#like i don’t even have to be doing anything

[sabertoothwalrus]

here’s my two cents about the “I’m bald” phenomenon as stand-in for “see results” on polls that have nothing to do with hair.

replace “I’m bald” with anything else people are body shamed for, and imagine that’s the trait this website latched onto to represent “I don’t think there’s anyone here with this trait, and even if there were, their opinion isn’t worthwhile.”

Like imagine if every single poll had “I’m fat/see results” or “I’m short/see results” or “I’m blind/see results” or “I have a cleft palate/see results” or “I use a wheelchair/see results.”

I think most people would acknowledge that with anything else it comes off as mean, so what is it about baldness that makes it ok?

and jesus christ I KNOW the origin of why this trend started in the first place, but does that really matter???

[creatingblackcharacters]

“On Human Dignity.”  Blackness, Gender & Sexuality

Two things:

As usual, there’s historical and social context that I need explain! This lesson is not what sexuality is, or ‘how to write being gay while Black’. That’s… not that different from you. What this lesson is, is context on how Blackness plays a role in our presentation and understanding of gender and sexuality (as well as your perception of it), and how that’s something you should consider in your characterization, writing, and character design.

I DO NOT KNOW EVERYTHING! The reason this took so long was because I read multiple books and wallowed in my remaining lack of understanding. I cannot join The Tumblr Discourse so do not ask. I tried to be as inclusive as I could, but I learn something new on this app every day, so if I miss something- and I’m bound to- I apologize in advance. Please have grace with me.

TW: Sexual assault mention, homophobia, misogynoir, cannibalism, misgendering

“That’s that White People Shit"

I’m putting the hardest part first; walk with me, you’ll be fine!

I will be honest: this section here, while I do think you should know, I don’t really expect nonblack people to incorporate it in depth. Not because it cannot be done, but because it is a sensitive topic that we ourselves are still struggling with. If you have struggled with anything else while writing Black characters up to this point, this one certainly isn’t for you to touch. Just keep in mind!

There’s an idea I’ve heard before on both sides that Black people are more likely to be homophobic, that queerness itself is white. That is a ridiculous belief, but the root of it ends up right back where you think it would: slavery! I’m sure that you saw me post while I was reading The Delectable Negro by gay Black author Vincent Woodard. I shared those increasingly uncomfortable quotes on purpose! If you have a desire to understand Black culture and Black thought, that means being willing to acknowledge Black pain. How can you avoid stereotypes if you avoid learning their source?  

While I will be using quotes from the entire book, the specific chapter of “Eating Nat Turner” is a succinct explanation of why admitting to the presence of homosexuality, gender fluidity, and queer identity within the Black community is so difficult for my people. While I highly, HIGHLY recommend reading this chapter yourself, it essentially comes down to how admitting to such a potential vulnerability in the armor of Blackness, in gender identity and particularly Black masculinity, would allow white supremacy to destroy us as a people, to do validate doing even more cruel things to us when in a position of power over us. It’s a defensive reaction based in trauma that disregards and discards the queer members of our own community as a threat, a liability when it comes to fighting against the ubiquitous presence of white supremacy.

“Intuitively, Black gay men understood the issue of homosexuality during slavery as a complex phenomenon shaped by a number of factors, including the nation’s unresolved relationship to the legacy of slavery, Black liberatory ideology dating back to slavery, and, most importantly, the maintenance of traditional notions of family and community that originated in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The legacy and memory of slavery had a powerful effect that left many Black gay men feeling isolated from and rendered invisible within Black communities.

Joseph Beam said it first and best: “I cannot go home as who I am. . . . When I speak of home, I mean not only the familial constellation from which I grew, but the entire Black community: the Black press, the Black church, Black academicians, the Black literati, and the Black left… I am most often rendered invisible, perceived as a threat to the family, or am tolerated if I am silent and inconspicuous.” … As Philip Brian Harper has noted, the Black homosexual functioned in the twentieth century as an index for Black masculine anxieties. These ranged from the very personal and painful anxieties of lynching, castration, and the denial of civil rights to a larger set of anxieties rooted in historical erasure and cultural genocide.”

“Sex and gender they also conflated with homosexuality, made out to equal effeminacy. Many Blacks linked homosexuality to castration and the recent history of Black men who had been lynched and Black women who had been raped in the Jim Crow South and in the North. Homosexuality, in its metaphoric power, had an exhaustive function: It is equated with the absence of family, hatred of Black people, estrangement from one’s kin and culture, and all of those horrific aspects of Black experience about which Black people would rather not speak.”

An example of why nonblack people should consider the depth of such a topic- and their place to do so- before incorporating it into their story comes in the form of Styron’s Confessions of Nat Turner, and the backlash he faced from the Black community for such a sensationalized story from a white author.

“The ten Black male contributors [who wrote Ten Black Writers Respond] coupled cannibalism (overtly and covertly) with homoeroticism and effeminacy. For these Black men, homoeroticism became a way of circumventing and projecting their experiences and pain onto certain “effeminate” Black men: the consumed Black man these Black men equated with the homosexual man. Homosexuality served as a means of containing certain unwieldy and historically difficult topics pertaining to Black masculinity, such as the need for intimacy, gender variance, sexual and emotional vulnerability, and violation. It was as if, in this very powerful and discursive moment, threads that had been all along winding through history wove together in a manner that illuminated the past as much as they clouded and blocked full access to its complicated meaning.”

“On the surface, at least, I do not disagree with these Black men and women. I think their analysis regarding historicity and the diminishment of Black communal ties was mostly correct. Styron’s novel was historically inaccurate, depicting Turner as raised by whites rather than the Black parents and grandmother Turner spoke about in his original “Confessions.” Styron depicts aspects of Turner’s sexual life that are not validated in any documentation coming from the time period, and Styron’s exhaustive probing into the racial hatred and self-hatred of Turner clearly reflected something in his own psyche and white identity that he felt compelled to project onto Turner. Black men were put on the defensive by both the novel and by the institutions (literary production, the media) and individuals who supported Styron as an authentic interpreter of Black historical experience. Many Black men, like Bennett, felt that Styron was waging a literary war that paralleled the contemporary political and police state war against Black men…”

The problem with this mindset and approach within the community is that, while it attempts to protect our community, it silences both the prosperity and the pain of an entire section of it, as well as shutting down important conversation that needs to be had even by nonqueer members. And it’s doing it all to fight against a force- white supremacy- that is going to commit violence against us regardless! Respectability politics forces many Black people to stay silent, to not speak up on things that may rock the boat- but the boat needs to be rocked! Blaming fellow victims of racism is not going to save us!

“That was the irony of this moment. Black people invoked the cannibal discourse that could have freed up and complicated Black male perspectives on everything from social consumption to homoeroticism only to defend Black masculinity and Black culture. Black men were not interested in, nor capable of dealing with, the complex legacy of cannibalism and homoeroticism that so powerfully shaped their responses to Styron’s novel.”

But that does NOT mean that it’s a nonblack person’s place to make that argument! While I cannot stop you, I do want you to keep in mind that- as always with sensitive topics- you may have to face Black people who may rightfully be offended by your depiction if not done with care. Styron studied James Baldwin himself- who faced backlash on his end for saying that it was time for the Black community to face such a conversation- and even then, he still projected his white pathology and opinions onto the story of such a prolific hero in our history. Tread lightly!

“Well they don’t seem gay to me.”- A Eurocentric Standard of Passing

How many times have you heard this about a Black character? And if you’re Black and LGBTQ, how often have you heard it about people (or maybe even yourself?) How do we ‘not seem gay’? What is gay supposed to be? There’s this denial, almost, of Black LGBTQ folks, based in a complete disconnect of understanding of our own forms of gender expression and sexuality.

It’s extremely bizarre, because so much of pop gay culture as we know it is from Black LGBTQs (please refer to my infamous AAVE lesson), but… when we imagine an LGBTQ person, they're white.

If you’re Black and queer, you have to be this stereotypical, flamboyant RuPaul-esque figure. Can’t be regular degular. If you’re gay, you gotta be Uber Gay™. If you’re trans, you better pass with Complete Gender and Pizzazz. If you’re nonbinary, you’re not ‘androgynous’ enough. If you’re intersex or asexual, you’re practically not real. If you don’t fill this (white, western) mold, you must not be right. When all you have to be in order to be gay… Is be gay.

I shouldn’t have to put on extra performance to qualify as queer in your eyes! Do you know what looks are considered “androgynous” in my community? What behaviors are deemed “masculine” versus “feminine”? Do you know anything about my queer culture, or are you subconsciously comparing it to your own?

I want you to recognize that whatever image of queerness you have in your mind for your favorite or original characters, if Black people of all shapes and sizes aren’t included, there’s a problem! Because what are you seeing in others, that you’re not seeing in us? Is that, perhaps, a you problem? And why are we not worth the added effort of queer layering that others are?

THAT SAID!

“Oh I know what that’s like, I’m gay-”

This one mostly- if not always- comes from white queer folk. I’ve linked The Last Interview with James Baldwin. It’s so short. PLEASE take the time to read it. I’ve always adored how James Baldwin expresses himself, and while I could never stand so close, I have studied how he conveys his thoughts. But there’s almost nothing I could say that he doesn’t say better.

“A Black gay person who is a sexual conundrum to society is already, long before the question of sexuality comes into it, menaced and marked because he’s Black or she’s Black. The sexual question comes after the question of color; it’s simply one more aspect of the danger in which all Black people live. I think white gay people feel cheated because they were born, in principle, into a society in which they were supposed to be safe. The anomaly of their sexuality puts them in danger, unexpectedly. Their reaction seems to me in direct proportion to the sense of feeling cheated of the advantages which accrue to white people in a white society.”

The idea that “I know what it’s like to experience this oppression as a Black person because I’m gay” is not true. It’s like saying “oh look at my tan, I’m as Black as you now”. Stop it. Think back to that first section on history we discussed- no, you and I are not the same. We can discuss our existing connections, our intersection and have sympathy and empathy with one another on human dignity. We don’t have to act like we’re the same to do that! So don’t go headstrong into your writing (or life) saying “oh I get that completely, it’s because I’m queer”. There are more tactful ways to express your intent of solidarity.

'Queer' vs 'The N Word'

We’re gonna nip this one in the bud, because we’re leaving that argument in 2024. You know the one- “saying queer is like using the N-word- as a reclamation/slur!” What this argument reveals, used by EITHER SIDE, is how y’all don’t actually have community with Black people.

It implies that either “we don’t like it” or “we do”. Yet another binary that does not exist! There are plenty of Black people that despise that word, regardless of context. That think it brings us down. And then there are those that use it as a reclamation of an identity that was used to demean and dehumanize. Either way, one party is not going to walk up to a stranger and force it on them- that would cause an actual fight! It’s not improving your argument. As a whole, I would say stop using Black politics in general to improve your arguments when you are unaware of the overlap, or maybe the lack thereof, between Blackness and queerness in your argument. It shows. I’m not your tool; I’m not your Negro!

I’m not here to tell anyone whether queer is a slur or not. I don’t use it as one, but I recognize when people are uncomfortable, when it is being used as one, and I will use different language when I am speaking directly to someone who says “I do not like that word, describe me as __”. I am just here to say that we’re leaving that argument behind.

Black =/= Gender

Blackness and the concept of Gender have a fraught, confusing history. Not human enough to have rights, but human just enough to fail to meet Eurocentric standards of gender.

One example of this is the term “stud”. Studs are an example of Black women traversing gender presentation, the origin of which is because Black people are perceived as having “lesser sexual dimorphism”- i.e. you can’t tell who’s a woman or not. It’s an in-community joke that doesn’t make sense spoken outside of its historical context (thus, no, your white butch is NOT a stud within this context).

