#like i wish i had better words to articulate it

[genderqueerdykes]

Not expecting a reply but wished to express (as a transfeminine person) thanks for your post regarding transandrophobia, had been seeing a large amount of my trans mutuals on this site begin to buy into a perception of transmasculine people which was an identical duplicate of those held by members of the TERF movement here in the UK, that they are entitled, immature, incapable of self determination and unneeding of liberation. Despite awareness that any individual can adopt cruel beliefs and that it might be comforting to do so (and despite awareness of this sites history of bullying campaigns targeting highly specific marginalised groups) I was confused as to why so many people found that perception in any way legitimate, especially during a time in which trans people of any assigned sex are so conspicuously in peril.

i wanted to thank you for taking the time to send this, i really appreciate you!

honestly, having so many transfeminine people step forward and say that this is making them uncomfortable has been amazing. it really is the minority of people behaving this way. most transfeminine people do not want to see someone else being hated for their gender or assigned sex- i mean, why would we want that...? that's what people do to us, why would we ever benefit from doing it to someone else?

a large amount of my trans mutuals on this site begin to buy into a perception of transmasculine people which was an identical duplicate of those held by members of the TERF movement here in the UK, that they are entitled, immature, incapable of self determination and unneeding of liberation.

dead on the money, i could not have articulated it better if tried. beautifully worded. people, whether or not they realize this, are 100% parroting terf rhetoric when they treat trans men this way. this behavior was born in terf circles, and now it's spreading to other people. people are not realizing that they're being radicalized in a way that harms other people. terfs hate trans women, of course, we know this, but they hate trans men and mascs as well, and that's not a good thing. i have no clue why people look at terfs and rad fems and go. they're evil for hating trans women/transfems. but they're BASED AS FUCK for hating trans men and mascs. like HELLO?

i have no idea why people look at rad fems and go "wow they're actually so based for hating men that is so awesome they're right all men are evil girlboss gatekeep gaslight fuck men uwu but i promise i don't hate trans women!!! i'm not a terf i don't hate trans women! terfs hate trans women and i'm not like that! i can't be a terf if i don't hate trans women hating trans men is good because all men are bad!!!!!!!!" why are you agreeing with ANY of their politics? they hate ALL trans people: that is a bad thing! hating any group of trans people is a bad thing! that is transphobia!!! people seem to think that terfs only hate trans women which is so far from the truth. why do people think it's okay to condemn part of their beliefs but not all?

like y'all wake the FUCK UP rad feminism is not progressive! you do not look cool for saying you hate trans men and transmascs! you are not pushing queer rights forward. you are not lobbying for trans women if you throw trans men under the bus.

I was confused as to why so many people found that perception in any way legitimate, especially during a time in which trans people of any assigned sex are so conspicuously in peril.

this is exactly what i don't understand. i do not understand why people think that attacking a group of trans people will somehow lessen our suffering. as if splitting up and fighting with each other will somehow bring down cisheteronormative patriarchy.

how does any of this help anyone? like seriously. how? please explain to me how this helps anyone. how does this help trans women get access to gender affirming care? how does this help trans women who are single mothers? how does this help trans women of color who are dealing with racism on top of transmisogyny? how does this help trans women who need medical care? how does this help trans women find jobs that won't turn them away for being trans? how does this help trans women who are scared about coming out as trans? how does this help trans women who live in transphobic towns and countries? how does this help trans women find community support? how does this help homeless trans women? how does this help trans women who need help with addiction? how does this help trans women escape domestic violence? how does this help trans women who are too poor to stay afloat?

thanks for stopping by, i really appreciate this message, and it does a lot of people good to hear other transfems who are not okay with this. your message will do a lot of good, so i think it's very important to publish. :) take care of yourself, thank you so much for being a compassionate person! this was a very insightful ask, thank you!

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s6 episode 10 thoughts

hmm… scully seems to be black and white in the image for this episode. maybe she has had this power to turn greyscale the whole time and she has simply never chosen to wield it until now. how fascinating of her!

ah, i see that the one after this is likely a two-parter, based on titles alone. so i had better focus now before things get crazy.

the description here emphasizes that scully will be the one pursuing this photographer!! i hope that bodes well for our girl!! i need lots of scully time!! or else terrible things happen to me!!

post-episode thoughts: we need to release the cut of this episode where mulder and scully team up to destroy this ritter fellow. i know mulder had to physically restrain himself from choking that dude out. frankly, he usually has FAR less self-control, so this was a big step for him.

but first and foremost, this was a scully episode. and there is so much i want to say. about living!! and dying!! and loving!! and what scully wants for herself!!! and i am sad, but i am pondering!!! and i want her to be happy!!! and in the process of editing my notes, i got myself so worked up over the whole thing that i simply cannot articulate anything!!!! which is such a shame, because if i had words, i would use them!!! at length!!

we open in new york city, where a woman gets help pushing a shopping cart out of an elevator to deliver some mail. mail time!!! wait. who is behind her?

get away from her. she is working. STOP FOLLOWING HER. I’M SERIOUS. now the elevator is taking too long to come get her…. and the creepy guy gets in. GET OUT OF THERE. YOU’RE MAKING ME ANGRY.

why can creepy man see everyone in black and white? until he steps out of the elevator, and all of the color returns.

oh shoot. he gets out and then the elevator starts breaking. so he takes the STAIRS. and it falls!!!! 

he’s taking a picture of the collapsed elevator?? with the bodies in it??? 

now who does that help….?

why is he documenting it… is he working for OSHA or something…..? 

shortened intro, you will not sneak your tricks past me.

someone else is doing a background check here at the FBI!! are scully and mulder free?? well, they’re stuck on the same floor, so probably not. mulder is on the phone and fiddling with his pen.

no; they, too, are sadly stuck performing background checks. this is so sad!!! she can save lives!!!! and they use her for this!!!

she asks if mulder is ready to quit and he says “no. that would make way too many people way too happy” <- LMAO well, that is entirely understandable

ohhh, she gets a strange call and is on the move. she was asked to go to kersh’s office!! this cannot be good!! he hates her!! and she was the only one called!

