to tame you, probably. Can he? That's for you to know and him to find out.

Gen Narumi sees you as competition. You're just as hotheaded and loud as he is, and he feels like you're trying to overpower him. Whether he's correct or not doesn't really matter, he's going to beat you at your own game, or so he thinks. The flirting throws him off, though--he has 0 game and doesn't usually get any advances from anyone--and that pisses him off even more. In this case, you'll be taking him. Have fun!

Rin Shinonome is impressed with you. You're bold, intimidating, and stubborn, much like herself. Needless to say, she views you as a challenge. Immediate crush right here. She wonders who will give into the overwhelming sexual tension between you, and she's making sure it's not her. No, she wants you to crack first. It'll stroke her ego and be funny. Whether or not you follow her plan is up to you.

#kn8 #kaiju no. 8 #kn8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kafka hibino #kafka hibino x reader #mina ashiro #mina ashiro x reader #reno ichikawa #reno ichikawa x reader #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #iharu furuhashi x reaser #iharu furuhashi #gen narumi #gen narumi x reader #rin shinonome #rin shinonome x reader #🩷.archive

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bixels · 9 months ago

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What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

#i was a diehard pharmercy shipper back then btw #the inherent homoerotic experience of pharmercy gameplay.#the homoerotic experience of looking to the skies to fly to safety under the protection of your knight in shining armor #the homoerotic experience of feeling white hot murderous rage at an enemy trying to pick off your pocket mercy #i still kinda despise gency lmao. you cannot convince me mercy would be in love with genji. at all.#he'd make her feel so uncomfortable and guilty. in my head. the canon is obviously different #gency is sexless. absolutely zero bite or tension.#i could go on about mercy and how her character has so much missed potential #i'm no longer in my overwatch fandom phase but #i still think about that new flirty line they added in ow2 where mercy goes “ahh you're like my knight in shining armor!”#and pharah goes “that's what i'm goin for ;)” and i sigh dreamily #really happy that pharah outright says she's a lesbian too but it's hard to feel good about rep when you know blizzard uses it for pr #to be honest i'm willing to bet cash that blizzard's keeping pharmercy in their back pocket as ammo for the next controversy #last year we already saw logs about pharah fretting and taking care of mercy and the two talking about how good it is to see each other #tbh pharah has the same energy/demeanor as applejack. cheerful and competitive in a can of whoopass #but yeah overall pharah's a pretty shallow character. i have IDEAS on how i'd go about deepening her but. whatever #that's sorta what happens when you have to juggle a cast of 40 characters. a lot get left with the bare minimum #ok so i wrote this entire post up saying that pharah isn't in ow2's storymode when she is. she's in the story i just. forgot #because she doesn't do or contribute anything interesting #ok i'm stopping here. overwatch's story is such an interesting narrative mess i could go on for hours #i dunno how you come up with such incredible character designs and give them such an unincredible story #it's also so so so interesting seeing the conflicting takes on characters the writers have #mercy in gameplay and voicelines is peppy and cheerful and optimistic #but mercy in the storymode journal logs is tired. jaded. a total shut in who forgets to leave her room and social #and YES! THAT'S WHAT I WANT!!! THAT'S MERCY TO ME!!! THE DOCTOR WHO FORGETS TO TAKE CARE OF HERSELF #ask me #anon

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lilislegacy · 1 year ago

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it’s the fact that when percy and annabeth graduate from their high schools, annabeth’s estranged family is gonna fly out to NYC

which means there will almost certainly be an awkward dinner with both families.

“hey we’re the chases, the family who neglected, gaslit, and emotionally abandoned annabeth. but we feel really bad and we’re trying to do better.”

“hey we’re the blofis-jacksons, aka the loving family of your daughter’s boyfriend who took her in and loved her as our own after you neglected, glaslit, and emotionally abandoned her.”

except none of them actually say it. they’re all just thinking it.

sally has major mom beef with them, paul is trying to be nice but is skeptical, frederick feels guilty and awkward, mrs. chase is flat out uncomfortable, the twins are causing absolute chaos, annabeth is a wreck, percy’s making jokes every 17 seconds to attempt to diffuse the tension, and baby estelle is just vibin

i feel like a lot of wine would be consumed

#poor annabeth #sally is gonna be giving some major stink eye #you would not catch me anywhere near this occurrence #percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #sally jackson #frederick chase #paul blofis #chalice of the gods #cotg #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo

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k-hotchoisan · 11 months ago

Text

body language

well, pining after your brother’s fucking attractive best friend isn’t a sin if he doesn’t know right? nobody has to know.

nobody has to know that you're lodged in his fantasies when the nights deepen.

nobody has to know what happens when you're forced to share a room with Yunho.

Genre/Warnings: smut, big dick! X Perverted! Yunho, unprotected sex, low key corruption kink, mutual pining, cream pies, fingering, orgasms, overstimulation, oh no they are forced to share a room!, sexual tension, dirty talk

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee

🩷 back to staying perverted

A/N: send me to jail for being so inactive TT I know life happens and I shouldn't apologise for going mia for a bit but I still feel so bad! Nonetheless, please continue giving my works as much love as you all always do, and that ya'll are my source of motivation. Thank you for waiting ❤️

Undoubtedly, it’s either your brother has good taste in making friends, or you just have interesting taste in men, because out of all men you had a crush on, it had to be the one closest to your brother—Jeong Yunho. Something about him made your heart flutter uncontrollably. Maybe it was the way he would lean in towards you when he wanted to whisper something in your ear, keeping your brother an arm’s length while his voice tickled perfectly as it reverberates in your brain. Maybe it was the way he would hold your stare for a couple of seconds before his pretty smiles spreads across his lips, as if he was keeping a secret that he wants to tell you. Maybe it was the way he would bump his arm against yours when he wants to ally with you to piss your brother off.

Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny that the feelings you had for him were growing exponentially. How you managed to keep said feelings in bay was a mystery. You could attribute it to knowing Yunho for as long as you did. Maybe he treated everyone nice and politely like that. It was hard not to keep your hopes up sometimes and it really made you frustrated.

“A chalet?” You repeat. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just a weekend out”, your brother replies. “A couple of friends will be coming. You know them, including Yunho.”

“Are you going?” Yunho suddenly asks.

You break eye contact with Yunho, going back to your phone. “No. I’m going on a date.”

Yunho’s eyes widen. There is a flash of panic that flickers in his eyes. His words spill out of him before he realises it.

“With who? How come I didn’t know?”

You cast a confused glance at him. “Why would you need to know?”

That was when Yunho realises, and he simmers down, going back to hiding behind his phone screen. He bites his tongue, hoping you nor your brother ha caught on. But thankfully, no one else questions him. In fact, your brother doubles down.

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me?” Your brother echos.

“As if you’re interested in my love life”, you playfully retort, rolling your eyes before you disappear into your room, before Yunho starts to hear your heartbeat right in your ears again.