Another example: Megan Thee Stallion is one of the most stunning, feminine women I have ever seen… And her entire career, people have called her a man. Because she’s brown-skinned, Black, confident, loud, and openly sexual, she’s deemed manly. I can’t stand it. Plus her height- and mind you, Taylor Swift, of the same height and probably a higher number of bodies over the years, has never once been called a man or lost any of her “feminine” charm despite it. Why is that? If one of her men had shot in the foot, trying to kill her, there would be an uproar. Why is that?

There is an internal contradiction that being a Black woman is being inherently “gender nonconforming”. The first reason is that I will never be allowed to truly be a “woman” because to be a woman is to be white while doing it. White Tears, Brown Scars by Ruby Hamad is an excellent book on this dynamic in all women of color, and Black activists like Angela Davis and Kimberle Crenshaw have written and discussed the topic as well.

The second reason is I have to play the role of whatever ‘gender’ is expected to get me through this life. I have to be more ‘masculine’; strong, assertive, and proactive, a hard worker willing to sacrifice it all every day, in order to protect my family and myself in a world where a lack of resilience might kill me. I cannot allow weakness to stop me from taking care of my community, because Black women are supposed to show up and save the day. Find a Black woman! they say. She’ll fix it! And odds are, I do know how to fix it because I’ve probably had to address it before.

But then I’m acting ‘out of a woman’s place’ by being so ‘hard’ and expecting people to listen to my authority. So in order to play a Black woman’s place, I have to balance that with… Somehow not intimidating people by being more ‘feminine’, submissive, vulnerable, sweet and motherly (because if I’m not a good breeder and mother, I am a bad woman). I scare people if I don’t. If I don’t do that, then I’m not a good Black woman. But if I don’t harden myself and be strong and assertive to protect everyone, and tough through everyone’s problems with infinite sacrifice, then I’m not a good Black woman… You see how the cycle gets confusing! (The Delectable Negro and Black on Both Sides also speak on this, and how this is rooted in the creation of the Mammy!)

I spoke about it earlier, but that same inability to be defined as a human, defined as white, haunts many Black men in their goals to be seen as ‘equal’ to white men and receive equal treatment. By seeking to fit a standard of whiteness, they are never going to attain it (and often, that comes back home in not-so-good way)! E.g.: this is the original issue that Louis had in AMCs' IWTV- Louis never actually wanted to be a vampire, Louis wanted to be treated like an equivalent human- and that was unattainable to him not because he wasn’t a human being, but because he wasn’t a white one!

The Racist Counterproductivity of TERFs

Sigh. If you are of this belief, but here to better your writing, I feel like I should say this to you. I want you to listen to me. (TBH, I’m going to delete anything asking me for opinions on this because I don’t want to potentially entertain even a singular troll). Besides, my argument is pretty simple and resolute.

The gender binary is rooted in bioessentialism, and bioessentialism is rooted in white supremacy. You know what else benefits from white supremacy? The white patriarchy.

How are we gonna escape from the patriarchy and white supremacy… if the ideology you believe in… is rooted in white supremacy and patriarchy?

And it’s not just the TERFs- look within yourselves as well! How are we going to make the world safer for trans people, including white ones, if you aren’t willing to confront your own racist biases? If you are unwilling to release the shackles of gender essentialism and the benefits of whiteness, none of us are getting out of here. You are reinforcing the very walls you wish to dismantle!

To offer another side of the conversation, Black On Both Sides by C Riley Snorton has been an interesting read! Essentially, the conversation is on how Blackness and transness intersect, how being Black in and of itself can be and is a transitional, gender fluid experience. It, along with The Mismeasure of Man by Stephen Jay Gould and Medical Apartheid by Harriet A Washington, goes into the history of how the Black body was seen as a different species altogether, and how phrenology, biological essentialism, and examples of sexual dimorphism were treated as an example on how we are an inferior group. Yet, this lack of understanding of our bodies (despite the constant access to it) allowed for us to maneuver within such a system.

An example, of how Blackness has an effect on our perception of gender:

"Cobb suggests that this blackening may have been an anticipatory gesture; when James Norcom (Jacobs’s enslaver) published a description of her in the 1835 issue of the American Beacon, he presumed that she would be “seeking whiteness and dressing as a free woman, not accentuating her Blackness” and finding a “cross-dressing” and ungendered mode for escape. Although the description of sartorial arrangements seems to conform to passing’s logic of movement for protection or privilege, Jacobs’s use of charcoal to darken her complexion tropes—by inverse logic—on more commonly held beliefs (and fears) about racial passing.

As “passing” became a term to describe performing something one is not, it trafficked a way of thinking about identity not only in terms of real versus artificial but also, and perhaps always, as proximal and performative. Like a vertical line with arrows on either end, passing is figuratively represented by moving up or down hierarchized identificatory formations. This articulation of vertical identity also coordinates with forms of binary thinking, typified, for example, by the language of “the opposite” sex. …Brent/Jacobs’s blackened blackness gives expression to her condition as fungible within the logic of U.S. slavery, in which the system of colorism, as Nicole Fleetwood has argued, “produces a performing subject whose function is to enact difference . . . an act that is fundamentally about assigning value.”

As it relates to the scene of Jacobs’s brushing past Sands, her status as “it” also indicates how blackness-as-fungible engenders forms of nonrecognition, as Jacobs’s performance elucidates how blackness and going blacker become an embrace of the conditions that might allow one to pass one’s friends and lovers undetected. In this encounter, fungibility sets the stage for gendered maneuvers on a terrain constituted by modes of viewing blackness, in which Jacobs’s blackness and going blacker color her gender as well as her face."

The Black Trans/Nonbinary/Genderqueer Experience

The Black Intersex Experience

Rather than try to summarize opinions on something I had not lived, I wanted to platform some Black trans, intersex, and genderqueer opinions for you all to consider! I asked three questions, and I’ve typed out the responses and placed them as their own post for the sake of space. I don’t care if it’s long- read them! You want to write these characters; you should hear the perspectives of the people you wish to write about!

Nothing I could say that someone that is actually Black and intersex couldn’t say better!

Here is a page on Tumblr that compiles resources on the intersex community and its history that I found; while it’s not Black-specific, I have seen the page post topics related to.

The Black Aspec Experience

An interesting thing about identifying as asexual or aromantic while Black is that from all angles, people will simply not believe you because Blackness itself has been sexualized. I talked about this in my lessons on stereotypes, but one of the ways that the sexual assault and violation of Black bodies was dismissed, was to emphasize that not only were we incapable of being r*ped, but that we were naturally inclined to being hypersexual beings and that if we weren’t controlled, we would bring it onto ourselves. Black women were jezebels; Black men were mandigos, vicious savages that would assault pure white women if not chained like beasts.

Here is a page for Black people (!!!) with these identities to gather. Again, BLACK PEOPLE with these identities.

The Bit You Actually Showed Up For

So! Given all that historical and social context: really, it’s just about application! You have to ask yourself certain things to catch when you’re about to dip into a bias or stereotype while you’re writing.

Black Queer Joy- A Conclusion

I know I’ve shared a lot of history here, and it’s not been the happiest stuff. THAT BEING SAID!

I must personally say- I am honored to be Black and bisexual. There’s nothing else I’d rather be. I am so happy to be who I am. It’s hard as hell living at the intersection, but the intersection is lit! There’s so much love, history, culture, creation, and so much power here; I’m standing on the shoulders of cultural GIANTS and my chest is full, my chin is high with pride. I love it here!

Being Black and queer itself is not a miserable experience! Your characters should feel joy, because we feel joy! There’s so much that we have to offer the world, it’s practically blossoming from us. I don’t want anyone to walk away from this going “let me go pity the next one I see and tell them how hard their life is”. We don’t need you to feel sorry, we need you to have solidarity! Either show up and do the work, or leave us alone. You can’t join the party at the intersection and then flee when it’s time to fight for it!

Listen to Black queer people in your spaces- dear god, it never fails how conversations of queerness and gender and feminism will leave Blackness completely out, and then be shocked when none of us want to show up. Like I said before- you will never dismantle the walls barring you from your own freedom until you address ours.

Support Black queer creatives, content, perspectives, and people- when you tag on that “support Black trans women” bit at the end of your posts, don’t just speak lightly- understand what that means, and stand on it! Because it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[dearlenore]

YOU NEVER ASKED • S.REID

SUMMARY: when the team requests additional funding from Strauss to upgrade their equipment due to multiple accidents related to their function, you reveal a secret they never would’ve guessed. Over the weeks following they

PAIRING: bau!reader x spencer

tags: cold!reader, established relationship, sugarbaby!spencer, rich reader, needy clingy spencer (even at work),

a/n: this was a request btw thru dm!! If you make a dm request it might take longer or less time entirely depending on if you’ve reposted my work before and I know you or your work and how interesting ur request is, sorry!! My brain is so scrambled

w/c: 1.1K

THE FIRST TIME your co workers saw the extent of your wealth was on a fairly ordinary day.

Spencer’s hand was wrapped around yours under the table.

It wasn’t unusual—Spencer always had to be touching you, whether it was a lingering brush of fingers, his arm slung around your waist, or his head resting against your shoulder after a long day. He wasn’t possessive, just clingy in a way that you had long since accepted, and honestly, found endearing.

Right now, his fingers were loosely laced with yours, thumb brushing absentminded circles against your skin as the team sat in the conference room, focused on a discussion with Strauss.

You were only half-listening. As the BAU’s new liaison, you had to be present for meetings like this, but the budget discussion wasn’t exactly riveting.

“We understand the financial constraints,” Hotch was saying, his voice level as he addressed Strauss, “but this is a necessary expense. We’ve had three major equipment failures in the past month alone.”

Morgan leaned forward. “Two of those put agents at risk. We got lucky, but next time? Maybe we won’t.”

Strauss sighed, clearly unimpressed but unwilling to outright deny the request. “The Bureau’s budget is already stretched thin. I’ll bring this to the director, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be approved.”

Without much thought, you spoke. “I’ll take care of it.”

The room went quiet.

Strauss blinked, turning her attention toward you. “Excuse me?”

You scrolled through something on your phone, barely looking up. “I’ll cover the cost. Just send me the final amount, and I’ll handle it.”

There was a brief pause before Morgan spoke. “You’re serious?”

You glanced at him, almost confused. “Yes.”

JJ, seated across from you, furrowed her brow. “That’s not exactly a small amount.”

“I know.”

Emily tilted her head slightly. “And you can just… do that?”

You finally set your phone down. “Mhm.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I gotta ask—how?”

Spencer, beside you, stiffened slightly. His grip on your hand didn’t loosen, but you could feel the tension in his posture.

You sighed, as if this was mildly inconvenient rather than a massive revelation. “My parents have money.”

Hotch studied you. “How much money?”

You exhaled, tilting your head slightly. “Enough.”

Garcia adjusted her glasses. “Okay, but what does that mean? Are we talking ‘nice house in the suburbs’ rich or—”

Spencer finally spoke, voice quiet but firm. “…they’re from a long line of friends Ivy league founders”

That sent another wave of silence through the room.

Morgan let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Emily smirked. “That does explain a lot.”

JJ shook her head, laughing. “And you never mentioned this before because…?”

You shrugged. “It’s not relevant.”

Garcia looked vaguely betrayed. “Not relevant? Not relevant? You have generational wealth, and you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”

You gave her a flat look. “Would it have changed anything?”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. “…Okay, maybe not, but still!”

Rossi, who had been listening with mild amusement, finally spoke. “If you’re willing to fund the upgrades, I don’t see why we’d turn it down.”

You nodded. “Just let me know the amount.”

Strauss, looking slightly thrown but not displeased, simply nodded. “I’ll coordinate with the Bureau’s finance department.”

With that, the discussion moved on and everyone but you and Spencer left the conference room.

Spencer, who had been silent throughout the latter half of the conversation, finally exhaled, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

You turned to him, lips twitching. “You okay?”