OOO, WE SEE HER FILE. she’s 5 foot 2!!! i didn’t know that!!! but i figured she was somewhere in that area. and she lives in annapolis, maryland. like learning that mulder lives in alexandria, i do not know enough about geography to know what that means.

seems she was brought on in 1990 as an instructor of forensic pathology, and she was recruited right from the university of maryland. i did know this. but not the years during which it happened. 

ARGH, i wish this screen wasn’t so dark so i could SEE. it says something about physics. BA in physics?? ARGH! this is so frustrating. mulder had described her thesis as her “graduate thesis”, so maybe she did physics undergrad, physics grad school, then med school, then FBI. 

well. it’s not focusing other than that, so i can’t make any conclusions unless kersh announces what he sees inside. because he is the one reading her file.

some agent named ritter is here from new york. who are you, man? he found an old crime scene photo of a woman who passed away from an overdose. but the clock in the photo is 45 minutes earlier than her listed time of death. scully points out that a clock can be wrong. why is this ritter man, like, quizzing her?

hmm!!! from the newspaper, the other photograph of the body shows a totally different time, an hour and a half later!!! that is very weird. from the same photographer, too. i’m guessing he wasn’t just hanging there for 2 hours and spacing out his picture taking.

alfred fellig is the photographer. ritter thinks that maybe he poisoned the woman and photographed her for personal pleasure, then came back later to do his job for the police and photographed her AGAIN. and while scully says that is “quite a theory”, there are 3 other photos of fellig's that show very different times according to different negatives.

she says there’s no consistent MO, and he says there is no consistent anything. and he wants her help. kersh asks him to leave. what is afoot here….

“i would say he has a promising career ahead of him. so did you… at one time” <- OH MY GOD??? 

(furious scully face)

“AGENT MULDER and i will begin immediately” <- OH!!! she stood right up for him!!! what a good friend!!

but kersh says he is a lost cause. and that he hopes she isn't as well.

so now she has to go to new york city with this RANDOM GUY. oh, i’m pissed off FOR HER!! kersh must be trying to separate them….

fellig is getting off a bus and watching some guy have what appears to be a heart attack. heart attack (or coughing fit? chest pain?) guy is in black and white!! 

he goes somewhere and gets some mail, patting his head with a cloth while fellig watches out the window. and he grabs his arm!! and falls!!!! AND FELLIG COMES CLOSER TO WATCH????

he pulls out his camera and takes a bunch of pictures of the dying guy, who he sees in black and white. very weird.

mulder is looking through a bunch of photos on his computer. ohhh, it looks like he found the pictures from fellig. “mulder. what are you doing?” “being nosy. eating my heart out. they’re sending you on an x file” <- OHHH, HE LOOKS SO SAD AND LEFT OUT :(

“it’s not an x file” “that’s not what i’m reading”

“i’m thinking murder by telekinesis. i’m thinking maybe a shamanistic death touch. i’m thinking about the muslim superstition that to photograph someone is to steal their soul” <- OHHH, LET HIM ON THE CASE :( 

fascinating look into how he starts gathering leads based on the little information he knows about the case and his wealth of memorized strange facts....

he thinks they’re splitting them up!!!! and he’s so sad!!! oh!! she tries to tell him it’s a one-time thing, but he isn’t buying it.

she bites her lip, closes his tabs as agent ritter walks in, and introduces them. he very visibly wants to beat the guy with a hammer. and makes a point of calling him by his first name.

jump to new york city. ritter and scully are asking some cops about fellig. he has yearly renewals for his job a very long time, and he’s been doing it since 1964!!! he doesn’t seem to have aged. 

OH! this ritter guy seems fine enough, but he called her "dana", and that made me flinch. he doesn’t seem to think it’s that weird fellig hasn’t aged at all.

meanwhile, some other dude is being chased and calling for help. whoever is chasing him pulls out a knife and kills him!!! and fellig is there to take pictures of the scene!!

but the murderer finds fellig and starts stabbing him…… he steals fellig’s camera as the blood pours everywhere. but fellig gets up!!! and pulls the knife out of his own back!!! ack!!!! 

the blood from his body is red and didn’t cause any gassing, so i don’t think he’s one of the shape-shifting aliens, but maybe he’s some sort of vampire or vampire-like creature?? maybe he sucks energies from the photos of dying people he takes??

ritter and scully find the knife with fellig’s prints on them.

“what’s this?” “a whole lotta blood” “yeah, i got that” <- LMAOOOOO, do not separate her from her bonded pair or she will be mad. scully clearly does not think there is a second victim because there is no second body.

ritter says it is “january 4th”. so does this take place BEFORE rain king, somehow? or did we jump ahead a year? you know what? i’m gonna try not to think about it. 

that seems like a weird detail to include for it to just prove the timeline wrong.

(i'm still annoyed about this 24 hours later btw)

they’re interviewing fellig. scully watches from the corner. he says he saw someone stealing a kid’s shoes and tried to run him off. he claims he touched the knife after the murderer left. 

OHHH, she picks up on the fact that he is in pain and is closing in on him like a shark smelling blood. yeahhhh, noir detective. ritter seems fascinated by this but like, come on, we all are. he’s not special.

fellig confesses to being cut. and she helps take off his shirt to see the gashes. ritter says to get his blood drawn and take pictures.