Yunho stares blankly at his phone, still processing that you’ll be going on a date. Something sits uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He’s running his brain, thinking of a million ways to make you cancel the date, half of it under the pretence of your brother. How could he do it without making it obvious?

“And why would I cancel my date, Jeong Yunho?” You ask, your arms crossed. For some reason, your brother and Yunho were suddenly way too interested in your date. Especially Yunho. He would not get off your back about it.

“It’s dangerous? Who knows he might be a serial killer!” He was really dramatic about too, might you add.

You scoff, and an amused smile tugs the corner of your lips, as your hand reaches out to pat his cheek. “I’ll be fine, Yun. You’re on my speed dial if anything happens okay?”

For a moment, you feel his gaze piercing right into you, as if time didn’t exist—the both of you caught in between each other’s gazes, Yunho looking like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. You quickly break the eye contact, remembering that he’s your brother’s best friend, and that Yunho is just being as worried as your brother. Nothing more than that. Yunho wants to hold the gaze longer. He almost wants to break the imaginary boundaries then both of you set, but he snaps into to reality when he watches you leave, his voice trapped in his throat.

Fuck. Looks like he’s the one losing now.

It doesn’t help that during that night, you slip into his dreams, and instead of you leaving, he has your face in his hands, and your lips are on his. He feels you in your entirety, and you feel so fucking good pressed against him. Yunho wants so badly to mark every part of you, to remind you he could do so much better than whoever you’re supposedly going out with. He could kiss you better, fuck you better. Then it switches—to you in front of him, your ass bouncing off his cock, loud smacks echoing from the walls as he sinks into your pussy with a broken sigh.

That’s when he fucking jolts awake, warm fluids streaming down his thighs, as he swallows an imaginary mass in his throat because what the fuck just happened? He stares blankly at the white ceiling of his room, mind as blank.

How fucked is he?

Yunho reaches to the doorstep of the chalet, almost close to midnight. Dance practice had bleed past the time, later than he thought. He greets his friends at the barbecue pit, still grilling chicken and seafood, stealing a stick and getting playfully hit before he enters the chalet itself.

Your brother sat there, comfortable with his girlfriend’s legs crossed over his lap as they had joycons in their hands, playing some kind of co-op game together. His friend turns to him, before his eye dart back to the screen once he acknowledges Yunho, much too engrossed with the level he and his girlfriend was at.

“Your room’s to the left of the stairs. I hung your lanyard there”, your brother says, before his attention goes right back to the game. For a spilt second, he suddenly remembers that he wanted to tell Yunho something, something important, but when his girlfriend squeals at clearing the level, the thought is completely erased from his memory.

Yunho climbs up the stairs, pushes the door open, and completely stops in his tracks as his gaze locks with yours. You’re seated on the bed, relaxed and on your phone until the door suddenly pushes open, and Yunho stands there, looking as bewildered as you.

There is a long moment of silence between the both of you.

“Can I help you, Yunho?” You break it.

“No…isn’t this my room?” Yunho clarifies. You glance around and shrug.

Yunho drops his bag, his heart beating loudly in his chest.

His eyebrows furrow, confusion sprawled across his face.

“Hold on. Weren’t you suppose to be on a date?”

You shrug again. “Yeah. It ended early. I thought of finding my brother and he asked me to use this room since it was vacant. I supposed he forgot to tell you? I could leave if-“

“N-no. You can stay, since you’re already here”, Yunho cuts you off. No fucking way is he wasting this chance. Somehow the thought of you within the same, close proximity is making his head dizzy. “You’re okay with sharing the bed? I can sleep downstairs.”

Your face starts to heat up. As much as it was the elephant in the room, for Yunho to bring up so straightforwardly like that was making your mind wander a little too close to the sun.

You force a small smile. “It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.” Well, not a lie, the only thing was that the both of you were blacked out drunk when it happened that one time.

Yunho’s signature smile appears. He looks comforted, at least. “Right. Then I’ll use the bathroom to wash up.” He grabs a spare towel on the rack, then walks back to dig for his clothes in his duffle before he disappears into the bathroom, leaving you with your messy thoughts. Your hand is over your heart, and you feel it beating a little too wildly.

Nothing’s gonna happen. Two people of the opposite sex can share a bed just fine, is what you tell yourself. Yeah, that would have been the case, if the opposite gender wasn’t Jeon Yunho.

Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen years in all honesty. The anxiety wouldn’t simmer down, so you end up burying yourself underneath the cold sheets, hoping that you’d end up falling asleep.

And by some miracle, you did. That is, until you feel the mattress weigh down, and shuffling on the sheets, then something bumping against your leg. You stir slightly from the disruption.

“Sorry. The bed’s a little…cramped”, you hear Yunho’s voice tickling your ears as his legs press against yours.

You stay silent, the only things that you hear are the whirling of the air conditioning and the sound of your heart about to fucking burst from your rib cage.

“It’s fine”, you finally reply, your body completely still, unsure how actually close the male is against you, only his legs pressed up against the back of your knees and his arms are barely touching your back as a gauge. Well, you weren’t in the mood to find out. The myriad amount of assurances you repeat to yourself that he’s just a friend, that he’s just Jeon Yunho, does nothing to comfort you to say the least.

You hear his voice ring a little to close to your ears again. “How was your date?”

You don’t want to answer, your eyes are focused onto the darkness of the door in front of you. You fear that he might hear your thoughts if you speak, even though that’s literally impossible.

“It was fine”, you curtly reply, squeezing the spare pillow in your arms.

“What did you think of him?”

“I think he’s okay. He’s quite a decent guy. Then again, it’s just the first date”.

The mattress shifts suddenly and you freeze when you feel him inch even closer to you. You have no clue what expression he’s making but from the way he suddenly shifts rather dramatically, you would assume that he seemed shocked?

Oh, you were definitely about to find out.

“You’re planning to see him again?” He’s closer now. You feel his chest almost pressing against your spine. You feel his gaze piercing daggers into the back of your head. You feel his agitation. But over what?

“I haven’t decided on that yet”, you reply. But you cut him before he says anything, “but what’s it to you? You usually don’t care about the things I do. Let alone my dates.”

This time, it’s Yunho’s turn to fall silent. The weight of the mattress beneath you shifts once more it stills. For a moment, you assume that he’d shifted away from you, and maybe he’d let the matter die off.

“Who said I didn’t?”

Now he’s completely pressing his body against you—you feel his lips just a hair’s length from the back of your neck, his chest completely flat against your back.

His crotch right against your ass.

“Yunho-“, you try turning to face him before the both of your start making any mistakes, but his hand presses your waist down, halting any movements you were about to make. Heat is flushing your cheeks.

“I’ll stop if you don’t want to, and I’ll turn away, and sleep downstairs. I won’t force you if you don’t want to.”

Shit, shit, shit. The more words Yunho speak, the more they aren’t registering in your damn head. His voice is melting in your ears, low and dangerous. The consequences that once rang like alarm bells in your head slowly grow muted, and now it’s just your carnal desire to let Yunho do whatever he wanted to you.