He huffed quietly, glancing at you. “You could’ve given me a heads-up.”

“Mhm, but what’s the fun in that?” You cooed before kissing his nose sweetly

The second time was when they caught you pampering your hopelessly adorable boyfriend.

Okay well… for the record.

Spencer Reid was not spoiled.

At least, that’s what he told himself. And everyone else.

Sure, his coffee appeared on his desk every morning, still piping hot from the overpriced café down the street. And yes, his wardrobe had significantly improved over the past few months—his old, slightly ill-fitting sweaters replaced with custom-tailored cashmere ones that felt suspiciously nice against his skin.

And maybe the watch on his wrist was worth more than the entirety of his apartment’s furniture.

But he wasn’t spoiled. Not at all.

The rest of the team, however, seemed to have reached a different conclusion.

“You know, pretty boy,” Morgan drawled, leaning against Spencer’s desk with a smirk, “I never pegged you as the type to have a personal assistant.”

Spencer frowned, looking up from his paperwork. “What?”

Morgan nodded toward the cup of coffee sitting on Spencer’s desk. “That your usual delivery?”

Spencer sighed, setting his pen down. “It’s just coffee.”

“From a place that charges twenty bucks for a latte,” Emily added, appearing behind Morgan with a grin.

Spencer huffed. “It’s not twenty dollars.”

“No, but it’s close,” JJ teased, leaning against the desk beside Morgan.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, the sound of approaching footsteps caught everyone’s attention.

You walked into the bullpen, a small bag in hand, and made a beeline straight for Spencer’s desk.

“Hey,” you greeted, dropping the bag onto his desk before pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Lunch.”

Spencer’s lips twitched in a smile as he peered inside the bag. His favorite Italian , a side of fruit, and—he pulled out the container—homemade cookies from the expensive French bakery he loved.

His heart swelled.

“Thank you,” he murmured, glancing up at you with something bordering on pure adoration.

You just smiled. “Of course.”

Morgan, JJ, and Emily exchanged a look before Morgan spoke. “Okay, I have to ask—how often does this happen?”

You tilted your head. “How often does what happen?”

“This.” He gestured to the coffee, the lunch, everything. “Bringing him food, buying him clothes—spoiling him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call it spoiling.”

Emily scoffed. “Oh, it definitely is.”

Spencer crossed his arms, shifting slightly in his seat. “I am not spoiled.”

JJ smirked. “Reid, when was the last time you paid for your own coffee?”

Spencer hesitated.

Morgan grinned. “Exactly.”

You chuckled, crossing your arms. “What, am I not allowed to take care of my boyfriend?”

“Oh, you definitely are,” Emily said. “It’s just funny watching him try to pretend he’s not completely pampered.”

Spencer huffed. “I am not—”

“Pretty boy, you don’t even drive anymore.”

Spencer scowled. “That’s just practical. Why should I drive when I can be chauffeured—” He stopped, realizing his mistake immediately.

Morgan grinned. “Chauffeured?”

Emily outright laughed. “Oh, that’s rich.”

Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate all of you.”

JJ patted his shoulder. “No, you don’t.”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay, baby. Let them tease.”

Spencer groaned, but his cheeks were already tinged pink.

Yeah. He was never going to live this down.

[clockwayswrites]

Fresh Birb! Part 32

masterpost

“Thanks for the excuse to get some fresh air,” Danny said. He sounded grateful enough that Jason felt a little bad for using the ‘stroll around the yard’ as an way to gather some intel.

“Hey, trust me, I get how overwhelming the manor can get,” Jason said, “and there are a lot of us in house right now. It’s easier in small doses for sure.”

“I could see that,” Danny agreed. “But there’s also something nice about the full house. It’s all very… alive feeling.”

The words were more melancholy than they should be. They were more like how Jason, who knew the feeling of death all too well, might say them. It brought troubling thoughts to mind.

“Yeah, that can be nice about it. Sure is quieter if I’m not here or at Roy’s,” Jason agreed after maybe too long a moment.

“Is Roy that much more talkative when it’s just the two of you?”

“Oh, no. Well, yeah, but it’s more about his little girl, Lian. She’s three and a half and an absolute handful most days. She’s also at that age where she’s pretty much narrating her own life in half understandable babble so there’s just a lot of constant noise.”

Danny chuckled. “I bet. Stayed with a friend for a bit when I was between jobs and stuck there for a few months by a non-complete clause. Her one kid was that age at the time and the oldest five. I didn’t know just how much everything there was when having kids that age. It made me actually feel a little sorry for my parents.”

“You the youngest, oldest, or middle?”

“Youngest. I’ve got one older sister, Jasmine,” Danny said. “You could sorta say there’s a half a sibling too. I basically grew up with my best friend and there were some weeks I spent more time at his house than ours.”

“That close to him?” Jason asked.

“Yeah. That and it was easier, sometimes, to not be at home.”

“Oh.”

That implied some unfortunate things that Jason hadn’t quite been expecting. Danny seemed pretty well adjusted. He was even good at handling Damian, but Jason supposed that maybe part of that was because Danny had been through his own issues.

Danny just shrugged. “I have a life long friend out of it. We don’t see each other in person much these days since we’re on other sides of the country, but we still talk plenty.”

Jason gave a soft hum and, a beat later, asked, “What made you end up in Gotham of all places?”

“Wayne Enterprises, actually,” Danny said. “The rep in the industry as place to work is unparalleled really, especially for what I want to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Help people,” Danny said, honestly and with a crooked little smile. “Which I know sounds cheesy, but I really wanted to create things that help people. It’s not like I mind making a better cellphone battery or anything, but it’s nice to know that I get to work on things that help not just with the little, everyday issues but also the big, life changing ones. The fact that those things get to help the city I live in too is a real plus.”

“Gotham has a way of getting to you like that,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” Danny replied softly, gaze in the direction of the Gotham sky line.

And then a scream split the air.

Not a human scream, thankfully, but a repeated screech that had both of them starting and looking around for the source. The screech turned to a warbling clucking as Jerry emerged from behind the landscaping. His tail was high and spread, his wing tips brushed the ground, and he was looking almost shockingly colorful.

“A turkey?”

“Damian’s.”

“Damian has a turkey,” Danny said slowly.

“And a cow,” Jason said. “Cat, dog, a few snakes. He tried to keep a rat but Alfred stopped that pretty quickly.”

Danny rubbed at his temple. “This is why he knew how to take care of wings, isn’t it?”

Jason tried not to smile. “That came up, huh?”

“He’s been sending Bruce information about it,” Danny answered.

Jerry made another loud warble and struck what Jason could only describe as a pose.

“So… does he do this often?”

“His name is Jerry, and nope,” Jason said and pulled out his phone.

Jerry strutted closer to Danny, tail feathers shaking.

“Oh… oh,” Danny said with the tone of someone for who horrible realization was dawning. “Can you, ah, talk him down?”

“I’m afraid I’m morally obligated to film this,” Jason said somberly. He couldn’t hold back his smirk any longer.

Danny shot him a withering look and started to back up towards the Manor. “Really.”

“Really. Good luck.”

“Well, fuck,” Danny said and then took off running.

Jerry followed at top speed with a scream.

Jason sent the video to Bruce. ‘You have competition.’

[syoddeye]

on my knees begging for more werewolf soap

i have ideas, but they're more omegaverse-y than werewolf-y. but there is this one thought.

imagine johnny taking a page from price's book and choosing patience. deciding to not jump you where you stand and fuck you on the kitchen floor.

he switches gears. lays on the charm. he apologizes for barging in. it's hard, y'know, denying instinct. you of all people know how that is, right?

and it takes everything in him to hold a conversation. especially when your eyes keep dropping to his bare chest.

naturally, he asks how you're adjusting to your new life. tells you he's sympathetic. knows how hard it can be on your own. but when you tell him what you do every month, his demeanor shifts. brows pulling together, eyes darkening with disbelief. genuinely offended.

"you what?"

he can't believe it. can't believe you're spending good money, running up your card, on a storage unit across the city. that you lock yourself inside, slap on a muzzle, and chain yourself to the damn walls every full moon. denying yourself like that. ignoring the natural pull to hunt. heartbreaking, really.

"that's no way tae live."

his disapproval stings. he's the only other wolf you know.

then he extends an invitation. "come hunting with me."

that’s how you end up in the countryside, crammed into what's barely more than a glorified cowshed. some outbuilding on a relative's land. it smells like him—earth and sweat. reeks. it makes you second guess why you're really here, but he's a gentleman. makes you take the futon pushed into the corner, while he stretches out on a sleeping bag by the door.

but with only one night until the full moon, your mood shifts like the wind. restless. pacing like a caged animal, prone to snap. you think you'd sink your teeth into him if he tried anything untoward.

but he doesn't. he just smiles.

smiles when you tear into the raw meat he's packed for the trip. sits across the small table, watching with an almost dreamy look, his eyes practically sparkling when you lick your fingers. tells you that if you like that, you'll love sinking your teeth into the throat of a stag.

it should be humiliating. would be, if that part of you wasn't being smothered by the wolf tearing to the surface. your good senses held underwater to drown.

he's so kind. so understanding. so…patient. it's odd.

the next day, as the hour creeps closer to moonrise, that patience starts to feel like something else. something sharper. your control is splintering. like cracks forming along thin ice in spring, ready to shatter and burst. the wolf claws at your ribs. she's hungry. angry. you swear you feel your ears pinning forward, body coiling, alert.

you're jumpy around johnny all day, something primal thrumming beneath your skin. a whisper in the back of your mind: don’t turn your back on him.

by the time the evening chill sweeps through the hills, you're barely holding on. twitchy. usually, by now, you'd be drooling into a muzzle, yanking at the cuffs secured around your ankles. too far gone to even think about the combination lock keeping the keys out of reach.

after a final meal, something to take the edge off, johnny pushes back from the table and then through the door. cool as anything, he strips right there in the grass. sheds his clothes in a heap.

for all that staring, it's like you're seeing him for the first time. certainly the whole of him.

he beckons, voice rougher now. thicker. "c'mon, then. let me see her."

you’re shivering when you follow his lead. any embarrassment or shyness you might've felt—being bare beside a man, beside johnny, for the first time—just isn't there. it doesn't register. this feels natural. the most natural thing in the world, even as the wind bites at your skin.

and when you finally shift—it's brutal. visceral. a tearing and twisting that leaves you breathless, bones grinding and reshaping, muscle stretching taut. it always leaves you vulnerable for those first few moments. heart hammering. senses on overdrive as the world explodes in vivid color and scent.

so when you feel a warm breath on the scruff of your neck, feel it trail down your knobby spine to where your new tail twitches, you go still. the shiver that wracks through you clarifies what your wolf was trying to warn you about all day.

only one of you wants to hunt the wildlife.

[lexiputellas]

"Burn the Bridge," from the Broken Vows series.

Today is a beautiful day.

Or at least it would be—if not for your phone blasting through the room.

The curtains are shut, no sun slipping through, the AC humming at the perfect temperature. Freezing. Just the way you like it.

You squint at the screen, groggy, already knowing this can’t be good.

Alexia.

Her name flashes across your phone, demanding attention.

You answer. Because somehow, not answering could be worse.

“Why did you like a picture of Eva?”

You let out a dry laugh, rubbing your eyes. “Oh, hi. Good morning to you too, babe.”

“I’m serious.”

“So you still talk? Good to know.”

“That’s not it.”

You hum, waiting. “So what is it, then?”

“She jumped me at training, saying you were trying to destroy her life. She’s afraid you’ll expose her.”

That wakes you up. Your brows lift, and a laugh escapes before you can stop it—sharp, humorless. "Oh, that's rich. She sleeps with a married woman, helps wreck a family, and now she's the victim?" You lean forward, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Did you hold her? Wipe her tears? Tell her you’d fix everything?"