“hey, i’m confused. i thought we were trying to bust this guy, not look for reasons to let him go” “i thought we were looking for the truth” <-YEAH, YOU TELL HIM 🔥 

he gets pissed and leaves

AWWWWW, MULDER CALLS HER AND SAYS IN A STUPID VOICE THAT THEY USED TO SIT NEXT TO EACH OTHER AT THE FBI :,) AWWWW, LOOK AT HER TIRED SMILE!!!

WAIT, WHY DOES HE KNOW ABOUT THE STABBING, LMAO????? “i told you, i’m nosy” <- WHAT DOES HE KNOW??

they found another murderer’s prints on the knife and fellig’s blood all over the place… yeah. so fellig probably isn’t killing these people outright.

DID HE HACK INTO THE NYPD DATABASE SOMEHOW?? LMAOOOOO???

NO, HE GOT THE FILES FROM KERSH SOMEHOW, AND HE SEES THAT FELLIG HAS A HEALING FACTOR. LMAOOOO, oh he is gonna get in TROUBLE!!

but he says kersh has (mostly) nice things to say about her. which is kind of him to add.

he whines his way into doing a background check on the murderer, saying it’s what he does now. and you can tell she wants to say no, but also knows that saying no to him won’t do a damn thing, lmao.

why does he have access to kersh’s files….?

scully is joining ritter in a car at 1 am. seems he’s doing a stakeout on fellig. ritter tells her to have a LOVELY evening in a way that seems like he really hates her. man. i thought he was kinda chill at the start of this episode. except for the way he was quizzing her. and ignoring fellig not aging. maybe he was a jerk all along and i simply tried to be kind.

time for scully to flip through some more murder photos. OH NO!! she hears the camera clicking in the distance… and ritter just walked away!!! IS HE GONNA BE DEAD???

she knocks on fellig’s door and says “explain this” LMAO, get those answers!! how did he take a photo of a murder an hour before the police arrived?! 

she says he needs to explain himself or he will not know a moment’s peace. and trust that she means it.

fellig says to take a ride with her, which has me scared. and then he drives her around for an hour!!! he says he is looking for the shot. 

he finds a woman on the street corner, saying she’s about to die, could be a minute, could be an hour. scully grabs her gun, thinking he’s going to do something nefarious. he says the way they die is always a surprise- he just always knows when. 

“you want me to believe that?”, she asks

but then a man comes toward the woman on the side of the road, and they start fighting. scully gets out of the car! and she grabs the dude!!! he is under arrest!!! i fear she may only fulfill the prophecy somehow… 

she takes a gun off of him, and when he claims it isn’t his and calls her “red”, she slaps him on the face, omfg…. just a little slap…. but it was enough

BUT NO!!! when scully goes to ask the lady on the side of the road if she’s okay, the mystery woman gets hit by a truck!!!

OMG????? and fellig comes in to get the shot…

ritter is mad as HELL with scully when she rolls up with this random dude under arrest. she is also very mad at him!!! she does not need his permission to do her job!!! but he says he has something to show her. 

the murderer who killed that kid over the shoes claims that fellig did it. and scully accuses RITTER of making the STORY UP, OHHHH!!!

“fellig is a murderer. whether or not he did this specific one, i don‘t care-“ WELL, YOU SHOULD???

omfg… is this some sort of moral test for scully? is kersh torturing her like this is the good place? he says he knows the judge and he’ll get the warrant

OHHHH!!! “you know, kersh warned me about you.” “uh, he did?” “yeah, you and your partner. god knows his reputation precedes him, so i guess i should have seen this coming. you muck up my case, and kersh will hear about it. are we clear, dana?” “scully.”

WHEW!!!! THE WAY SHE SAID HER NAME ALL CLEAR AND QUIET GAVE ME GOOSEBUMPS

you tell that pathetic rat.

“and we’re done with this conversation” YES MA’AM 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

wow. still playing this on loop in my brain, 24 hours later. the implications... the defining of herself... the resistance... yeah.

phone call time!! it’s mulder!!! she admits that it is an x file, which prompts him to sound worried. “what happened?”

mulder says that fellig is 149! under the name henry strand, someone applied for a press license way back in the day, and henry’s prints match fellig’s!! and before henry, there is an L.H. rice who was born in 1849 and has the same fingerprints!!

how did he track the fingerprints down… get mulder out of this office and into a research lab, maybe!

“i’m not good at math, but i figure that’s a whole lot of candles on the cake”

! MULDER LORE REVEAL ! he doesn’t think he’s good at math!!!

man, i haven’t gotten to do a lore reveal text format like that in a while. that felt nice.

scully finds fellig's age hard to believe, but mulder says she should find him before he vanishes again. she turns up at his apartment and looks so scary, LMAO. 

but she warns him that he will be arrested in 2 hours and charged with murder. which makes her seem to be the the good guy here, and not as scary as her angry face would suggest.

fellig says he just takes the pictures, but she hits him with “what you showed me was a contemptible lack of compassion for another human being. you showed me that you profit off of people’s deaths” <- OHHHH, GET HIM!! that strong moral code kicks in again!

“now, why shouldn’t you go to prison?” <- oooo, she’s playing hardball. but he says they’re lucky!!! and he doesn’t take them, “he” does. girl, who the hell is "he"?

fellig must be jealous that these other people can die… 

scully follows him into his darkroom. i feel such fondness for her as she moves the curtain. 

he points to someone in the photograph and says “he’s the one who takes them” BUT WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! 

it’s a glimpse of death itself. he’s trying to photograph death!!!