“I’m not doing this without your consent, my dear”, he reminds , and his hand is slowly trailing off your body.

All the repercussions, completely wiped off when your feelings that you once tried to fucking hard to suppress behind to bubble up to the surface, and for Yunho to just summon them so easily when he says it so gently and with such temptation.

But you should still probably stop this-

From the way you’re staying quiet, Yunho is ready to just cut his advances. After all, he’s not interested in making you feel uncomfortable, as much as he wants to just ruin you all for himself. He keeps his breathing light, but his heart is still beating loudly in his chest, bracing himself for the rejection, his hand gradually lifting from your waist, very much reluctantly-

Until he feels your hand cup his.

“I wanna feel you, Yunho”, you answer him, loud enough for him to hear, even though it was only the two of you within the confines of the room.

Yunho feels like he’s not close enough to you, even though the both of you are squeezed together, and his erection is evident—pressing shamelessly against the curve of your ass. It’s driving up the wall.

Another thing he doesn’t expect is the way your fingers curl around his wrist, and you bring him to your braless tits, and he short-circuits when his fingers press against your hard nipples. You curse softly when he rolls them gently against his fingertips, and you lean back against his chest. Yunho takes the chance to kiss your neck down to your shoulders, making you melt all over again.

But he doesn’t want to stay there for long. His cock is just throbbing and it’s overtaking his rationale.

You always offhandedly complimented that Yunho had such long, slender and pretty fingers, and that he made mundane actions—writing, typing—look so attractive.

And now, his fingers are prying your legs to spread open for him.

His fingers dip into the wetness of your soaked folds, and his mind almost completely blanks out for the second time at the way you’re drenched for him.

“Fuck. All of this for me?” He asks rhetorically, as he easily sinks two fingers in, hearing you choke from how his fingers are filling you up so well. The tip of his fingertips press against a spongy spot, and your head tilts back, face so flushed from the pleasure when he begins curl his fingers while in you and while he fucks your wet cunt.

He’s not letting you form any coherent thoughts in your head, not while he’s finger fucking the thoughts right out your poor brain.

“You’re so fucking soft. Shit. I really want to fuck you so fucking bad”, he grunts in your ear, his hips grinding against your ass like a natural instinct to.

“Your cock”, you mutter, struggling to keep your eyes open and mind clear. “Fuck. Need you to fuck me so good.”

Yunho inhales the scent of your hair wash as he peppers bites and kisses down the nape of your neck, smiling when he feels goosebumps spread across your skin.

He’s so tempted. But not yet. He desperate—desperate to see you fucking fall apart just with his fingers.

So he pulls his soaked fingers out, and for a moment, you whine at how empty your cunt feels, just ready to fucking beg him to fuck you with his fingers, his cock, whatever.

He sits up, pushing the thick and heavy blankets aside, tugging your wet bottoms and panties off, giving himself a mental reminder to pocket your panties when he’s done with you.

You’re spread open and perfectly wide for him to admire and drool over. By now, his eyes are pretty much adjusted the darkness, and the both of you are lazy to switch on the nightlight, so he’s definitely able to see your pussy in full view.

“Y-yu-“, your words completely cut off when he plunges two fingers right into your pussy again, filling you up completely. And this time, his other hand is on your clit, fingers rubbing, sending sparks flying beneath your eyelids.

The pleasure makes you buck your hips, and it builds so dangerously quick in your abdomen. The sounds of your pussy growing so fucking wet only encourages Yunho to pick up the pace, catching a rhythm of fucking and rubbing your clit so perfectly that you realise the feeling is growing way too funny.

“Y-Yunho-“ you try again. “Oh god. Feels weird.” Nonetheless, you don’t say it without your eyes rolling back and your abdomen flexing.

“That’s it. Let it go for me, baby. It’ll feel so fucking good.”

Oh fuck. You don’t even register it before it happens—it totally washes over you, and you’re just helplessly submitting to how fucking good this feels as you squirt all over Yunho, your mind swimming in the depths of ecstasy, your moans drowned when Yunho seals your lips shut with his, greedy to just keep them all to himself, and well, also not trying to wake the whole chalet up.

When Yunho pulls back and sees how flushed spent your face looks, he can’t help but sink deeper into his feelings for you. He goes in for another kiss, this time with your mind slowly clearing from the mind-blowing orgasm. Your arms wrap around his neck instantly, pulling him as close as you could, soft moans in between kisses only making him impossibly harder than he already was.

He shifts to lie down on the bed with you again, this time the both of you facing each other. He tugs the hem of your shirt and lugs it over your head, before lowering himself slightly to face your chest. You don’t know how but his pants are somehow kicked off, somewhere on the bed, and he’s bare and so fucking hard when he presses his cock on your pussy.

“Lift your leg for me, babe”, he says, palm sliding on the underside of your thigh as he feels you spread your legs open for him once more.

Yunho rubs his cockhead along your wet fucking folds, before he pushes himself in, a whimper leaving his lips as he bites on your shoulder to stop any loud noises from slipping past his lips.

He pushes himself in even more, and your arms are around his neck once more, light red imprints from your fingernails dig into his skin.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Feels like fucking heaven. So fucking tight and soft”, he mutters, eyes so glazed, and arms so tight around you when he finally buries himself into the hilt.

Your mind is complete mush by then—combined with Yunho’s cock that’s stuffed in you and the scent of his hair wash, you swear you were gonna cum for the second time. You knew he probably packed something, but holy fucking shit, you just never thought it would fill you up this fucking good. The rest of your senses slowly start to dull, the feeling of Yunho’s cock almost taking them all away.

“Shit. You’re fucking squeezing me-fuck!-here,” Yunho says, but it comes off as a broken moan. His head is buried into the crook of your neck, and you hear him trying to steady his breath through a slew of curses.

“You wanna move now?” You ask, your fingers combing through his messy locks. Yunho thinks he might have some sort of hair combing fetish with you now.

“Fuck, yes, please,” is all he replies before he pulls out slightly, then thrusting right back in, projecting fucking stars into your eyelids when he fills you up again and again.

You press your head against the pillow, eyes shut from the pleasure. When you find the strength to open them, Yunho’s glazed out expression is what comes into view. He’s looking at you like you’re his fucking treasure.

“Does it feel good? You feel so fucking amazing, y/n.”

“You can’t be asking me that when you’re fucking the thoughts right out of me”, and you squeal when he thrusts into you once more, filling you up to the brim.

“Even better. So my cock will be only the cock you know, right?” He smiles, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when your walls clench around him again.

And when you don’t answer, his hand slithers to your neck, and he squeezes, making you gasp.

“Answer me, pretty.”

“Yes, fuck yes. Don’t need anyone else’s when you’re fucking me so good”, you cry, relishing in the way he’s gradually cutting off your oxygen supply.

His thrusts grow harder and faster, his hands slowly letting go of your throat.