Alexia exhales, exasperated. “Will you stop acting like a child?”

“Will you stop lying?”

“I’m not lying.”

“Alexia,” you sigh, turning to lie on your back, staring at the ceiling “I don’t have it in me for this. Either say something that matters or just—stop.”

“For God’s sake—”

“You can go running to poor little Eva and tell her, 'My wife isn’t exposing you, you can live your life to the fullest now, don’t worry. You already destroyed the marriage, the family. There’s really nothing left to ruin.’”

Silence.

Then, a sharp inhale. You can practically hear her grinding her teeth.

“You’re impossible.”

You smile, satisfaction curling in your stomach. “And you’re predictable.”

“You think I don’t regret it?” Alexia snaps, her voice cracking like glass under pressure. “You think this is easy for me? I wake up every day hating myself.”

“Oh please.” You throw your head back against the pillow, amused at the pathetic little performance. “Cry me a fucking river. Regret doesn’t mean anything if you still did it.”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“And you’re being pathetic,” you shoot back, sitting up now, fully awake. “Calling me first thing in the morning because poor little Eva is scared people will find out she fucks married women? Grow up.”

“I— That’s not the only reason I called.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not. You just missed me, right?” you sneer. “No one cares enough to ruin Eva’s reputation she’s already done a fantastic job on her own.”

Alexia exhales like she’s about to explode. “You think you’re so perfect? You think you didn’t push me away? You—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you cut her off, voice cold, deadly. “Say it. Finish that sentence. Blame me for you crawling into bed with someone else. I’m begging you.”

She goes silent, but you can feel the fury vibrating through the speaker.

“That’s what I thought,” you say, voice dropping, almost amused by how easy it is to rip her apart now.

“You’re impossible,” she hisses.

“And you’re a coward.”

Another beat of silence.

“Fuck you,” Alexia snaps, venomous.

You sigh, shaking your head. “I’m going to tell you one thing, and pay attention. I’m not doing the back and forth with you anymore. I don’t recognize the person you’ve become, and I don’t know if I even want to have something with you. Change, or please leave me the fuck alone.”

You hear a sharp inhale, like she’s about to argue.

You don’t give her the chance. You hang up.

This time, it actually feels good.

[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ HOW THE AGE GAP AFFECTS YOUR RELATIONSHIP

cw. toji & panther!reader, age gap, smut kinda so mdni

EXPERIENCE

with yours and toji’s age gap being around a decade, there’s definitely a huge difference in experience. this doesn’t necessarily just mean with sex, but it’s safe to say toji has been round the block a little. after all, he’s an attractive man so it wasn’t unexpected when he had said he was experienced. it did start to make you feel a little out of place, though. you just felt so innocent compared to him. but, toji will never want his girl to feel unsure about herself when he’s around.

“you don’t need to get so worked up about it, sweetheart. i can always teach ‘ya.”, he’ll say with his signature smirk, and in that moment, you don’t feel so bad about it.

LIFESTYLE

with that being said, toji has a lot of life experience compared to you. he’s had his fun in his twenties, partying and drinking, the one night stands that come with it. now, he just wants to settle down. he spends most of his weekends at home when he’s not working at the club. and trust me, he’s not working there because he loves the atmosphere. whenever he does go out, it’ll be with a few of his friends just to have a couple beers.

with you though, you wanna have your fun! you’re still young and you haven’t really lived you life yet. so, you and your girls will regularly go out clubbing, to the bar or to some festival. and while toji will always fund you for it, he’s never going to be happy about it. he knows what goes on there as a guy. it’s not like he doesn’t trust you, he just doesn’t trust the other men around you and he really wishes you’d understand that better.

ARGUMENTS

this links back to the last point. while arguments are pretty rare between you two, when they do happen, it’s very clear the age difference and maturity between you both and most of the time it’s because of your lifestyle. you can get pretty fiery at times, always defending yourself, while toji just can’t deal with it. he’s the type of guy who’ll just walk off during arguments when they get heated, leaving you to overthink and think the absolute worst. he just thinks he’s too old for it.

and sometimes, you can even get a little petty. posting on your instagram story when you’re at the club, maybe showing a hint of some guys shoulder. yeah, it’s kinda toxic, but toji knows you better than to ever cheat on him. but it definitely gets him riled up the way you want him to.

afterwards, you always find yourself beneath him, having him fuck your brains out just the way you wanted. he knows you do this on purpose, but he can’t help but fall for it every time.

FRIENDS & FAMILY

this one is a hit and miss. your friends have known toji for just as long as you have, so they’re more than okay with your relationship with him. even when you’re not out with them, toji will look out for your girls, making sure weird guys stay away from them, watching over in case of anything suspicious. honestly, they love him and your relationship.

however, your family definitely don’t approve as much. you can’t really blame them too much, they’re just trying to look out for you. and with toji’s appearance, he’s not really giving the boy next door vibes. they never invite him round for family gatherings or dinner, they kinda just.. ignore him. after their countless attempts, they know they’ll get an earful from you if they say anything too out of order, so they just let you do you at this point. they have the mindset that hopefully you’ll grow up one day and realise that your relationship isn’t gonna last.

but toji is determined, he’s been made very aware that your family don’t particularly love him. but, he knows you’re the one, the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. so he’ll try and try and try again until he gets it right. because one day, he wants to be putting a ring on your finger, and he certainly doesn’t want your dad scowling at him whilst walking you down the isle.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 SERIES MASTERLIST

[fushigurhoez]

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍—𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐗!

ft. satoru gojo, toji fushiguro, + nanami kento

inc: mating press, rough sex, talking you through it, squirting, mentions of a safe word but it doesn’t get used, use of the word slut (gojo), loss of virginity, age gap between nanami x reader (20/27), not proofread yet sorry

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨-

You were the only one who got to see him like this, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a sight to behold. His blindfold tossed haphazardly somewhere in the living room, white hair fucked up and falling into his eyes, his gorgeous crystalline eyes that were squeezed shut in pleasure as he slammed his hips to meet yours. His strong arms were hooked under your knees, holding you in a mating press that was downright nasty. He had been panting harshly into the crook of your neck, occasional groans of your name caressing your ears as he forced himself balls deep into you, hard abs meeting your clit with every thrust and it took everything in you not to scream. The movie the two of you had been watching was long forgotten as your manicured nails scraped down his back.

“mm, s-satoru! slow down” you gasped, having the air knocked out of you every time he rutted into you. He chucked humorlessly, keeping the same pace. “you’re saying slow down but this pussy clearly likes what I’m doing, baby”

He pulled his face out of your neck, sitting back on his heels as he fucked into you with a newfound greed. “gripping me so fucking tight—fuckkk!” He tossed his head back, hands finding your hips without even looking and his hold was bruising as he made you fuck him back, pulling you down on his dick as your mouth fell open in a silent scream. Upon hearing your silence he looks down at you, his pulse quickening when he sees the look on your face.

“You love this fucking cock don’t you— s’ written all over your slutty fuckin’ face” he growled, balls slapping against your ass lewdly when he raises your hips off the couch, pounding into you deeper and just like that you found your voice again, a raw and primal screech of his name when the tip of his dick assaulted that one spot inside you prompting your hands to slap over your mouth, head turning away from his intense gaze.

He kissed his teeth in disapproval, already missing your cries for him and the blissed out look you adorned when he was in your guts. He used his thumb to draw quick, punishing circles on your erect clit and your hands immediately fell from your face in favor of grabbing his wrist, trying to pull his hand away from your slippery bud to no avail and your legs shook violently as you came. His eyes never left your face once throughout your orgasm, even foregoing blinking as he took this version of you in, like he needed to cement it in his memories.

“that’s it, show me that pretty fucking face. Don’t hide from me”

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨-

“c’mon doll..I gave you simple orders didn’t I? Keep your fuckin’. head. up.” Toji’s ministrations growing harsher, as he became increasingly annoyed with your seeming inability to follow simple instructions. Keep your eyes on his in the mirror. That’s all he asked. But it was too much, it was all becoming too much. Your legs hooked over his to keep you open for him, one hand fucking two of his thick fingers deep in your gushing cunt, the other working your sensitive clit just the way he knew you liked? Your body felt boneless, how could he seriously expect you to do anything but take it, your ass almost numb as you sit on the floor between his legs, pathetic pussy leaking all over the floor while he plays with you. The four fingers glued to your clit press down harder, in tandem with the two fingers curling inside of you and expertly abusing your g spot and you can’t help but weakly grab at his wrists trying desperately to pull them out of your panties that he didn’t even bother taking off. They were so soaked that they became transparent, sticking to his hand.

Your hazy eyes met his in the full length mirror, pleading with him to have some sort of mercy on you. “T-toji, I can’t. I can’t!” He only dug into you deeper, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach for the third time in 25 minutes.

“yes you can doll, I’m right here with you. ‘can feel that pretty pussy squeezing me so good..know you wanna cum again.” His voice rumbled through your ears and you involuntarily throbbed around his fingers again, proving his point. You squirmed desperately, wanting to get away from the pleasure but also become closer to it as the gnawing feeling in your tummy got stronger, a building pressure.

“Toji stop. I- feel something, please stop!” You cried, back arching up off his chest. He didn’t stop, knowing you knew the safe word if you felt like something was genuinely wrong. Instead he kept he same pace and the same motions, his strong thighs keeping you spread when you tried to clamp shut around his hands. You felt mortified, the feeling in your abdomen meaning only one thing as far as you knew.

“Toji I’m gonna pee, stop!” You whined, and he laughed smugly as you fought against him weakly, the forearm resting on your tummy being pressed down right where you felt that delicate pressure, feeling helpless with no way to make him stop or get away from what he was doing to you.

Your pussy clenched wildly as you came for the third time, clear squirt spraying messily on the mirror in front of you as he groaned satisfied in your ear and if not for your screams, it almost sounded as if he was the one cumming.

“That’s it baby, good girl cumming all over my fingers like that? fuck..” He rubbed and fucked you through it until your nails dug into his skin, begging him to actually stop.

𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨-

You couldn’t help but feel shy, observed even as you sat on top of your boyfriend naked for the first time. Your hands were clammy and pressed flat against his chest, his own rested confidently on your hips as he looked up at you lovingly. Your legs trembled slightly on either side of him, having been eaten out until you he deemed you ‘wet enough for him to penetrate you’ and although he waited patiently for you to become accustomed to him being inside of you, you could feel him throbbing with need.

“Breathe, baby” he instructed and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding. His thumbs caressed your skin soothingly as you tried to get used to the slight burn between your legs. You were plenty wet, but taking nanami was still a feat due to his size and your inexperience.

“How do you feel?” He asked softly, taking note of the way you trembled against him.

“Full, ken. I feel really full.” You whispered, as though sinking down on him had taken every bit of energy out of you. “I don’t think I can move” you confessed and he felt a pang in his heart. You were so fucking cute.

“That’s okay love. Let me take care of you.” He awaited your confirmation, before he lifted his hips up off the bed, pressing in to the hilt and pausing to appreciate the way your jaw went slack at the feeling of him that deep inside of you. Your legs tensed and you were already gasping for air, looking down at where the two of you met with astonishment. He let out a grunt at the feeling of your gummy walls squeezing him like that and the sound went straight to your core, somehow clenching even tighter around him. “Fuck, y/n..you gotta relax some baby”.

With how tightly you were gripping him he could hardly move, your greedy cunt already opposed to him pulling out for any reason. You nodded quickly, willing yourself to relax slightly so he could pull out some, pushing himself back into you and repeating the motion slowly to get you used to it. Your head fell back momentarily, lolling forward to look at him with low lidded eyes as uncontrollable noises escaped from your mouth, open in an ‘o’ shape as your clit kissed his firm abdomen with every slow grind of his hips into yours. The way your body writhed on top of his, along with the way you rested your hands over his on your waist as he started to make you bounce on him made his dick impossibly hard, guttural moans leaving you as your face began to twist in pleasure. “Kento..feels so fucking good!” He dug into you further, heavy balls pressed to your ass and he could feel your arousal dripping down his sack. You were louder than he thought you’d be, high pitched cries punctuating each one of his precise thrusts.