“mr. fellig, i know you know more about photography than i do, but this is just a lens flare” “you’re right, i do know more about photography than you” <- LMAO, okay, that did make me laugh.

she asks him why take a picture of death, and he says he wants to look into his face so he can die. nothing will kill him. he's tried it all.

hey man, i’m unfortunately really distracted by the terrible feelings of tenderness that scully has sparked in me right at this very moment. yeah, idk. i don’t really want to focus on this guy right now. it’s very sad, genuinely, but look at her face. 

he says he doesn’t want to be here, and he got left behind. 

“you know, i don’t believe you” “yes you do. that’s why you’re here” <- OHHHH, he called her out…. the cracks in her disbeliever facade keep growing… is it that she doesn’t believe him, or that her greater commitment to needing to know the truth and therefore do the morally correct thing in handling this murder case brought her here?? can they be separated???

she flips through his photos, touching one of a young flapper. she asks how he knows when they’ll die, and he says he knows.

scully has to step outside. and she calls mulder, asking if louis brady (name on the flapper photo) was also one of fellig's names. he says no, but there is a big gap before 1939, so it could be.

but somehow, fellig disappeared!!! just kidding, he’s back. he wanted to get his film. i thought he vanished for a few seconds there.

mulder is in the FBI archives at 9:30 am. ahhh, i wish i could go there. and he finds fellig’s photo!! it shows him wanted under the name louis brady for double murder!!!

mulder calls ritter when he learns of this news, because he cannot get ahold of her. he tells him about how fellig killed two patients and walked away!!! he tells him to find agent scully NOW. and ritter, of course, is shocked that this murder happened like 80 years ago, but whatever. you better go check on her, ritter.

meanwhile, scully is still with fellig. she asks “how can you have too much life? there’s too much to learn, to experience” and this hits hard because she, of course, was very recently dying.

(moaning in pain as i think about scully wanting to experience and learn everything there is this world has to offer.......)

he says you start to wonder what everyone else gets to know

OH, SHE ASKS ABOUT LOVE??? he wanted to look up his wife 40 years ago. and he couldn’t remember her name. 

(scully, you damn romantic...)

“love lasts 75 years, if you’re lucky. and you don’t want to be around when it’s gone” <- oh stop… you’re going to make her cry…

but, is he actually going to try and kill her…..?

WAIT! she turned black and white… and tells her to count her blessings.

IS HE GOING TO KILL HER BECAUSE HE WANTS TO HELP HER???

(author's note: no)

she wants to know how to prove his thing- that he can live forever, and that he can sense when people are going to die before they do. fellig says someone took his place. he had yellow fever. and he’s getting his camera around…

he saw death back when he was sick. and he saw him dancing around the room, taking people. but death didn’t take him. 

a nurse sat with him, and when death came, he looked away. she looked at him instead. and the fever broke, and she was the one that died. 

he tells her she’s very lucky. she gets in his face and insists she is NOT going to die. she tells him to turn it off. he took her phone!!!

he says death is coming and he needs to make her peace…. 

but it’s ritter!!!! he fires his gun at fellig!!!

SHE COLLAPSES???? WHY IS SHE BLEEDING??????? there is blood coming from her throat???? did ritter miss and shoot her instead???

fellig tries to take a photo of her with his other camera, and asks if she sees "him". he says don’t look, close your eyes. and he holds her hand in his. AND HE LOOKS INTO DEATH INSTEAD. and he gasps softly…. oh my god…. he finally dies.

scully is in bed in the hospital a week later. mulder is waiting, telling ritter he’s a lucky man. which is better than i expected.

OH, he grabs her hand. and he sits on her bed. and he smiles, saying her doctor says she is making an amazing recovery. but she seems so sad, and in so much pain

he says “death only looks for you once you seek its opposite” <- OHHHH my god…

and we fade to black.

so i rewatched the scene where scully gets hurt because at first i couldn't tell what was happening, and this DUMBASS ritter shot fellig, and the bullet went STRAIGHT THROUGH HIM and INTO SCULLY???? like. what the HELL WAS HE THINKING????

holy fuck, if i were mulder i would have done a lot more than tell him he was a lucky guy. look at her enduring ritter's presence while she’s in her hospital bed and he was such an awful person the whole time they worked together. i would have told him to fuck off and let me recover from the bullet YOU put in me in peace.

and mulder grabbing her hand. and the flowers in her room. and his smile at her news. but she’s so sad. people don’t live forever. 

she wants to live, and she wants to have a life, and holy HELL need to lay down.

oh my god… this episode was super dark. and usually i don’t really like the dark ones. but it has scully, so i liked it better. because we got to contemplate her worldview. 

and she wants to LIVE. she wants a LIFE. she wants LOVE. the way she got in fellig’s face and REFUSED to let him take her picture… the way she tried to understand how he could be jealous of death, because she always wants to understand and to learn and empathize… the way she helped fellig, and fellig helped her by telling her to look away from death, so he could look instead… oh my god.

we need to do something about this ritter guy. hopefully, he will simply be fired. you can’t go around shooting your own agents. OH! and the way he didn’t care about justice at all- how he got the warrant because he knew the judge, and he told scully that if she got in his way he’d go to kersh… and how she told him her name is SCULLY and this conversation is OVER…

oh!!!

and mulder helping over the phone; mulder using her sleuthing skills to find out that fellig WAS a murderer and she WAS in danger, and he called ritter immediately and said you had BEST find her. and i can only imagine how he went to bed that night thinking of all the ways he wanted to kill ritter. how he sat by his phone for her. bouncing his basketball until the hospital sent him word of her recovery. 

now, i’m still puzzled as to why he has access to kersh’s files. perhaps this is some sort of clue. but to what? i cannot say.

i just love scully SO MUCH. she saw that the woman on the side of the road was going to die, and she stepped right in and did everything she could, even if it was ultimately doomed. she couldn’t sit back. and she wants a life. she’s in love and she wants a life and she wants a house and a dog. and to save people. and to do work that is satisfying. and all of these things she has been denied.