“That’s my good girl.”

And that makes your cunt flutter and pulsate uncontrollably for the second time, only now it’s on his cock this time.

“F-fuck. Oh, that’s it. That’s a good fucking girl, cumming all over my cock like that”, his voice ups a pitch when you fall apart again. “I’m gonna cum. Make sure you’re full and dripping when I’m fucking done with you.”

And when he does, he leaves a whole garden of bites on your chest and shoulders on top of filling your pussy up with his thick and warm cum. You never thought his face would get anymore attractive, but when he cums? You could get addicted to pulling that expression out of him, that’s for sure.

The both of you are panting as your highs wear off, hands still not off each other despite the shared warmth. He’s the first to let go, and you’re about to say something until he turns you around, and it’s then when his cock starts to harden in you. Your heart is beating rapidly again when his cock is filling you up once more, as it slowly displaces his cum that leaks past your sopping hole.

Your hand grabs onto his arm that’s snaking around your waist.

“W-wait. We need to talk about my broth-“, and he hears you whimper when he pushes himself deeper into you, throbbing in you. The way he’s littering kisses down your neck is sending you into a spiral, and now you’re nothing but weak against him, and his fat cock.

“That can wait to tomorrow, babe. I promised that I’ll make sure you’re full and dripping once I’m fucking done with you right? Well, I’m not done fucking you yet.”

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez smut #smut #ateez fic #kpop smut #jeong yunho #y/n x yunho #yunho ateez #ateez jongho #ateez yunho #yunho x reader #yunho smut #Spotify

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incognit0slut · 3 months ago

Text

was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #angst #angst with no happy ending

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ivyues · 2 months ago

Text

Dreaming of Peaches - Bang Chan

Bang Chan has a dream of little curls and your eyes.

It had been a strange day. Chris had been acting a bit off, nothing too alarming, but enough for you to notice. He was quieter than usual, his touches lingering just a bit longer, as though he was lost in thought every time he looked at you. It wasn’t unusual for him to have moments of introspection, but today felt... different.

Later that evening, as you were settled in your bed, you felt his arms snake around your waist from behind. He pulled you close, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hand, warm and steady, came to rest on your stomach. It was comforting, and yet, there was a nervous energy about him.

“Chris,” you murmured, placing your hand over his. “Are you okay? You’ve been... distant today.”

There was a pause. You felt him shift slightly, his hand retreating as if it had been caught somewhere it wasn’t meant to be. That small movement made you turn around to face him. His eyes flicked away, uncharacteristically avoiding yours. That alone was enough to make you tilt your head in confusion.

“Hey,” you said softly, taking his hand in yours. “What’s going on? You know you can tell me anything if you want.”

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. He looked almost embarrassed, his ears tinged pink, and he ran a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze. “I... I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s... kind of silly, really.”

Your reassuring look must have encouraged him, because he sighed and began to ramble. “I had this dream last night. You were pregnant... and we had a little girl. She was running around, and she had my stupid curly hair and your eyes. And – I don’t know – it felt so real. When I woke up, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like I’m... pushing something on you, or that—”

“Chris,” you interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. He stopped mid-sentence, looking at you with wide, almost vulnerable eyes. “I don’t know what the future holds for us,” you admitted, your voice steady. “But if it’s with you, I’m not scared.”

There was a beat of silence before a smile broke across his face, soft and boyish. “She had your eyes,” he repeated, a hint of awe in his voice. “And the curliest little head of hair, just like mine. And—” He chuckled, his voice warming with amusement. “you had this little baby bump. Like, the cutest little bump I’ve ever seen.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension dissolve into something tender and warm. “The bump, huh? That’s what stood out to you?”

Chris’ ears turned a shade pinker as he grinned sheepishly. “I mean, yeah. You were glowing, and you kept resting your hands on it like it was the most precious thing in the world. I guess it just stuck with me.”

You looked at him thoughtfully, gently brushing a strand of his hair away. “Dreams can be silly, but can also hold wants of the heart. If ours don’t align, we should always be honest with each other. No matter what.”

Chris’s smile widened, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “You’re right. And hey, don’t worry, I’ve already got seven kids to take care of,” he said with a mischievous grin.

You laughed then raised an eyebrow, a thought hitting you. “By the way… what did we name the child?”

Chris paused for a moment, then let out a dramatic sigh. “I think we called her … Peaches,” he said, grinning like he had just solved the biggest mystery of the century.

You blinked at him, unable to hold back your laughter. “Peaches? Really?”

“Hey, it was your idea,” he teased, winking.

You gasped, still laughing, and held up your hands in protest. "Nonono, we are not naming our kid something like that," you said, eyes wide with disbelief.

Chris chuckled, the mischievous glint in his eyes never fading as you protested. But before you could argue further, he leaned in, silencing you with a gentle kiss. His lips were soft, a mix of affection and amusement, and the warmth of his touch sent a ripple of calm through you.

Shaking his head he mouthed the words "our kid" – almost as if he was testing the idea out in his own mind, as if it was too surreal for him to say aloud.

masterlist

#bang chan imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #bang chan scenarios #stray kids scenarios #bang chan #stray kids #skz #skz scenarios #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz fluff #bang chan fluff #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids fluff

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ridingtorohan · 2 months ago

Note

hey!! i saw ur recent post about the tulpar crew walking in on reader touching themselves, could u do the same but vice versa?

Ask and ye shall receive!

𓇻 ft. tulpar crew x gn reader

𓇻 content. 18+ content, minors dni. possible second hand embarrassment. masturbation, sexual propositions, the whole shebang. this is a sequel to this post. this one can definitely be read on its own though. lightly implied that reader didn't accept swansea or daisuke's offers in the prequel but that can be left up to interpretation. jimmy's definitely happened though.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎Masterlist - Want to Join my Taglist?

Curly is just so damn tired. Tired of the reports, faxes, checking the straps in the cargo bay. One of the few downtimes he gets is when he can sit and watch the constellations pass on the common room monitor. The Augira, Constantine and Mitena were all ones that he recognized from this sect of the system, all penned from the eyes of Saturn and further.

Movies are a scarce commodity on the screen, given Jimmy's track record of not wanting to hook the systems up, but it helps him nod off most times.

Working out, though? Working out he can do. Pony Express has given him permission to bring his weights on board, alongside a slew of magazines and audiobooks to listen to.

While Curly doesn't think of himself as a gym rat, those moments to himself are some of the best. Nothing but the burn of iron, the strain of his muscles with each rep. It's methodical work, one that sets his mind at ease and off of reports for once.

Some days, he can get Jimmy in on the action, but most of the time his co-pilot bemoans it. Each time they worked out, the stretches between the next session grew longer.

He's pleased when you agree to attend a few sessions with him. By then, it's almost amicable between you two, as if him walking in you didn't even happen. He's very much acted the part of a dutiful captain, though, he can't help his own eyes from wandering when he sees you stretch. Can't help himself from putting his hands firmly on you when he goes to correct your stance. It doesn't linger, doesn't wander, but goddamn, does he wish he could throw propriety out the window.