“mm, mm, mngh! ken!” You covered your face with your hands as his pace increased, still gentle but more than enough to reduce your inexperienced body to nothing in his arms. God you were driving him insane. He wanted to plant his feet into the bed and fuck into you so good and so hard, that no amount of covering your mouth would hide the way he was making you scream on his cock. Instead he gingerly pried your hands away from your face, lacing his fingers with yours as he savored the look on your face, mascara mixed tears drying on your cheeks before a new wave would replace them.

“Cry for me baby, let it out.”

[lemonlover1110]

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Sukuna

[Chapter 10] Authority

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Nipple Play, Lactation Kink, Biting, Creampie

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

Sukuna has grown softer, something you’ve noticed but would never say out loud. Anything you ask of him lately, he’ll do. There’s just one wish that he won’t fulfill, and it’s reuniting you with your family. No matter how many times you ask, his answer is firm.

One day you’ll get him to comply, if you’re insistent enough, he’ll listen. You’ve found a way to get him to comply with almost everything, and you hope that one day you’ll do the trick.

“Can we take a walk?” You ask Sukuna, who hums in response. He guesses a walk won’t kill you, and today is warmer. Plus, you always look happier after your walks so it won’t kill him to agree. 

“Where’s the stinker?” Sukuna questions, and you let out a low laugh. Sukuna, who you’re sure has seen and dealt with foul things, can’t stop talking about Yuuji’s bowel movements. He’ll have a rude awakening when he has to deal with his own twins.

“Hina is taking care of him.” You respond, making him raise his eyebrows. He knows what waits for him after his walk, and he isn’t mad about it. You’ve made it obvious by not having the stinker by your side.

You have Yuuji attached to your hip every day, every night. Whenever you don’t have the baby by your side, you have other plans. In other words, you’re planning to have sex with him. He doesn’t know if you think you’re being sly, but you couldn’t make it more obvious.

He accompanies you, your arms linking when you get outside. Sukuna is planning to cut the walk short, he doesn’t want you to spend too much time in the cold. 

“The babies will be here any time.” You comment, giving into the warmth that his body radiates. For such a cold individual, Sukuna is exceptionally warm. Sukuna’s eyes glance down at you, and you swear his eyes soften as she looks down at you.

“Spring, no?” He questions, and you nod in response. It is slowly warming up, your only saving grace is the never ending snow. He feels that you’re excited for it now, something which felt impossible a couple of weeks ago. Thankfully, the stinker changed your mind– He guesses that your servants helped you as well. That one girl gave you the final push.

“Why do you like walking around here so much? There’s nothing to look at?” He’s looking around, trying to find something that catches his eyes, but there’s just snow. 

“I like the breath of fresh air. Even if it’s chilly.” You answer, and he gives you a subtle nod of acknowledgement. “I can’t wait for spring. The flowers here will surely look beautiful.”

“I’ll make sure they do.” He responds, a sheepish smile coming to your lips as he says that. He doesn’t even look phased. 

“Sukuna… Can I meet my family again in the spring?” You bring up, earning no response. He doesn’t like to argue about it anymore, so he chooses to remain quiet. The silence doesn’t signify a change of mind, on the contrary, it means that he’s standing firm on no. “I want them to meet our sons.”

“Our sons only need to meet us.” Sukuna responds, the answer crystal clear. You end up biting your tongue and looking at the ground in shame. He takes a swift look at you, loudly exhaling at the expression on your face.

You come to a stop in your tracks. You stop right at the spot where you asked him to plant flowers, and you can’t help but ask, “Will I see them bloom in the spring?”

“You will.” He answers, and you give him a subtle smile before turning back to go back inside.

Sex is entertaining, something that can keep him satiated for a bit. But it’s taken a turn lately. He can’t be satisfied. He doesn’t know what you’ve done to him, but this is what he’s been thinking about lately. Sex has never been something that he thinks twice about. It’s simple, he needs to be entertained and he’ll get that entertainment, but that isn’t the case anymore.

“Fuck, slow down.” You moan, throwing your head back as Sukuna moves his hips. You’re on top of him, since you insisted on riding him but that quickly changed. Your body has gotten harder to handle, but luckily that’s an issue that Sukuna can deal with.

His cocks fill up both of your holes, a feeling that was uncomfortable at first until it was the best thing in the world. It’s a bit overwhelming, you won’t lie, but it’s so good. He slows down a bit, per your request. He’s trying to keep control, but it’s hard when you feel so good around him. His hunger for you can’t be fulfilled, that’s what he’s realized lately. 

He lifts his head, mouth greedily attacking your breasts. Tongue circles around your nipple before lightly sucking. He drinks the milk that comes from your breasts, a type of indulgence that had never crossed his mind until now. 

“Oh, fuck–” Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, both of his cocks hitting just the right spot. Your nails dig into the skin of his chest, too overwhelmed with your pleasure to notice just how hard you grip onto him. It’s not like he minds either way, or notices whatsoever. He’s too focused on sucking on your tits and drinking.

He’s humming against your breast, too engrossed to move. He gives slow thrusts, making you grind against him for more friction. A set of hands land on your hips, holding you down as Sukuna continues to attack your tits.

“Sukuna.” You whine, trying to move but he won’t let you. He licks up the milk that drips out before lifting his head.

“You told me to slow down.” He reminds you as he begins to move once again. Your hand goes down to play with your clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your orgasm slowly takes over you, the pleasure too much for you to handle.

“Keep it like that. It’s perfect.” You tell him, and out of spite he almost speeds up. But he chooses to listen. You sound cute when you moan his name, words barely comprehensible as your climax takes over you.

“Good job.” He praises you, words that rarely leave his mouth unless he’s in this exact situation. Words of encouragement as you take all that you can.

You quiver as you reach your climax, and you’re so caught up in the feeling of euphoria that you don’t even notice how he puts you on your back. He’s on top of you, head going down to wrap his mouth around your nipple. He’s picking up speed again, chasing after his own release. You swear he muffles your name, but his mouth is too preoccupied for you to understand.

Your hands are on his back, nails digging into his flesh while he tries to keep control. He bites down on your tit, making a loud cry escape your lips. Sukuna ends up unlatching, lips landing on yours, tongue entering your mouth. 

“You can handle it.” He reassures you as he pulls away, feeling his cum fill you up. The warm feeling that makes you feel euphoric. Sukuna gives a couple more gentle thrusts before pulling out, leaving you empty.

He lays down beside you, eyes landing on you. If you were anyone else, he’d leave. But he can’t bring himself to get up and leave when he’s beside you. He enjoys sex with you more than he’d like to admit.

It’s why he left Kyoko behind. What’s the point of the woman if someone entertains his whim and leaves him wanting more?

Sukuna likes what you have going on, but he isn’t sure if he should like it. Relying too much on one woman isn’t a good thing. It makes him vulnerable.

“Stop leaving me cold.” You whine as you get on top of him, searching for his warmth. If you looked up at him, you would see a slight smile on his face as he wraps his arms around you– But then you’d convince yourself that it’s all in your head.

Vulnerability isn’t always bad.

“Are you the same woman that throws a fit when I say no to going out in the cold?” He teases, and you bite his arm. You earn no reaction from him. 

“Your babies like to walk around.” You tell him, though you’re just appreciating the time you can get outside. You doubt that you’ll be able to walk next week, considering how swollen your feet are lately. The pregnancy is a hassle to say the least.

“Right, blame everything on them.” He answers, hand going to your bump. He tries to get them to move, but to no avail.

His sons only move whenever they want to move, but he can’t blame them. He doesn’t like to follow orders either.

He insists that you’re by his side at all times. Even when he wants to take favors once again, he makes sure that you’re right there. He takes away the freedom of doing whatever you want again, but this time you don’t mind as much.

“Uraume, bring them in.” Sukuna orders as you sit on his lap. Your head lays comfortably on his chest, fingers playing with his own. It’s annoying to him, truly, but he won’t stop your fun; not for something that he can easily ignore.

“When can I see Yuuji?” You ask him, already bored with your place. He used to do this on his own before your pregnancy, you used to catch glimpses of him with whichever peasant dared to appear before him. Then he stopped to focus on you again.

“You just got here, my queen. The stinker won’t go anywhere.” His words are followed by a low chuckle, a sound that is rarer than any gem. His hand lands on your bump while a pout comes to your lips. You don’t doubt that you’ll be entertained with whatever you’ll see today, but you would rather be with your baby Yuuji.

Uraume walks back inside with a woman that reminds you of yourself. Too scared to look up at what waits for her. You feel pity for her, while Sukuna glares down at her as if she were below him—Because she technically is.

If she has your luck, he’ll solve her issues but make her life more difficult in the process. Though you don’t have the same issues and worries that you did before, carrying two little monsters inside of you isn’t easy to say the least.

“What do you say?” Sukuna looks down at you, eyes softening at your face, and you’re scared to answer. What if he disregards what you have to say? Of course, he’s asking but you also know Sukuna doesn’t like to follow anyone’s advice.

Your eyes land on the offering, nothing that impresses Sukuna… Nor you at this point. But that’s everything to her. She’s willing to give everything she has to reach fruition.

“Will you help her?” You respond, lips softly pressing on his cheek. He acts annoyed, rolling his eyes before agreeing. He knows better than to ask you next time, otherwise every worthless human will walk by unscathed.

“You need to learn how to be tougher.” He tells you, squeezing your hand. But you’re not listening to him, your eyes try to peek at who might be next. You remember that you got Yuuji through one of these favors, at least that’s what you’ve been told. 

“Can we get another baby Yuuji from someone?” You ask him, and he rolls his eyes again. As if you aren’t carrying two of your own. 

“And what, woman? Set up an orphanage?” He answers, making you stick your tongue out at him. He lightly flicks your forehead before a sigh escapes his lips, “I’ll let you go with Yuuji soon. Don’t get any ideas of stealing babies.”

“Why are you always ruining my pl–” You begin, only for Uraume to come back to the room without a prior announcement. Sukuna glares at them for interrupting the moment, and he’s about to raise his voice but there’s this certain uneasy feeling around them.

“Lady Kyoko wants to speak with you.” Uraume lowers their head, and Sukuna frowns. You mimic him before looking back at him.

“You told me that she was a thing of the past.” You comment, and Sukuna nods in response. 

“Send her away.” Sukuna orders, but Uraume shakes their head. An action that they had never done before. No one refuses Sukuna’s orders, especially not Uraume.

“It’s important, my king.” Uraume answers, the uneasiness making Sukuna’s stomach churn. 

“Send her away.” You repeat, a hint of jealousy laced in your voice. Sukuna likes the answer, but he can’t. Uraume is insistent for a reason.

“Let her in.” Sukuna orders, and Uraume gives a subtle nod before turning around. You cross your arms and glare at him. He tries to calm you down by grabbing your hand and placing a gentle kiss on it. “She’ll be leaving soon, my queen. She’ll probably ask for goods for all her years by my side.”

“Are you going to give her anything?” You frown, and he shakes his head.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t get a single–” He begins before the door slides open again. Uraume walks in, quickly followed by Kyoko.

There’s a mischievous smirk on her face as she steps in, you immediately notice. You feel your blood boil at the sight, knowing that she’s up to no good. You’re bringing your lips up to his ears, but Sukuna looked absolutely stunned at the sight in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, but Sukuna doesn’t budge. “Sukuna…?”

His eyes aren’t on how she looks, or how she so smugly appears in front of him. She doesn’t bow down because she doesn’t see a need anymore.