(screams into my hands)

she’s been slowly starting to believe- maybe not in the traditional sense, but in the sense that she recognizes something she cannot understand is afoot, and she finds herself curious about how and why. i found it very interesting that fellig called her out for this and gibson did as well. and we know that gibson can read minds, so we know it to be true. i don’t think “believes” in the same use of the word that mulder does, but she is finding it harder to compartmentalize, maybe. and can you blame her? i mean, she is miss "there HAS to be a scientific explanation for this". belief not in the supernatural sense, but in the sense that there is so much more to learn and understand and experience. be it love and life or the guy who lives forever and can somehow sense death. maybe the spiritual and the scientific aren't that separate.

god. this really was a scully episode, and i am so grateful. i deserved this. even though it wasn’t one where she laughs and enjoys the gift of being alive, we still got to dive into her thoughts and emotional state. AND we got bonus angsty mulder- angst about them being separated, and angst about nearly losing her. is this not the ultimate kind of mulder angst? 

i shall go to bed a bit sad this evening, but content. 

as i edit my notes to make them readable the day after watching this, there is still so much on my mind. in the sense that i want to write a thinkpiece on what this means for scully's character. maybe this will be a turning point, when she once again confronts her own mortality. how easily death can come. maybe she'll tell him how she feels because she realizes that now is all she has. maybe she'll confront kersh and tell him to get them off of their nonsense assignment so she can go back to saving people. maybe she'll think about all of the times she felt so certain that she was going to die in the past and once again try and make a meaning for why she didn't.

i am also thinking about how sad mulder was when kersh separated them and then how horrible he must have felt when he heard that she was SHOT in his absence. and there was nothing that he could do for a week while he could only wait to hear if she was okay. and then he drove up there as soon as he could. and he KNEW that it was ritter's fault she was lying in that bed fighting for her life, but he somehow managed to say only how lucky he was instead of slamming his head through the drywall. and how he held her hand, smiling, so happy to see her, taking his spot on her bed, thinking of how he loves her and how many times her has nearly lost her. and her thinking the same thing. and neither of them saying anything. just touching.

the feelings i am experiencing are large and difficult to put into words, which is frustrating because, like AUGH! (gestures wildly) do you get what i mean?! do you SEE what i am saying?!?! (grabs your shoulders and shakes them vigorously)

please share your thoughts with me, especially if you are a scully girl like myself. to me, this felt sort of like scully's version of paper hearts, in a way. at least, i see some parallels. even if i cannot elaborate at this time because my brain is flopping.

[troublesomecousin]

"Dads really do corner the market on shittiness..." He tried not too think too much about the man that waited back home. As far as he knew his step-dad had never cheated, but he almost wished he would sometimes. It would have given him an excuse to convince his mom to leave that miserable man. Kevin couldn't say for sure what his actual father had been like, but he trusted his brother's stories...made him wonder if his so called "issues" could have been genetic.

The tale Violet was weaving left a bad taste in his mouth. He knew that it was more than a little bit possible that she was lying, but he decided to give her the grace of taking her words at face value. Besides, nothing about that seemed implausible. Sad girls often came from sad homes. Or at least, that's what Kevin believed.

"Yours definitely seems like a special case though. S'pose mine wasn't much better, but my mother had enough sense to leave him. I still question her taste in men since the man she married is..." Kevin paused, trying articulate all the small ways the man found ways to be cruel. The ways he made sure Kevin knew he didn't think of him as a real son. The ways he could see Kevin for what he was and made it clear he didn't approve. "Well, he's not a fan of me. That's putting it mildly. I'm here and not at home, and that's due in no small part to his efforts."

Kevin sighed, breathing out some of the unpleasantness and irritation he could feel beginning to weigh him down. Not just for himself but for Violet...this empathy thing he'd been developing over the past couple months was an exhausting practice. Her anger made him angry, and he could feel color rising in his cheeks as he spoke. "Parents are just like that. They always think they have some fix, think they know better than you about what goes on at home as if you don't live there too. Fuck 'em."

He flexed his fingers, the agitation making him antsy as he shifted in his seat. Shoving his hands underneath him, he looked back at Violet. "That kid's gonna need you. The best thing for having crazy parents is to have someone else who gets it. Keeps you from feeling like you're losing your mind...you know, relatively." He nodded toward the other people in the common room as he added the last bit. "I've got someone I should be taking care of like that, but I fucked it up. I'm a shit example."

❝ I don't know, the baby would be born into a shitty family. What's a little nicotine poisoning to a fetus to add to the problem? ❞ Violet took the last drag of her cigarette, making sure to enjoy the flavor while it lasted. She couldn't bum cigarettes off of Kevin forever. She'd have to manage to get her own sooner or later. That or she'd have to go cold turkey and learn to quit smoking altogether. Yeah, she wasn't ready for that just yet, not when that was her only coping mechanism in this place and outside of it? She used the ashtray sitting on the table in front of them to snub the remains of the cigarette out.

She did manage to smile at the idea that she could be her sibling-to-be's favorite person in the world. The younger brother or sister was going to need it when their family inevitably went to shit. Eventually, her parents had to realize that having another kid wasn't going to keep them glued together forever. They were going to have to realize they were being apart than together, and as much as Violet would love to have that picket fence family that stayed together through thick and thin, she wasn't going to delude herself into believing it would happen that way.