It's after one of his solo workout sessions when he chooses another way to unwind. Really, that's the only explanation for it. One that he tells himself anyway, because the strain of propriety is heavy. If he still thinks of you from time to time, if your face crops up in his thoughts while he touches himself, that's his business.

The only places you'd catch him in the act is either in the bathroom or his room.

Curly has always been imaginative, thoughts trailing to roads not travelled, paths that burn out of sight. Of you, sprawled out on the bed, and how he wished he had stayed. How he'd have given anything to hike your legs over his waist and kiss you senseless when he slid against you.

As it always is, every fantasy comes to an abrupt end. Every night that he had dreamed of walking in to find you waiting, you found him. Wifebeater drenched in sweat, towel draped over his shoulders, every line of his well built body on display, hand fisted around his cock.

There's a difference between wishing you'd walk in on him and actually receiving it.

A painful, terse moment lingers between you two, tension so thick he swears he can cut it. His hand completes the motion, wiping from his base to the tip, each breath deep. Despite how uncomfortable he felt (for more than one reason), he also felt more prepared. "Hold on a minute." He'll cover himself, boxers and uniform hiding himself from view.

If you believe you could flee from the room without Curly following you, you're dead wrong. He'll track you down, put this to bed once and for all. He'll catch you, half-dressed in his uniform, blue workwear draped around his waist, hand against the wall. "We have to talk about this."

Regardless if you stay or leave, not talking about it is no longer an option. You've both seen more of each other than was warranted, then what you both signed up for, but dammit he wants this. And he's so tired of shying away from things that he wants. From the person that he wants. All because of some higher-ups sitting cozy back home saying that it's wrong to do. He can't do it anymore, not when he feels like he's on the cusp of something great for once in his life.

"I know that what happened isn't what either of us expected," he'll start, voice low and perhaps far too sensual to be appropriate considered his half-dressed state. "And frankly, we can keep it to ourselves, pretend we never saw it." Biting the bullet is one of the fewest things he's done in life, but this is something that he wants to do. By fractions, Curly leans in closer, his voice entering a low murmur. "But... it doesn't have to be. We could give each other a.. hand, so to speak."

Routine. That's one thing that the Tulpar is good at. Routine. Each meal time, the rigid necessity of clocking in and out on time, even bathing. Pony Express may be a shit machine but it's well oiled, worked raw by the people under it. Delivering the payload is a smooth easy task because they all work on it together.

Part of that routine is shift work. Jimmy, ever the night-owl, works evening and night shift. This makes it so incredibly easy to avoid him if you wanted, especially since he walked in on you tending to yourself.

But he doesn't let you forget it. Since that moment, there's a smoldering heat in his gaze, eyes hooded as he watches you go about the room. Watched as you did your tasks, always standing too close - enough that you can get a whiff of his woodsy cologne, or feel his arm against yours.

He's almost helpful, even when your tasks really don't necessitate the need for another. His hands linger, hot against your uniform, his hips against the back of yours whenever he steadied you, or reached above you. Each word a rumble in his throat.

Except there's never really any change to talk to him about what happened. Not when every moment is tense, fraught with unresolved desires and need. Not when Daisuke or Curly walk into the room, silencing the burning questions and words that haunt your lips. Jimmy seems especially disgruntled about the interruptions, getting almost snappy towards the other crewmembers.

All in all, you rarely have a moment to speak with him. It's the furthest thing from your mind when you step out of the shower, more than eager to collapse face first into bed and sleep the weariness away.

If you're the sort to bring clothes into the washroom to change into, the absence of them is noted fast. No amount of scrounging around turns them up either. At a loss, it's to your sleeping quarters to wrangle up something else to wear.

Except you're very much not alone the second you step into your door. The door swishes behind you but you're effectively grounded, eyes drawn to the man lounging on your bed.

His head is tilted, messy hair falling across his hooded eyes, a dark and smoldering look to them. A slow stretch of a smirk crawls across his face, a pleased look darting into his eyes.

Jimmy is just as bare as the day he was born, an arm languidly thrown over your pillow. A leg bent up, not at all coy about having himself on display. His other arm is resting against his thigh, one hand smoothing along his flushed cock in a slow, slick motion. His fingerstips are all but slathered in precum - or actual cum, as you might suspiciously think when you look at your clothes haphazardly thrown onto the floor, looking sticky.

"There you are. Took you long enough." He breathes out your name, chin tilted upward, something primal lurking deep in his eyes. Jimmy clicks his tongue, ever the disapproving copilot. "You should know better than to keep someone waiting." Despite the curt, wanting tone to his words, he doesn't move towards you. Letting you go to him. Like he knows you will.

"I've been thinking," each word is low and deep, husky in his mouth. Jimmy's hand very much doesn't stop moving, stroking himself as you're rooted to the spot. Whenever you glance down between his thighs, his smirk deepens. "That you owe me for what I did for you."

It's not like you could dance around the topic forever; each touch, every interrupted conversation, it all would have culminated to this. Jimmy waiting for you, eager to put his hands back on you, to feel you tremble and shudder beneath him as he pulls you apart.

The thing was, you realize, it'd be terribly easy to leave him here. To not respond to his advances. The door was to your back and even Jimmy had enough sense not to walk out nude in pursuit of you. It'd be easy to walk to another crewmate's quarters and pilfer clothes. It'd be laughed off, brushed under the rug just as another incident, excused as you being unable to enter your room because of 'technical difficulties'.

The thing is, though, you can clearly remember how his hands felt, the way he moved. How Jimmy watched you with the same intensity now, his eyes a dark promise of a repeat experience, if not more.

You don't really want to refuse such an offer, do you?

Try as Anya might, she can't get the image of you out of her head. The sounds you made, how your hands moved. She'd tried to be civil, though how quickly she averts her gaze and fidgety hands betray how much it affected her. Nerves, she'd try to excuse it. Nothing ever related to you, of course, because that sounds too much like blame. She blames herself for walking in on you masturbating, and blames herself for wishing that she hadn't left.

But by god, did it make her needy and so sexually frustrated. She's found every excuse under the sun to touch you then jerk back, at war with herself. She has to act professional. Doesn't she?

Something about you, seeing you like that, had coiled something burning inside of her. Something hot, that festered low in her gut.

For the most part, she can act professional. Mostly. But she can only get so far from letting her eyes trace your silhouette, from sitting on her leg whenever you talk to her. It's risky business, even riskier when she decides to keeps a few tokens of yours. Things that smell like you, even distantly - papers, a bracelet. Things that you've lent to her before.

It's been a while since she got laid, since she's even been attracted to anyone. But something about you just sets her on fire, burning with want and need. She needs you like she's never needed anyone before.

Realistically, Anya knows it's because of the forbidden nature; because of the close proximity day in and day out, but there's something so tantalizingly beautiful about it too. She's a sucker for it.