“Sukuna.” She so proudly calls him while he’s staring at her. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He can’t form a single word while she speaks to him, nor when you ask him what’s wrong. He can’t tear his eyes away from the smidge of cursed energy that’s on her stomach. 

He fucked up.

[moonstruckme]

Mae I am politely begging you for a hurt/comfort sickfic (specifically the food poisoning after a bbq because I totally don’t have something like that right now 😵‍💫) from that prompt for poly!wolfstar or marauders pleaseeeee pretty😭

Oof sorry you had to deal with that babe! Thanks for your request

cw: vomit, not entirely vague descriptions of vomit either so please be careful with yourself if that’s a trigger for you

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 606 words

“I’m so sorry,” says Remus, his hand wearing a path between your shoulder blades as you bend over the toilet.

You cough. Saliva strings embarrassingly from your mouth. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, it is,” Sirius says, though he kisses Remus’ cheek in apology.

“I know.” Remus manages to sound more miserable than you feel. You set a hand on his knee. It's the best you can do for comfort at the moment.

He squeezes it as though you aren’t the most disgusting creature alive, so it’s a fair trade.

“Do you want a tissue?” he asks softly.

“Yes, please.”

You’ve been sick on and off for hours. You don’t know how it keeps coming on so violently, but it's bad enough that you have to blow your nose every now and then to get rid of the excess. Your stomach is a wreck, sore and overworked to the point that you’ve begun shaking with exertion every time you have to lean over the toilet again. All brought on by some seemingly undercooked ribs Remus made for your barbeque yesterday. Your boyfriends have spent last night and most of today sitting vigil with you on the bathroom rug.

After you discard your tissue, your stomach makes a loud noise of upset and you bend, groaning.

“This is so humiliating.”

“There’s nothing humiliating about needing some help from your very loving boyfriends,” Sirius chides you lightly, standing up to refill your cup of water. “What else are we good for?”

“Don’t answer that,” Remus murmurs. He smiles when you chuckle weakly. It’s worth the brief ache in your abdomen.

“I can hear you conspiring,” Sirius hums as he crouches back by your side. “Do you think you’re done being sick for now?”

You nod, taking the water from him. It feels pleasant and cool on your throat.

“Slow, love,” Remus reminds you. You listen, taking smaller sips until the cup is empty.

You take a breath, relieved when your nausea doesn’t immediately worsen. Your eyes fall on Sirius.

He squints playfully. “What?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t hm me. You want something.”

You look at him through your lashes, sheepish. “Could you do that thing again?”

Only Sirius could make a scoff sound so fond. “You only ever have to ask, sweetness.” He moves closer behind you, nudging one of Remus’ legs out of the way. “Scoot, perpetrator.”

Remus does scoot, and though you shoot him an apologetic look you can’t bring yourself to regret your request when Sirius settles his hands surely over your middle. He pushes gently on the softest part of your stomach. An involuntary whimper rises in your throat.

Sirius tsks softly. “Okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s nice.”

He chuckles. “That’s okay, baby.”

You let yourself go lax for a while, Sirius all but holding you up as he pushes and prods at your tormented abdomen. Sighs and the occasional whimper float past your lips. When you crack your eyelids, Remus is nearly asleep with his back against the wall.

“Sorry for making you guys stay here,” you mumble. Hesitant to disturb the peace, but it has to be said.

Remus speaks without opening his eyes. “You’re not making us do anything, lovely. It’s not your fault my ribs were bad.”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I’m the only one who got sick, maybe it wasn’t even them.”

Sirius hums. “Not quite true.”

You and Remus both look at him questioningly.

“James said Reg started feeling queasy this morning.”

“Oh, god.” Remus drops his head to his knees. “I’m sorry.”

Sirius reaches for Remus’ hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You are lucky you’re so cute.”

[angrenwen]

“Her count’s at fourteen, to my certain knowledge.”

“And you’re sure she’s not just a very clever serial killer?”

They usually ask that. It’s understandable, if a bit annoying. “Not only have I been physically with her at the time three of the murders were committed, two were committed before she was born. That’d be pretty damned clever, don’t you think?”

“Oh, hell.”

“Yes. If you’ve got any old missing persons cases, or unsolved murders, get the files out and refresh your memory. I’d go back at least fifty years, if I were you. Focus on anything mysterious or that got covered up.”

“She’s likely to find a fifty-year-old corpse?!”

“I was standing right there when she found a hundred-and-nine year old set of remains in the walls of an old church she was helping to renovate, less than five minutes into the renovations.”

He let out a heartfelt groan. “Oh no.”

“It’s not so bad,” I said encouragingly. “Maggie’s better than a cadaver dog for finding remains, although even she doesn’t know how she does it, and even better at putting together evidence. She’s got a knack for seeing patterns where nobody else does. Whatever case she turns up, she’ll help you solve it within… oh, probably a few days, a week at most.”

“Really?” The Inspector sounded like he was wavering between skepticism and hope. “I’ve heard stories about Carrion Crows and their closure rate, but I can’t say I ever believed them.”

“Believe them. The longest it’s ever taken her was a month, and that was because she spent two weeks in hospital in the middle of it, and there was a delay on some of the evidence.” I leaned back in my chair, putting my feet up on my desk. “She’s pretty cooperative, as a rule. Not one of those ones who wants to beat the police - she’ll work with you if you let her. If you don’t, she’ll solve it anyway and make you look like a real chump, so let her. Stay on her, though, because she’s got a bit of an impulse control problem when she’s on a scent.”

“She’s likely to run into danger?”

“Mmm, no, not often - she’s just turned fifty, she’s slowing down a bit - but keeping her from touching the evidence can be a problem. She knows not to, but sometimes in the heat of the moment she forgets.”

“Ah. Yes, I see.”

“If you’ve got any strapping young lads or lasses who show some promise, assign one to her. She’s usually pretty nice to anyone under thirty if they make a mistake, but she gets snippy at someone she thinks is old enough to know better. They’ll learn a lot.”

“And she won’t ditch them?”

“Almost never if they’re polite, especially if you ask her to keep an eye on them. Just make sure they don’t argue with her too much, or scoff at her deductions, or she will absolutely ditch them and they will never know how she did it. Even I don’t know, and we’ve been working together for years.”

“I see.” He sighed, and the faint rasping was probably a hand rubbing over his chin. “A real Carrion Crow. Does she know… why?”

“What made her Death’s favourite girl? No. They usually don’t. I know there’s always stories about the murder of a loved one setting them on the path, but that’s actually pretty rare.” I’d done a lot of research, after I realized what Maggie was. “Most Carrion Crows have no idea why they start finding bodies. There’s no consistent trigger for it.”

“No kind of pattern at all?”

“Well, no, I didn’t say that. There’s no consistency about trigger events, but Carrion Crows themselves do tend to conform to a certain type. They’re usually very detail-oriented, and good at analyzing patterns. They’re always curious. If presented with half a story, they can’t resist finding the other half. They’re usually self-employed, or retired on a moderate income, or in a job that allows them a lot of snooping time, like a reporter or researcher.”

“That makes sense,” he said slowly. “The… gift, or whatever it is, comes to people who have the time and ability to use it.”

“Almost invariably.” I examined the scuffed toe of one of my boots. “And they care about people. They’re compassionate. I’ve never encountered or heard of a real Carrion Crow who was selfish.”

“Carrion Crows are always good people?” Now he just sounded confused.

“That depends on your definition of good. Criminals have been Crows in the past. One of the earliest confirmed cases of a Carrion Crow was a young pickpocket in London in the 1820s. But they’re people who care about other people. It’s one of the reasons they find out so much more than we do - people under pressure respond to kindness and compassion. It makes them want to confide.”

“Ahhhh.” He sounded enlightened. “That I understand. I have a sergeant like that. Got a face like a gargoyle, but everyone loves him because he’s just… kind, to everyone. People tell him all sorts of things.”

“Maybe don’t pair him up with Maggie, or they might achieve some sort of critical mass. A tea-party could spontaneously form around them.” I laughed at that mental image. “Anyway, if a tiny little middle-aged lady with big brown eyes and a horrible cardigan shows up and tells you there’s been a murder, take her seriously.”

“Will do. Thanks for the warning.”

I left my name and number, in case they needed more help, then hung up.

Nobody knows what causes a person to become a Carrion Crow. They’re not common, and you can spend a whole career in law enforcement without meeting one. But sometimes, for reasons nobody’s ever been able to explain, a hitherto perfectly ordinary person turns into a magnet for murder. It’s as if Death itself just taps them on the shoulder and says ‘you’. As if Death itself wants murders to be solved, the lost dead found, the unknown dead named, and their killers brought to justice.

Who knows? Maybe it does. All I know is, they need a close eye kept on them. A lot of Crows wind up murdered themselves, by someone desperate not to be caught. That’s why I call ahead every time Maggie leaves town. Why I’ll even follow her, if I can’t get the local police to listen to me.

Maggie cares about people, living and dead. And I care about Maggie. Anyone trying to kill her is going to have to get past me."

The Strange Case Of The Amateur Detective

At some point, surely someone must notice the pattern… right? Note: Beginning slightly edited for clarity.

##

It took a while, but I’ve convinced Maggie to tell me when she goes out of town. I’ll feel better, I say, if I know for sure where she is when a body makes the news.

Which is true, of course. The sheer frequency with which that little lunatic does it keeps me awake at nights. But it also enables me to take certain precautions.

Like this one.

“Hello, Branford County Police Station, Constable Ford speaking.”

“Hello, Constable Ford, this is Detective Inspector Winsbury. I’m going to need to speak to whoever is in charge there about a possible murder.”

As usual, there was some back and forth at that point, but eventually I got through to an Inspector. “What do you mean, a possible murder?!” he asked, irritated.

“Just what I said. Tell me, Inspector, have you ever had dealings with an amateur detective? The real thing, I mean. The genuine Carrion Crow.”

His tone went from hostile to guarded. “I’ve… heard some things. Never met one.”

“You’re about to. Mine’s visiting Branford, ostensibly to see an old school friend, and I wouldn’t bet you the price of a beer that she’s not going to show up to report a murder within a few days.”

“You can’t possibly - “

“Her count’s at fourteen, to my certain knowledge.”

Keep reading

[ivyues]

Paws off my Human! - Seungmin

Meeting your dog was more difficult than Seungmin thought.

After weeks of talking about it, you were finally introducing Seungmin to your dog, Mochi. You had hyped this moment up so much in your head – imagining a sweet, heartwarming encounter where your two favorite beings in the world would instantly click. But there was one problem.

Dogs just… weren’t that into Seungmin.

It wasn’t like they disliked him, but they never seemed to gravitate towards him the way they did with most people. While his friends had dogs practically falling over themselves to get their attention, Seungmin would always get a passive glance before they trotted off somewhere else. It was an ongoing joke, and one Seungmin had accepted with an exaggerated sigh.

Still, you had hope. Mochi was your dog, and maybe that would make a difference.

“Okay, Mochi,” you said, crouching down to your fluffy companion. “This is Seungmin. Be nice.”

Seungmin knelt beside you, his usual confident expression softening into something almost shy. “Hey there, Mochi,” he said, stretching out a hand cautiously.

Mochi sniffed Seungmin’s fingers for a second, and for a brief, shining moment, you thought that maybe – just maybe – this would be the exception. That Mochi would sense how much Seungmin meant to you and would accept him right away.

Instead, Mochi simply blinked, turned his head, and promptly walked away.

You tried to suppress a laugh as Seungmin stared after him, blinking in disbelief. “Are you serious?” he muttered. “I didn’t even do anything!”

You patted his shoulder sympathetically. “He’s just playing hard to get.”

“I didn’t even want his attention that much,” Seungmin huffed, crossing his arms. “It’s not like I care or anything.”

You raised a brow. “Uh-huh. That’s why you’re pouting?”