The Harmon family was being pulled apart by the seams and they couldn't get a grasp of their threads. Her mom had already threatened divorce multiple times. Violet just wished she'd get it over with and stick to it. Then maybe she could take her new sibling under her wing and teach them that all families were shitty sometimes but at least theirs was trying to make things better, even if it was by doing things apart from each other.

❝ It's not that I really mind having a younger sibling. I just wish my parents weren't using it as a way of trying to figure things out. I love my dad but he's been a piece of shit. ❞ She swallowed hard, wanting to out her dad for the cheating garbage that he had been. Shit, then she'd seen the maid coming onto him, too. She'd kept it from her mom, not wanting to stress her out anymore than she was. Maybe she should have used it as the catalyst to throw divorce papers at him. ❝ The things he's put my mom through. ❞ She was quiet again as she debated letting Kevin in on it. Why not? It was easier to admit that her dad was a cheater than it was that her boyfriend was a mass murderer and a ghost on top of it.

❝ He cheated on my mom when we were still living in Boston. Literally, with one of his students barely older than me. ❞ Her stomach churned just thinking about it. ❝ I wasn't supposed to find out but thin walls and loud arguing, you know? I wonder if he knows that I know at all. I've never told him to his face. My mom should have left him then but they went to therapy and my dad talked his way into trying to make our family better by staying together. Now what? They think a baby is going to make it better? ❞ She scoffed, angry lines harsh on her face as she sunk back into the chair, wishing she could disappear - away from her parents' bullshit, away from Tate, away from Briarcliff, away from life itself.

[patheticrafeenjoyer]

so, at this point barry's been made fully aware that rafe's going to go through with suicide by cop so that he doesn't have to go to jail.

like rafe's resigned himself that he's either escaping or dying; there's no way he's going to let the police get him. and really, he has no hope of shooting his way out of things anyway, there'll be at least a dozen cops out looking for him at any given time, one single gun is not going to do him any good.

but he knows if he has it and uses it/shows it/threatens to use it, the cops will be trained to fire because he's a threat to them. the gun is not even to "defend himself" like barry says, it's something that'll make sure he's dead instead of in police custody. [i genuinely do not think rafe would actually shoot anyone on his way out, not with the intent of doing any damage, because we've seen his reaction to killing someone for real, like the gun is only there to force the cops to shoot him]

in the 3rd pic you can sort of see the shock etched onto barry's face even though he's blurry, but rafe, who until now has has only been interested in self-preservation, has just made it explicitly clear that he will kill himself/get himself killed if the cops come.

but barry knows the cops are coming (he tipped them off himself), so this situation that was him turning rafe in to custody (where he'd serve his time alive) has morphed into a horror show that is absolutely going to result with rafe dying.

barry even clocks that he has the gun and realizes that's going to pose an issue to him just being taken into custody (because, and i'm sure i do not need to say this, but him having a weapon means the cops will kill him). he's lured rafe out into the marsh, the cops are coming, rafe has a gun and he plans to die if the cops show up; barry pretty much just walked rafe out to the firing squad.

so, the second barry jumps out of the boat, he calls to the cops that rafe has a gun. because the gun is stowed away in the bag and rafe is caught off guard, he has no way of reaching for it; the cops are already there, he's already pinned. as well, by saying this, barry makes the cops aware that rafe has a gun, so they'll be poised to shoot if he makes any move toward it. he's banking on the fact that rafe's self-preservation will kick in and he won't go for the gun because it'll mean certain death. also, by letting the cops know, perhaps it would mean that they don't shoot him lethally (but lets be real when have the cops ever fired a non-lethal shot) because it won't be a surprise, so they can shoot to disarm and subdue rather than to kill.

and yes, rafe goes for the gun anyway, but shoupe knows about it so he doesn't have to kill rafe. and we know that shoupe really takes no pleasure in being shit to kids, so he's absolutely not going to want to have one shot on his watch, even if he thinks rafe killed peterkin.

basically, by immediately making the cops aware of the gun, barry pretty much saves rafe's life. yes, he turned rafe in, but barry doesn't want him to die.

[angelmush]

the other day i walked around the golden lake w my love and the sun was setting hot and orange and we watched a brown duck preening through the weeds, ducking her head under the dark water. the cool lake swallowed up my tired feet to the ankles and we counted the dog walkers with their curly panting doodles and their handsome german shepherds and their whip smart little terriers and we admired the careful construction of a sand castle whose moat held determinedly against the lapping of the waves. we could feel in our chests the persistent thunderous thumping of celebratory music at the finish line of the lakeside 5k, welcoming each gasping runner across its bounds. and i felt like crying. i felt like curling into myself and crying. we walked through the swamp of the bird sanctuary afterwards and listened to the woods sing and croak and groan and then we went and got ube and yuzu gelato and devoured it suntired and sweating on the couch in our living room. and i was so overcome w a deep and true unshakeable happiness and a sort of confused grief that i wanted to sob and sob and sob.

[moe-broey]

Like a whole other thing is when I have put Mani/Moe in situations where suicide as a topic is part of the punchline, I am so cautious about it, and there's always a greater intention behind it. Biggest thing is the characterization -- this is a part of its history. Moe's experiences inform a lot of its feelings, choices, even core personality. It's also a distinct characterization of Mani. A reflection of the past. Mani is more prone to becoming volatile and destructive. I have so much lore in my head I can never elaborate on LMFAOOO (SCRAMBLED. EGG). But that is the point/idea behind it, and I am always So Careful. I don't do anything without intent.