One of her favourite places to get off is in the medbay; she can lock herself in it - but she doesn't. Because it's so much more tantalizing when she thinks about you walking in. When she thinks about pressing you against the desk and using her medical expertise on you. She wants to hear you - taste you - feel you. Is that too much to ask for?

That's exactly where you catch her. Her breath coming out in hot breaths, eyes shut tightly, uniform pulled open. It'd be so easy to mistake it for something else, such as the room being hot - if it weren't for where her hands were.

One has all but ridden up her shirt, rolling the peak of her breast between her fingers. The zipper has gone all the way down to her waist, one hand curled tightly in her underwear, motions jerky as she fingers herself.

Every inch of her wishes that it was you, your fingers working her over, touching her clit and prodding at her walls. She feels so close, having edged herself for a bit until you came in.

It was just to ask her her input on supper, or for a nonsensical question that very well could have waited for another moment.

The door swishes shut behind you and her eyes flutter, dark as she looks up at you, flush all but crawling up her neck.

Seeing how you look at her - how you came to look for her- needing her for something, a question halfway on your lips - and it's her undoing. She moans your name, guttural and hoarse, hips jerking, dripping over her knuckles. "Wait-" Singlehandedly one of the better orgasms she's had, better than when she pined endlessly.

When her senses come back, Anya is breathless and shaken - and you're long gone.

She's not letting you go this time. Not when a new, burning question lodges inside her. Did you like what you see? Did you wish you weren't there?

Anya approaches your door at night, knocking crisply and when you grant entrance, she stands there, the atmosphere almost palpably awkward. She takes a few steps closer, feeling flighty and desperate, eyes searching your face, whispering your name.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she whispers, voice low in the room, nerves biting at her throat. She can't not know anymore. "But I'm... glad that you did."

"Is this.. tension between us all in my head, or, do you want me too?"

It's one thing after the next. Couplings came loose, Daisuke's homework is not up to par, the lightbulbs need to be changed but no one seems capable of doing it. It all amounts to a sort of frustration winding up in him. Swansea has enough grace not to lash out at anyone, but it's there, palpable in his tone.

By some saving grace, you're willing to help him out with his work. Passing over screwdrivers and wrenches, new copper wire as he needs it. Swansea has noticed that you're attentive and eager like that; willing to help. Sometimes, he really wished you were his intern instead of Daisuke, not that he blames the kid.

He really needs a damn beer.

Wanking out his frustrations as a teenager and young adult had really suited him just fine, and with each passing day, it becomes a far more likely possibility.

It surely does not help when every little moment with you feels charged. Knuckles brushing when you supply him with mechanic tools, or when his arm brushed against your thigh as he steadied the ladder for you.

Swansea finds his gaze lingering.. on how your uniform bunches, the sway of your walk, the excited chatter to your tone when you've launched into some spiel or other. Each look he gives you is in quiet contemplation, though perhaps not as obvious as to why.

He's long since brushed off your curious questions.

It's when Anya outright slipped and fell over an oil spill that Swansea called it quits. There's only so many small annoyances that he could take before it became a hazardous snowstorm.

After it's suitably cleaned, he tried to find a place to tuck himself away. Keyword: tried. Something else always needed to be fixed, and he had enough years under his belt to know the ins and out of everything. Leaky faucet? Hold his glass. Vaccuum given up? He's got it. Curly, goddammit, he has it.

It's so grueling to find a moment of peace, so he takes what he can. That just so happened to be in the utility room, frustrations to a boiling point.

He knows his body, knows just the right way to stroke himself, the perfect amount of pressure. Learned it long since his youthful days, since his amicable divorce from his wife. Sure, it might feel mechanic at a certain point, but to him, it was a small reprieve. A getaway that only booze came close to.

Foreskin pulled back, his head is tucked low, eyes heavily lidded, fingertips pressing under the tip of the head just like he likes.

Swansea has himself sticky with precum when the utility door rattles and open. "Swansea, I found your keys-"

His eyes track up, eyebrows raised. Whatever hasty attempt you may have made, it's blocked by the aging mechanics of the utility door. It's from an older rig, one that still uses keys instead of the security bars that the medbay and cockpit use. Which means it's faulty as shit.

He sighs, head tipped back, eyes still on you. "That's on me for not leaving a sock out there," he grumbles, voice gruff and husky. A reference to how he told you to ward off people when he caught you masturbating earlier.

Moving his hand from his cock, his gaze is surprisingly steady, arm draped against the back of the chair. "Listen, kid, I won't say shit about this if you don't. Keep it jammed tight better than a olive jar when making margaritas. But." He rolls his neck, feeling a satisfying crack run through him. "I can show ya a few things that the ole cap' or other men won't, if yer interested."

Daisuke has been, for lack of a better word, edgy around you. Hovering, then trying to create distance. He can't seem to decide how to act around you. Not when he's seen you that way, pleasuring yourself. When he wishes you'd involve him.

He's seen plenty of naked people before, got hard over them, but wow, did you take it to the next level. Even how you tilt your head or roll up your sleeves has him in an outright tizzy, straining hard in his pants.

Daisuke often has to excuse himself from your presence. Ignoring Swansea's rolling eyes and knowing scoffs is easy; ignoring you is harder.

It's during one of those mundane tasks, where you're prattling about your work to the others, his eyes glued to your form, absorbing every word that he can't take it anymore. Excusing himself, he pops right out of the room, awkwardly striking towards his bunk.

But of course that is the exact moment you decide you need to return his gameboy - or comic, or whatever he had lent you a few weeks prior.

Daisuke is completely in the groove, pants folded down, back propped to the wall, knees folded and lips parted with each heavy breath. He's always been loud, noisy and boisterous. But his saving (and falling) grace is that he's also often playing movies in his room, and what muffled sounds you may hear from the other side of the door is easily chalked up to that. (Or perhaps, you knew.)

You catch him like that, hand fisted around his lean cock, shirt ridden up over his stomach, his movements sharp and jerky. It's bad enough that you walk in on him like this - but another to hear Daisuke rattle out your name, the sound breathy and full of want coming from his lips.

He's a poor, flushed mess, eyes wide when he looks up at you - and it's so plainly obvious to the both of you that he didn't call out because he heard you come in.

"I- I can totally explain." Except he really can't, can he, when he has his dick in his hand, just moaning your name literally seconds ago.

Any attempt to backtrack out of the room will be greeted with a hasty, "Oh my god, no, pleasewait!" As he all but tries to leap from his bed, tripping over his pants in his haste to get to you. Daisuke is nothing but determined and will try to talk to you about this, even if you manage to successfully flee.

Choosing to stay has him utterly red-faced, almost ashamed as he rambles through a tirade of, "Okay, so," punctuated by repeated, stumbled phrases before he manages to get out, "So, me calling out your name just now - total accident. Unlessyoudon'twantittobe? But, like, I definitely understand if you want to leave but I'dreallyratheryoustaybecause I really can't stop thinking about you and, - oh hey, is that my gameboy? You can just set it-- that's not important! I just. Really don't want you to leave. Please."