“I am not pouting,” he grumbled, but the way he glanced at Mochi – who had now plopped down on his favorite blanket, facing the other way – told a different story.

Defeated, Seungmin sighed. “I don’t understand. I’m practically a dog myself.”

Feeling a bit bad for your boyfriend, you decided to step in. “Mochi loves treats,” you suggested. “Want to try giving him one?”

Seungmin exhaled, then nodded. “Alright, fine. I’ll win him over.”

You handed him a treat, and he carefully approached Mochi again. “Okay, listen, little guy,” he said, holding out the snack. “I know we got off to a rough start, but let’s be friends, yeah?”

Mochi eyed the treat, then Seungmin. After a long pause, he finally took it from his hand, chewing happily. Your heart warmed at the sight of Seungmin’s expression – like he had just won a hard-fought battle.

“See?” you grinned. “He just needed a little bribery.”

Seungmin scoffed. “I don’t bribe, I negotiate.”

You laughed, watching as Mochi, after finishing his treat, hesitantly nudged Seungmin’s knee before settling back down. It wasn’t instant love, but it was progress.

Seungmin smirked, clearly pleased. “Told you I’d win him over.”

You rolled your eyes fondly and leaned against his shoulder. “Sure, puppy boy.”

He groaned at the nickname, but you caught the small smile tugging at his lips. Maybe Mochi wasn’t the only one playing hard to get.

Feeling content, you turned your head slightly towards Seungmin, the warmth of the moment making you want to steal a quick kiss. Just as you moved in, Mochi suddenly barked – loud and sharp.

Startled, you pulled back, wide-eyed. Seungmin let out an amused scoff, glancing at the unimpressed fluffball.

“Wow,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Not only do I have to win you over, but now I have to get permission to be affectionate with her?”

You patted his head, suppressing a giggle. “Maybe he sees you as a rival.”

Seungmin shook his head, shooting a wary look at Mochi. “Fine. But for the record, I’m not scared of you,” he told the dog.

Mochi responded by yawning dramatically before turning away again.

You smiled, squeezing Seungmin’s hand. “Looks like you’ve still got some work to do.”

Seungmin groaned. “I can’t believe I have to compete with a dog.”

---

Weeks later, after many failed attempts on Seungmin’s part to win Mochi over, you decided that a walk together might help with their bonding. The crisp spring air was refreshing as the three of you strolled through the park, but the sun weakly peeked through the flowering trees.

Mochi trotted happily by your side, tail wagging with every step, while Seungmin walked a little further from him, hands in his pockets, feigning indifference.

“You know,” you teased, glancing at your boyfriend, “you don’t have to act so cool about it. It’s okay to admit you want Mochi to like you.”

Seungmin scoffed, shaking his head. “I really don’t care that much.”

You hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Right.”

After a bit more walking, you decided to give Seungmin the leash. “Here, try holding it,” you offered, placing the leash in his hands.

Seungmin hesitated but took it, looking down at Mochi expectantly. “Alright, come on, let’s go.”

Mochi, however, didn’t budge.

Seungmin frowned and gave the leash a gentle tug. “Mochi?”

Mochi simply turned his head to the side, stubbornly planting his paws into the ground.

Seungmin groans. “What am I supposed to do? Drag him?”

You shake your head. “Try convincing him.”

Seungmin kneels down beside Mochi. “Okay, listen. I know we didn’t start off great, but I have treats, and I will literally carry you home if I have to. Your choice.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Seungmin let out an exasperated sigh as Mochi still didn’t move. “Is your dog broken?”

“He just doesn’t respect you yet,” you said, grinning. “Give it a second.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “Or maybe he’s just bad-mannered.”

At that, you crouched slightly and clapped your hands. “Come on, Mochi, go with Seungmin.”

Mochi perked up at your voice, then, without warning, bolted forward – leash in Seungmin’s hand.

“Whoa—hey!” Seungmin yelped as he was yanked forward, stumbling slightly as he struggled to keep up with the determined fluffball. You burst into laughter, watching as your dog enthusiastically led a very reluctant Seungmin down the path.

You jogged to catch up, laughing breathlessly at the sight of your usually composed boyfriend being dragged along by a fluffy ball of energy. "I think he likes you now!"

Seungmin shot you a glare over his shoulder, though the corners of his lips twitched in amusement. "Yeah? Then why is he trying to kill me?"

---

You returned one afternoon to your appartment, running late. You knew your boyfriend would already be there so you expected to find him grumbling about Mochi’s latest act of indifference or Mochi keeping his usual distance. Instead, you were met with an entirely different sight.

Seungmin was fast asleep on your couch.

His long legs were stretched out, one arm resting behind his head, the other draped lazily over his stomach. His chest rose and fell steadily, his usually sharp features softened in slumber. The peaceful expression on his face made your heart flutter – he looked so unguarded like this, completely at ease in your space.

But what really caught your attention was Mochi.

Curled up at Seungmin’s feet, your fluffy companion had tucked himself against your boyfriend’s legs, his small body rising and falling in sync with Seungmin’s breath. The sight was almost comical – after all the times Mochi had rejected Seungmin’s affection, he had unknowingly sought comfort in him now.

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh. Of course, the one time Mochi willingly snuggled up to Seungmin, he had no idea it was happening.

Careful not to wake them, you tiptoed closer, pulling out your phone. There was no way you weren’t capturing this moment. With the softest tap of your finger, you snapped a picture – one that you were sure to tease Seungmin with later.

masterlist

[ashwhowrites]

Can you do angst # 26 a bit of a longer fic where Eddie and reader have been married for a couple years and as the years go on the reader starts to feel neglected in their relationship because of him prioritizing his band (or any job you write in). She comes to a breaking point after he overhears a convo on the phone that she has with a coworker and gets jealous, and they get into a fight where she says he's not the person she married or how she feels alone in their relationship. You can decide the end ( if eddie redeems himself or this could be the end of them)

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting ❤️

A new you

“You’re not the same person I married, don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

The dream was for Eddie's career to take off after they got married. Y/N wanted to get married and try for kids before he had to pack up and travel around the world. Everything was going perfectly in the beginning, they were happy and constantly trying for a baby.

But once the band got their name in the stars, Y/N realized her and their marriage got set on the back burner. Eddie spent all his hours in the studio, or at home in his music room as the door was closed. And when the door was closed, that meant Y/N couldn't disturb him.

At first, she didn't want to do anything about it. It was new and exciting and she understood it took a lot of Eddie's time and energy. But months turned into years and now they sat in a marriage that felt like roommates. She missed her husband, she missed his time, his touch and him.

She was hurt she got pushed aside and it hurt even more that they hadn't tried for a baby in months. He has been so caught up with the band that he barely was home, and when he was, it was to drop in bed and be gone by morning. She missed the way their relationship used to be. Back when he looked at her with love and wanted to be with her. Now it seemed he could care less about her.

She tried to talk to him about it but it was nearly impossible. She was at the break of giving up. The thought of leaving him behind and moving on. It was clear he didn't have any mind to save the marriage. Hell, he probably didn't notice it was drowning to begin with. The longer it went on, the more lonely she felt.

"Hey, Eddie?" She whispered, his body next to hers as they lay separately in the bed.

"Hm?" He mumbled, half asleep as his head was buried in the pillows.

"Can you take some time off from the band? Maybe a weekend and we can go off somewhere together?" She asked, rolling over to face him. His eyes weren't open, but the lack of snores told her he was still awake.

"Sure, honey. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

She wasn't shocked that the conversation never happened. It was like he lived a whole different world on his side of the bed. She was close enough to touch him, yet she almost felt like it wasn't her place. She hated that she felt conflicted about wanting to kiss or touch her husband. But anytime she tried, it ended with him pushing her off and her feeling stupid for trying.

She was stuck in a one-sided relationship and she had no idea what to do.

~~~

"I'm going to grab dinner tonight with a co-worker so I might not be home when you are," she explained as she dressed herself. Eddie hummed from the bathroom, spitting out his toothpaste as he half-listened.

"Would you like me to bring you back something?" She asked, walking into the bathroom. She admired how he looked as he brushed his teeth. His messy hair and shirtless chest. She bit her lip as she slowly walked closer to him, the desire to be touched by him was increasing.

"No, I'll send someone to grab something," he shrugged, barely noticing her body as he walked past her and out of the bathroom.

"Or I could bring something to you before I go? We aren't going until like seven," she offered, following behind him. "Maybe give us a chance to talk?"

Eddie threw on his jeans as he looked at her, confused. "Why would you do that?"

She sighed as she tried to remain calm. "Because I'm your wife, Eddie. I'd like to have time with you."

"Look I don't have time for this conversation again. If you stop by, cool. If you don't, that's cool too. But I have to go. Have fun at dinner."

Without a kiss, he went right out the door.

~

Y/N held her stomach as she tried not to fall out of her chair laughing. Her insides were all clenched as she gasped for air.

"I truly didn't think I was that funny," Logan laughed as he watched her dry her tears.

She calmed herself down, wiping the tears that leaked as she took a big sigh. As the laughter died, she realized how good it felt. She hadn't laughed in what felt like forever. Eddie was the funniest person she'd ever met, but she couldn't remember the last time he cared to make her crack a smile. The thought changed her mood slightly, Logan fast to pick up on it.

"You okay?" He asked, sipping on his glass of wine as she prepared to lie. But she wanted to say it, she needed to clear her brain and maybe she'll sleep better at night.

Within seconds she was spiraling. Telling Logan all about her marriage. How it started so beautifully and how she wished she could do anything to get it back.

Even when he treated her like she was nothing, she wished it was him sitting across from her.

~

She sighed as she walked into the quiet house. Eddie's car was nowhere in the driveway. She was tempted to drive herself to the studio but she knew that would do nothing in her favor. She climbed into the empty bed, trying to blink away the tears as she fell asleep.

~~~

After dinner with Logan, he asked her to go a few more times. They exchanged their numbers and she spent most of her time talking to him as she waited all night for Eddie to come home. She appreciated having a friend.

~

"Friday? I mean I should be free. What did you want to do?" Y/N asked, phone against her ear as she scrubbed the dishes.

Eddie slipped into the house, checking his watch as he set down his guitar case. Another late night, he planned to go straight to bed but he heard talking and movement from the kitchen. He was surprised Y/N was still awake.

"I mean, that restaurant is beautiful, and I've always wanted to go. But isn't it a bit romantic?" She asked

Eddie's ears perked up, close enough to hear a man speaking on the other line.

"So? I think you deserve a little romance in your life."

Before Y/N had the chance to say something, or acknowledge Eddie's presence, Eddie was grabbing the phone and hanging it up.

"Edward!" Y/N scolded, reaching for her phone but Eddie shoved it in his back pocket.

"Who the fuck was that?" He asked, clearly fuming.

"Logan, from work," Y/N answered

"Why is Logan wanting to take you out? Uh? Doesn't he know you're married?"

Y/N couldn't help but scuff. "He does, do you?"

"What does that mean?" Eddie asked

"Maybe if you made time to talk to me, you'd understand," she said as she brushed past him. But he was right about her tail. Crazy how he suddenly was wide awake and interested in her.

"Talking right now aren't we?"

Y/N began to angrily make the bed. "No, now it's an argument. You have been ignoring me, abandoning me for that stupid band. I made a friend, it's not my fault he happens to be interested in hanging out with me. Why would I say no? So I can enjoy another lonely night on the couch wondering why my husband hates me?" She took a deep breath as she tried to remain calm.

"Oh don't be dramatic, hate you? Of course, I don't hate you!" Eddie fought, "and you have other friends! Don't you think it's inappropriate for him to ask you somewhere romantic?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, smacking the pillows down. "So yeah, it might be a little inappropriate. Would I let it go somewhere inappropriate? Absolutely not. But maybe this is the wake-up call you need. Because Eddie, the way we are going, I don't want that for my future."