[ourladyoftheflytrap]

August 14

PSA about dick-poisoning: it's real 😔 stay safe sisters

[un-lawliet]

“Overheard.”

— in which you practice your confession to him, and he hears.

“Satoru... I like you.”

Falling in love is hard.

You throw your head back in exasperation, a sigh pushing past your lips and into the emptiness of your room.

“Satoru,” You begin again, glaring at your reflection, “I think if the Earth exploded tommorow I would- No that’s pathetic!”

But falling in love with an enigma such as Satoru Gojo is harder.

Especially when he was your Co-Worker and friend, and not one for blind vulnerability in any capacity.

Something you were devastated by perfectly ok with!

You place your thumb in your mouth and chew on the nail, frustrated at your lack of articulation.

Your lingering stares, and pathetic attempts to subtly flirt with him, appeared to backfire in a mirage of deflection from the sorcerer.

Leading you to the bitter conclusion that your feelings were entirely unrequited.

And that’s fine.

Everything is fine.

You would be fine.

…

You turn back to the mirror, lifting your head up and throwing on a smile.

“Gojo- No- Satoru, me and you? What about it? You in?”

God. You sound insane.

Even worse you sound desperate.

You thought your feelings for Gojo would dissipate with time, that you would realise that they stemmed purely from admiration and would vanish as fast as they first appeared.

But as you grew closer to Gojo, your feelings grew too.

Culminating into him, holding your hand to reassure you after a mission went askew.

Holding it.

With no barriers. No infinity.

His hand was warm, the palm soft with years of fighting without touch.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it ‘kay?” He had said, cooing at you as you furiously wiped frustrated tears from your eyes.

“Just focus on getting stronger, yea? You’ll be fine.”

And now you were fantasising your confession to the man, like you were 16 years old again, pouting about an unreturned crush.

One touch and you’re helpless to your own feelings, your own heart.

How childish…

You shake your head.

What did it matter anyway? You were never going to say it to him, you can let yourself have your own, embarrassing fun.

You grin, and resume your position before the mirror.

“Satoru, I really, really like you.”

You tilt your head.

“No that sounds wrong..uh…Gojo I like you..like a lot- But you don’t need to say anything I just wanted you to know.”

Placing your hands on your hips, you assess out loud; “I wonder which one would sound better..”

“I liked the first one best.”

You nod, lost in thought, “Me too, sounds more person-”

.

.

.

Oh God.

Oh please God no.

Slowly, you move your eyes from your face in the reflection to the door, where Gojo stands, leaning against the frame, a smug look on his face.

Your face flushes and you almost trip over your heel as you spin to face him, eyes wide and mouth parted.

“G-Gojo!” You force out, your heart racing in your chest, your hands trembling against your sides.

He gestures, his sunglasses sliding down his nose ever so slightly with his movements.

“You not gonna continue?” He asks, like he didn’t almost just cause you heart palpitations, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Your words fail you, and you’re left gaping at him, wishing the building would collapse and crush you beneath it, away from his stupidly pretty eyes.

He laughs, his face lighting up as he watches you flounder for a response, a reason, anything to justify your absurdism.

When you resort to turning back around, unable to face him, hoping he would just vanish from the room, he shakes his head and walks towards you.

“Hey.” Gojo says gently, pinching the skin of your shoulder lightly, trying to coax you into turning around.

“Y/N c’mon, Iook at me.”

You want to die.

You actually think you might just drop dead.

This was never the plan- You were never supposed to-

Gojo isn’t patient.

You remember this when you’re spun around to face him, nearly jumping at how close he is to you.

You find your voice amongst your apologies, and they fall out of you like water collecting rain.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say any of that, I was being stupid- Oh my God I’m so sorry.”

You hang your head in childish shame, refusing to meet his eyes.

Gojo finds himself frowning.

And your chin is raised back to his gaze by his fingers, an usually serious look in his eyes as he observes you.

“What are you apologising for hm?” He sticks out his tongue, “For falling for me?”

You push his chest, your face burning.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“What? It’s not true?”

“It’s not.”

Gojo blinks at you from over the top of his sunglasses, before taking his hand and patting your head.

“So if I ask you to join me for lunch…You’d say no?”

“What? No of course not!”

Your response is too fast, too desperate, and you freeze as he laughs, humiliated.

“I thought as much.” Gojo replies, leaning down to look you in your eyes.

And he’s so pretty up close, so earnestly perfect that you can barely stand it.

“Say it again yea?” He all but whispers, his voice devoid of cockiness, you’re almost certain he sounds as desperate as you.

You refuse to think too much.

“What?” You reply, dumbly.

“Your practice, I want to hear it again.”

“Gojo I-”

“Satoru.” He corrects, his eyes crinkling with his grin, you can feel his breath on your face and you hold yourself back from leaning towards him.

You’re silent for a moment, before he tilts his head, nodding at you to continue.

It’s ok.

“Satoru,” You start, breaking eye contact with him as you look down at your fidgeting hands, “I like you.”

And you feel so unbelievably childish, at your nerves.

You feel weak to his never failing gaze.

Until he pokes your nose softly with his finger, and leans down to reply, too close, he’s far too close.

“Yea?” He echoes, “You like me?”

You nod, helpless, “So much Satoru.”

And then you feel it.

His lips on yours.

Oh.

And it’s wonderful, it’s all consuming and it’s him.

And you kiss back, feeling his hands on your face, and encasing you, holding you.

Gojo tilts your head up, and you can’t help but gasp, letting him devour you.

He tastes of cherries and sugar, his mouth as warm as his grasp, as he brings you closer.

“God baby.” He mumbles into your mouth, “You have no idea.”