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kashilascorner · 2 years ago

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the after the rain manga has me sad because the reason why i enjoyed the anime was because it was complex but things were taken seriously and most importantly, the story never actually turned into a romance. in the manga though... Aside from the blatant fanservice in some of the chapters/volumes, kondou explicitly admits to being in love with akira 😬

#like in the anime they kinda go on dates because of his inability to say no but ok. once or twice. most physical touch is a hug. most #romantic tension is enrirely on akira's side with a bit of that ''she's very pretty so i get flustered by the attention'' thingy #but in the manga... it's a ahame because i still think the manga did it's best to potray it in a complex and non-sentationalistic way #and the art is soooooo pretty (except for the fanservice). the visual storytelling is really good and i like how it expands on their #daily lives and other characters and stuff (except for that weir step sister thingy going on with the blond asshole from the restaurant)#laura reads #I'm just sad because the manga has been making me increasingly uncomfortable #while the anime didn't :( anyways I'm almost done so i will finish it. in part because i really like the art #I'll give the author another chance with her new series but. yeah.

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gravegoer · 3 months ago

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Take a hint. ୨୧

sevika x oblivious!reader ♡ PART 1 [feel free to send requests, asks etc! i respond to everything :) + i defo need to make a badass reader x sevika to make up 4 this

PART 2 HERE , masterlist here

• How could you have possibly made it this far all by your lonesome in the undercity?? Almost oblivious to anyones advances, threats etc. Your last minute judgement has to have come in clutch many times.

• Having said that; obviously sevika is going to raise an eyebrow as you walk past her,

• She sat in her booth, playing a game of poker with two conspicuous-looking men (to say the least.) A cigarillo hung from her thick lips and smoke puffed out of her nose as she glanced up.

• A man follows you (cocky fella) spewing nonsense about how he so badly wanted to get to know you and how "you should come grab a drink with me, all on my tab sweetheart."

• She shook her head; this didn't snag her attention, as the man was a regular, always harassing the prettiest woman he could find at the bar. What did snag her attention was your response.

• "Oh...sure! Why not ?" You laughed, undoubtedly carefree and unaware of the man's advances. Now, this THIS is what made her lips curl downward into a sneer.

• How could someone be so stupid. Seriously. What part about this guy didnt scream "creep." Were there not flashing red lights going off in your head telling you to turn the other way and make a run for it?

•Although this wasnt normally the kind of thing she bothered to pay attention to she continued to keep an eye on you as you walked toward the bar with him.

• However, the game of cards draws her attention away from the two of you. The man to her right groans at her card selection before shuffling through his.

• This was going to be another easy cash night, huh? She thought, her eyes wandering back to where you sat. The man next to you is now a bit too close for comfort.

• "I dont see you 'round here often missy" The man drawls, smirking at you. His fingers traced the rim of your glass slowly, barely missing your fingertips.

• "Yeah im...im not around here often.. tonight jus- " You were cut off by his hand on yours.

• "A pretty lady shouldnt be out at night all by 'er self, who knows what might snag 'er up, yeah?" His grip on yours was just a bit too tight.

• "Thats true..I was going to head home soon anyways. Thank you for your concern." You half smiled at him, now feeling the uncomfortable tension between you.

• The man took your smile as a green light to do whatever the fuck he wants and he leans in closer to your face. Before he can even bring his lips within the radius of your face the slam of metal separates you two.

• A mechanical device whirrs between you, parts clanking and activating: acting as a barrier. Your drink spills onto the floor, just narrowly missing your leg.

• You look up to see the weilder of said device glaring straight foward, not looking at either of you. Although her lips settle into a tight line; disdain etched into her (quite stunning) features. You could feel the heat of her body just inches away from yours.

• "Um...were we in your way-" You are cut off by her unexpectedly deep angry tone.

• "Lance, get the fuck out of here." She spat, now turning her head to look at him. Ah so thats his name.

• Her body was turned to face yours, her large frame mostly blocked your view from Lance, but it was pretty obvious he up and left without a word of retaliation.

• You eyed her questioningly scanning her lean (buff) frame.

• "You dont know a man thats trying to get in your pants when you see one?" She spoke firmly, turning her head to you.

• "I dont think he was.." You recalled all the events in the past five minutes and sighed internally "Mmfuck"

• Sevika took a draw of her cigar, watching you piece everything together, "So you really are stupid? I thought you were playing dumb." She scoffed.

• She couldn't lie. You were beautiful. It's a shame that all the men in the bar have probably eyed you at least once since you walked in. This thought made her lips twitch downward.

• "Bartender," Her voice booms "Get her another whiskey."

• Sevika ordering for a woman?? Absolutely unheard of. She means buisness. The bartender quickly grabs your drink offering a smile (that looked more out of fear than anything else) to Sevika.

• All the regulars know she only comes to the bar to either: A) Gamble B) Drink or C) beat someones ass. And despite her rough demeanor her actions were uncharacteristically...nice?

• "Thank you," You smiled up at her "I need to get better at that kind of thing"

• She slid into the barstool next to yours, where Lance had previously sat. "Is this your first time in the undercity? If not im suprised you havent been killed yet"

• Her question went unanswered as you watched the spread of her legs when she sat down, she has thick; definitely toned thighs. You swear you can see the muscle even with her pants on. Your eyes travel upward to look at her ever so slightly visible abs-

• "Hey, do you have nothing going on up there?" She sneered at you, now getting up from her stool. She was quickly irritated.

• "Im sorry, but you're gorgeous. Whats your name?" You ask, catching her gaze as she stood.

• She makes an incredulous expression for a second before going stone faced again "Be careful with what you say to strangers"

• Your drink arrives and she nods her head towards it before walking away, not leaving any room for you to thank her.

• Right as you're about to stare at her confident walk back to her booth a voice interrupted your thoughts, "Thats Sevika, Silcos second hand man." The bartender spoke.

• He knew you werent new, you had been coming for several years, but only casually. The only reason you stook out to him was because of you're genuine kindness when you spoke to him, not demeaning or demanding drinks.

• In return he usually warded off the men and women trying to snag you up and take you home.

• At his words you turned to look at her, but she was already staring back at you. Her gaze dark and almost hungry. You shivered at that, breaking eyecontact first.

• You didn't feel like drinking any longer, aching for the warmth of your home. You took a sip of whiskey and waved at the bartender before hopping off your stool to start towards the exit.

• You passed Sevikas booth on your way out, the men at her table eyed you and one wolf whistled loudly.

• Sevikas' eye twitched as she waited for you to exit the vicinity. She made note of the bell ring when you opened and closed the door to the bar.

• She wasted absolutely no time to jump on the man who wolf whistled, grabbing him by the collar and delivering an unforgiving punch to his face with her mechanical arm.