"You don't want me in your future?" Eddie asked, slightly hurt as she sat on the bed.

"I do! But the old Eddie. You’re not the same person I married, and don’t tell me I’m wrong. You are completely different and I'm unhappy," Y/N explained. She looked down at the ring on her finger, "We were supposed to make a family, Eddie."

Eddie felt his anger melting away as she held herself. "We can still have a family, baby." He said softly as he walked over.

"Don't bother lying to me because I'm so close to being done," Y/N bitterly laughed. She ignored his body as he sat across from her, placing a hand on her knees.

"I'm not lying! But you knew this was the dream when we got married."

"FUCK THE DREAM, EDDIE!" She yelled as she stood up. "You have been living the dream for years. What about mine? What about the kids and the big house? You knew my dream when we got married! But mine is not as important? You're different and I hate it."

"Oh, so you hate who I am?" Eddie scoffed, standing up. "I didn't purposely ignore your dream; it's just mine. I was on the tracks and already going. I'm sorry I got caught up in it. I'm guilty of that."

"Yes I do, Eddie!" She spat, staring into his darkening eyes, "I hate this version of you. I want my husband back. The guy who loved me and couldn't breathe without me. You used to love me like crazy, we were never apart. You used to take care of me, hold my hand, and open every door. I used to feel so fixed in your arms, Eddie," she cried, "now? This is the longest we've seen each other in months. Are you seeing someone? Or did you just wake up one day and decide you hated your life with me?"

"Someone else? You really think I'm seeing someone else?" Eddie scoffed, "I'd never do that and I can't believe you think I would. And especially after your new friend asked you on a fucking date!"

"What am I supposed to think? We haven't had sex in months! What happened? We used to have no issues with intimacy. And now we have nothing. Are you not attracted to me anymore? Is that the problem?"

"You're supposed to think I'm loyal and that I'm exactly where I said I would be. I've been at the studio working my ass off. So I'm tired when I come home. I still think you are the most gorgeous woman I've seen, but I'm exhausted when I come home, and I don't want sex."

"What's the point of a marriage if you only care to be at the studio? Hell, move out and live in the damn fucking place." She spat, "I'm done being pushed aside. I'm not going to put effort into a relationship with you when you don't even care to be in it." She cried.

Eddie tried to blink away his own tears as he watched her cry. "So do you want a divorce? Because I don't. It's clear I've fucked up, and I need to work on many things, but in no way do I want to let you go," He asked, his voice cracking as the reality of the question made his insides clench. He hated himself for getting to this point. All he had to do was love her the way she deserved.

"I don't want to leave, and I don't want you to leave. But I need you to be that way again. Please just love me like you used to," she sobbed. Eddie couldn't stop the silent tears that fell down his face as he stood and pulled her into his arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he cried, "I don't want either of us to leave, baby. I love you, so fucking much," he kissed her head. "I'm going to fix this. I'm going to put you and this marriage first. The exact way it should be."

"Can we talk about it in the morning? I just want to sleep next to you," she cried. Eddie softly moved them to the bed, wrapping his arms around her.

She melted into his arms, enjoying the feeling that she hadn't felt in so long. She wasn't sure what tomorrow would bring. If he'd wake up a changed man or wake up the same. She wasn't sure if her marriage was being saved or going under. But right now she felt at home in his arms and that's what she needed for the night.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog

[lexiputellas]

"Negative," from the Broken Vows series.

You stare at the test.

Negative.

The word feels like a slap, even though it’s the third time you’ve seen it. The third time you’ve felt the slow unraveling of hope inside you, piece by piece, like something delicate being torn apart with careful hands.

You sit on the edge of the bathtub, the test still in your grasp, as if holding onto it will change something. Your fingers tighten around the plastic until your knuckles turn white. The silence in the bathroom is suffocating, thick with the weight of another failed attempt.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You and Alexia had talked about it late at night, wrapped up in blankets, your voices quiet with sleep. The conversation had started with Nora, with her birthday, with how fast she was growing.

"Would you have more?" she had asked suddenly.

"More what?" you said, kind of oblivious.

"A baby."

You had blinked at her, surprised. "I don’t know. Do you want one?"

"Seeing Nora grow… it makes me miss when she was a baby. It gave me baby fever."

"Oh, and you’re the one carrying this time?"

She had laughed. "I wouldn’t be as successful as you were with Nora. Five hours and a normal birth? You’re a pro."

You had smiled, entertained by the thought. "We could try for one."

And just like that, it began.

Endless appointments. The careful planning. The nervous excitement. It was her embryo in you, a perfect mix of both of you. You would have a mini Alexia again. The thought had made you dizzy with happiness, more than you ever expected.

Until it started to go wrong.

You tried once. Negative.

A second time. Negative.

The third? Today.

Apparently, no baby for you.

You really thought this was supposed to be it. You didn’t even know you wanted another one until you couldn’t have it. The pregnancy test looks at you like it has betrayed you, and that’s when you start to sink.

The grief is quiet at first. It starts in your chest, a dull ache, then spreads through your ribs, your throat, your stomach. You feel empty—physically, emotionally.

Alexia’s voice pulls you out of it.

"Amor?"

She’s standing at the door, already dressed for the day, her hair still damp from the shower. Her eyes land on the test in your hands, and for a second, she doesn’t say anything. Just watches you.

And that’s worse.

Because if she were oblivious, if she made a joke, if she brushed past it, maybe you could swallow this down. Maybe you could get up, throw the test away, and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does.

But she’s looking at you like she knows.

Like she feels it too.

Alexia kneels in front of you, her hands gentle as they reach for yours, prying the test from your fingers and setting it aside. She cups your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks, and only then do you realize you’re crying.

"I’m sorry," you whisper.

Alexia frowns. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because I thought this time—" Your voice breaks, and the words die in your throat.

She doesn’t let you finish.

Instead, she pulls you against her, wrapping her arms around you, holding you like she’s trying to keep you from shattering completely.

"It’s not your fault," she murmurs into your hair. "It’s not your fault."

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your face into her shoulder. She’s warm. Solid. Safe. And for a moment, you let yourself fall apart in her arms.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours.

At some point, Alexia moves, tilting your chin up so she can look at you. "We’ll keep trying."

You shake your head. "I don’t know if I can do this again."

She exhales softly, nodding. "Okay. Then we won’t. Not until you’re ready. Or maybe not at all."

You don’t know if you’ll ever be ready.

Alexia your kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your tear-stained lips. She doesn’t rush you, doesn’t tell you to move on, doesn’t try to fix it with empty words.

She just holds you.

Eventually, she shifts, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before standing. She reaches for your hands, tugging you up with her. Your legs feel unsteady, but she doesn’t let you go.

"Come on," she says softly. "Let’s go to bed."

You hesitate, glancing toward the bathroom sink, toward the test that still feels like it’s staring at you. Alexia follows your gaze before gently nudging your chin so you’re looking at her again.

"Leave it," she says. "Come with me."

You let her lead you back to bed, let her pull the covers up around you, let her wrap herself around you like a shield against the world. She doesn’t ask if you’re okay. She doesn’t try to make you talk. She just stays.

And as you lie there, curled into the warmth of her body, feeling her fingers tracing slow patterns against your skin, you realize something—

You don’t know what’s going to happen next. You don’t know if you’ll try again, or if you’ll ever be ready.

But Alexia is here. She’s always here. Or so you thought.

[impossiblepackage]

I would also like to add: do you even like the thing you’re making fan stuff for? you don’t have to or anything, but like. wouldn’t you rather spend your time doing stuff for something you like?

the "canon isn't real we make our own rules" to "i am begging you people to revisit the source material" pipeline

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere Eldritch being who has taken over your entire town.

TW. Dead Dove Do Not Eat Horror, confinement, isolation, death, Stockholm syndrome, yandere

You didn’t know when it had happened, but there was something very obviously wrong with your town.

It was the little things like the warped street signs, the inconsistent cracks in the sidewalk, and the way that the uncanny faces of people seemed to stare at you. It didn’t use to be like this, but you found yourself cautious about your new reality on the daily. You did try to leave and call for help, but there was some mysterious force cutting off your network. And when you did try to pack all your bags and high tail it out of there, you would end up just looping straight back on your street no matter what direction you drove in.

So now you made do with the fact that nothing was normal.

You sometimes wonder why whatever has infected all the people decided to leave you alone. Because there was no way it wasn’t a conscious decision. Your favorite flowers would start sprouting out of concrete walls and glass despite the fact it would be the middle of winter one day and a scorching summer the next. Not to mention, those flowers didn’t even grow here to begin with. It was a gesture. If it was meant to tempt or be kind, you weren’t sure. 

The town functioned like nothing was out of the ordinary, though. Well, at least it tried to puppet the barely real bodies of your community to do things they would daily. The grocery store always had food and figures milling about, and even though none of the products ever tasted quite right or had words in a real language, you could tell “it” was trying to keep things running for you.

You’d once tried to hide away in your house, thinking that it was somehow protecting you from whatever was out there. But all you did was make it angry. Constant thunderstorms that shook the ground, and hail that pounded on your roof and walls. When you continued to stay inside, that’s when it made things clear: it was letting you stay as you were. The house shifted dramatically, doors disappearing and walls bending in front of your eyes. 

Come outside. Stop trying to resist.

Privacy was just another one of those far-out concepts now.

The thing, as you so liked to call it, had been more affectionate lately. You didn’t know exactly how to describe it, but it had started morphing all the “people” into more attractive versions of themselves. Or at least, what it thought of as attractive to humans. Their faces were more tangible now and less blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, but they were uncanny in a new way. Skin too smooth, too perfect in so many different ways. Symmetrical, full lips, pleasant expressions, soothing voices: all things that on paper would lure someone in, but it had alarm bells ringing in your head nearly all the time now.

“I don’t like this, you know,” You said one day as you sat in the diner. The room was stretched out wider than what it looked like on the outside, and the waitress had an unnaturally wide smile. Before you was a plate of… something. Your guess was pancakes.

“What do you mean?” Several voices asked at once. It came from all around, and the waitress’s mouth barely moved to match the words. 

“ I like you better when you aren’t trying so hard to be something you weren’t.”

There was a pause, and the building slowly unraveled into a jumbled mess of things that you could barely comprehend, the other patrons' faces and bodies melting away into linoleum floors. 

“You’re not human. You don’t have to be. I think I’d prefer that honestly,” You shrugged and poked at your food. From the corner of your eyes, a figure seemed to emerge from the mess of what used to be your favorite restaurant. It was a writhing mass of dark tendrils, reaching for anything nearby. You’re breath caught in your throat.

“Do you really mean that?”

The voice spoke, but there wasn’t any face to accompany it. It reverberated in the base of your spine, racing through your nerves like lightning. Your breath hitched, and you finally gathered enough courage to look at it. It was a mess of things you couldn’t quite make out, but it was almost comforting. 

“This is the first time I’ve actually seen you,” you admitted, a small laugh of disbelief caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time it had actually listened to you. 

The being twitched, pulsing as it slid over towards where you were sitting at the booth. It was the only thing that had stayed intact. For something so expressionless, you’d dare to say it seemed shy. 

From the inky mass, one tendril reached out for you, the air around it crackling. You stayed in place as it slid over your hand, and you felt the wonder and relief.

“Will you stay with me? I don’t want to force you, but I’m so alone… you’re the only one who doesn’t disappear when I’m near.”

You blinked as the mass filled the cracks between your hands, folding into the lines of your palms as if trying to memorize you. If it had a hand, you’d be holding it. If it had lips, yours would be slotting against them. If it had a heart, you were certain they’d be painted a similar shade of loneliness. 

You stood up and slowly approached it, holding out your arms as you leaned in, wrapped your arms around its slowly forming figure, and nodded in silence.