You definitely would be meeting again.

short authors note :) this is my first fic in FOUR YEARS so be patient with me guys ... anywho.. PLEASSEE send asks im begging, i crave to write right now. Im mainly writing for sevika and female characters ! But ill do anyone. ask me about fandoms ! (im in many) and ill write for basically any ask me for part 2 !! KUDOS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY APPRECIATED

comment to be added to my taglist :)

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peachsayshi · 3 months ago

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// brutally soft // II.

baby daddy!sukuna x reader

tags: non curse au; fluff; tension; reader and sukuna are co-parents; girl dad sukuna; mentions troubled past with sukuna; alludes to significant size different; sukuna being extremely soft | wc: x | read this for more context & this

note: you and sukuna attend your daughter's winter performance at school

dni if your blog is blank / ageless / or are a minor

your lips part, eyes widening as the crisp air stings the tip of your nose.

you take sukuna in - his tall body leaning against the pillar of the kindergarten in an outfit that's far too sharp than anything you've ever seen him in.

an overcoat, pressed matching colored slacks, a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle, polished loafers and a dark charcoal turtleneck hugging all the muscle he carries. the all black attire highlights his fiery hair and silver piercings glittering underneath the warm light. he has one hand in his pocket, the other flicking through his phone screen.

your heart hammers. the space between your leg pulses.

he looks so good.

you step forward, the heel of your boot climbing up the concrete stairs. he looks up when he hears you approaching, and stands upright to greet you with a warm smile. "hey," he states calmly, berry tinted irises tracking down your body to subtly check you out.

"hi," you reply, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. sukuna rarely ever dressed up like this. he was a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy. he owned one denim and one leather jacket. he loved worn band tees, gym attire and cut out shirts. he hated spending money on clothes because he found it "frivolous" and instead would blow it on his motorbike, booze, and weed. he rented a suit once and complained the entire time. but this...

"you look," you stammered, unable to ignore the slight spark that ignited between the space where you both stood. "you look really good, ryo..."

he runs his hand over his freshly trimmed undercut, the scent of oak moss and wood wafting across your nose and making you picture an evergreen forest.

"thanks," he murmurs with a slight pout, his face falling into an honest expression of uncertainty. "I thought I overdid it a little..." "not at all, you look…fantastic…” you answer with a shake of your head and a firm word of reassurance. "this shit cost me an arm and a leg, but I had nothing else to wear tonight..." he huffed, before relaxing his stance. "glad it paid off at least" you furrow your brows softly, "you bought all this for her play?" a hint of pink kisses sukuna's cheeks and he averts his eyes shyly. "yeah, the brat keeps complaining about my scary clothes and shit..." your heart melts over the gesture.

when you think about how much sukuna cares for your daughter, how much he wants to prove to her and everyone else around him that he does, in fact, take his role as a father seriously, it makes you immensely proud of him.

you've seen the growth in the man.

the sukuna you knew five years ago and the man standing before you now were two completely different people.

and that fact messes with your head.

you swore to yourself that you would never take him back.

that you would never give him a second chance.

"anyway, shall we head inside? the show is about to start in fifteen minutes..." he interjects, cutting your thoughts abruptly before you even have a chance to tell him anything else.

you nod your head, and he casually places his palm against the small of your back to lead you inside.

the parents were cramped in the auditorium, the steel fold out chairs were uncomfortably cold but even more so for your former ex lover who was struggling to find a position for his large physique. after watching him suffer for a few minutes, you finally offered him your own seat on the aisle to give his legs a bit of breathing room.

"fucking hell, all this money we spend and they can't get some decent chairs in..." he complains and you chuckle as you bump his shoulder into his.

the performance was all about celebrating the seasons of the year and each class from the kindergarten were set to perform a specific season. the first batch of kids started with the spring season, where the kids sang and danced in little floral costumes as they taught the audience in question all about how spring brings abundance and the start of something new. the next scene moved into summer, where the performance transitioned to upbeat tempos as the kids celebrated the warmth that the season brings. the third scene transitoned to fall, where the colors of the set morphed into earth tones as the kids sang about the celebration of the harvest.

and finally it was the last scene to honor the beauty of the ice, cold winter. the scene where your daughter was performing. you nudge sukuna when you notice him dozing off, and he instantly perks upright to catch the part that he's been waiting for all night.

his face lights up when his daughter scampers onto the stage, dressed as a sparkling little snowflake. you both can see her eyes scanning the crowd, and her face brightens when she finds the two of you.

sukuna leans in to whisper in your ear, "she wanted to wear that from when she woke up this morning..."

"and did you let her?" you prod, teasing him over his softness towards her and knowing full well that she could have easily gotten her way with him.

"hell no. I wasn't going to deal with the mess of all that glitter," he answers back, your voices getting lower as the audience hushes.

the performance starts - your daughter is twirling and moving with confidence. she sings along with the choir and whenever you glance towards sukuna, you find him beaming with pride the entire time.

and then there was her big moment, her solo.

the one she has been going on and on about for weeks.

the spotlight shines on her as she takes center stage, her small hands squeezing into two tight balls as she shifts her weight from one foot to the next.

she's nervous, you can see it and it makes you itch with anticipation. you can't help but tug at sukuna's sleeve subconsciously, but the man responds by naturally taking your hand in his own.

your daughter swallows the lump in her throat, a hint of fear veiling her eyes as she glances to the side of the stage then back to the audience.

her eyes fall to you and sukuna once again, and the man simply meets her focus as he playfully waves his fingers in her direction.

her small hand relaxes, and she gives him a secret wave in return before easing her stance.

your eyes sting with tears at the interaction before she starts to sing.

you're holding your breath the entire time, pride sitting at your throat as you let go of sukuna to pull out your camera to record the entire thing. her confidence unfurls as she carries on her performance, making you think of all the afternoons and evenings she has spent performing her solo in front of you and probably sukuna while at home. by the end she takes a dramatic bow before returning to the rest of her cast.

you pause the video and turn to the man by your side who is applauding louder than everyone else in the room.

he looks at you with nothing but fulfillment.

"that's our girl," he says with a wolfish grin and cheeky wink, only triggering happy tears to fall.

sukuna drapes his arm around you, and you sling your own around his bicep in return, the other wiping away at your cheek. "yeah," you answer with a sniffle, "yeah it is"

for a moment your eyes lock, the two of forgetting your surroundings as the final song ensues.

“thank you for bringing her into my world,” sukuna murmurs, his lips merely inches from yours. but you don’t even pick up on the depth of what his gratitude even means.

you dab away at the dampness on your face. “that girl is your world, ryo” you tease but pause when you notice his face soften as he dips his gaze to your bottom lip.

“you both are.” he clarifies earnestly, but you are too stunned to speak.

he leans forward, and replicates what happened on the sofa just a few months ago by placing a small but innocent kiss on the corner of your lip.

“you both are.”

#Sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu Kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk fanfics #baby daddy sukuna x reader

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