He sounds frantic you think.

You pull away to look at him, and giggle when he follows you, trying to recapture your lips with his, pouting, tracing the sides of your temples with a finger.

You’re both breathless.

And you take the opportunity to be bold.

You press a kiss to his jaw, ignoring the racing of your poor heart.

Gojo smirks, a dumb elated expression on his face as he pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of yours. Blocking your view of his face as he whispers.

“Think it goes without saying.” You hear him say, slowly, “But I like you too Y/N.” He mocks, his voice soft.

And you cling to his shirt, and press your fingers into his back as a response, trying to mark him as yours instantaneously.

He laughs again, before pulling away to hold you at an arms length, looking down at you, his face beautiful, and yours.

“Lunch then? So we can talk about this properly?”

“I’d like that.” You say, your eyes in hearts.

He winks at you, and pulls you to walk with him, leading you out of the room.

You lean against him allowing yourself a moment of vindicated clarity.

He’s warm.

So, so warm.

Feel free to leave a request <3

Masterlist <3

A/N- i hate my life. i’m trying not to spoil anything for anyone, but chapter 261 has ruined my life! i wrote this just to make myself better and because a lovely anon asked me to write something comforting and fluffy <3 thank u for reading i love u i love u i love u and i hope everyone is ok <3

[takes1]

bokuto fucking your insecurities away

i LOVE his character. very fun to write. would love to do any requests for him!! working on an oikawa request now :)

warnings. nsfw. conversations around body image issues info. nsfw / rough sex / friend sex / chubby!reader / insecure!reader / bokuto has a praise thing / impatient!bokuto / airhead!bokuto / sweet!bokuto / bokuto likes big girls / dumb dick bokuto / pool party setting / 2.3k words

haikyuu collection. more here. links. masterlist / my ao3 / request box

Watchful eyes tracked the arrival of a group of girls from the house to the poolside, all clad in their colorful swimsuits, hats, sunglasses, and smiles.

Bokuto bumped a serve up to Akaashi and grinned at the perfect opportunity to show off in front of you.

SLAM! Right into the water on the other side of the net, splashing Washio hard in the face.

He cursed loud at his unnecessary force, but quickly shut himself up when the girls came walking around the side of the pool. He pushed the water off of his face with flexed arms.

Something was wrong, though. Bokuto swam to the side of the deep-end and pushed his body up to sit on the edge despite the game going on.

"Hey!" He waved enthusiastically to a couple of girls and brought them over.

They were more than happy to bend over in front of his sculpted, shiny body, but his attention was only taken by your absence.

"Where's (Y/n)?"

They frowned and stood back up, half-heartedly mentioning that you wouldn't come out of the room they all changed in, and walked away.

That just wouldn't do. He turned to look at the house.

"Put a towel on before you go inside!!" Akaashi called, exasperated he even had to tell him.

"AAAAAHH!!" Was his response; as good at articulating his frustration as any that he had to jog the distance back for a stupid towel.

Akaashi rolled his eyes into setting another ball. Bokuto rolled his eyes, too, and slid the screen door open.

It was so cold inside, his skin prickled up instantly. He wished you'd just come out already-- enjoy the warm sunshine, let him rub sunscreen all over you, lay on his chest in the pool. His stomach pooled with heat at the fantasy of it all.

Oh, you were coming out of that room even if he had to drag you out.

Just before his hand grabbed the doorknob, he thought better for a second. A loud, rhythmic knock.

"(Y/n)!! Come outside!" He yelled into the door.

He didn't spare a single second more to linger when he heard a faint sniffle.

You weren't a mess, but your eyes were still stinging and you were not happy to be walked in on when you had nothing but an ill-fitting t-shirt over your bikini, even if it was Bokuto.

His proportions were ridiculous. Giant, hulking shoulders and a strong, wide back dipped deliciously into his tiny waist. Itty-bitty trunks showed off his powerful thighs, though he was dripping all over the carpet.

In a way, it only brought you back down to the feeling that you were not up-to-snuff to walk out in your bathing suit with all these athletic bodies outside.

"What the hell?" He yelled; not at you, just at the fact that you were clothed, and clearly trying to not cry.

A couple steps forward made you tense. He caught this, so he turned around and closed the door behind him.

Being soft wasn't one of his strong suits, but he tried with you.

His affinity for you was never-ending after he passed you one day in the hallway. One big, empty-headed smile was all it took to start your odd friendship. He used this one interaction to wedge his way up to 'studying' with your small, academic club.

His eccentricities made him charming and personable to talk to, but Bokuto was undeniably attractive and even more popular. So, you weren't sure why he associated with you, since he never paid attention in your study group.

You pushed the wet off of your face with the heel of your hand and tried to sober up a little, "I'm going home."

Your voice sounded so hoarse and weak, you regretted saying anything and not just walking out when you had the chance.

Bokuto laughed as if you were really joking.

Instead of trying to explain yourself to him, which historically never went well in your favor, you grabbed your pants off of the floor.

His gaze dropping and necessary palming of his growing ache wasn't subtle, but you couldn't see it. That tiny shirt didn't cover your ass; he had to savor the sight.

His head spun with confusion and the beginnings of frustration at the sight of more clothes, "What are you doing?"

He tried again, desperate to keep you from putting on those pants, and closed the distance between you, "Come oooon, let's just go out there and have some fun! We're playin' some ball- I want'cha to watch me win!"

His big, adoring eyes chipped at your guard. Instead of getting lost in them, you looked to the side, to the corner you were changing in when you first started feeling like this bikini was a horrible idea.

A frown made his entire face droopy when he saw your expression harden.

"I should've gotten a one-piece," You muttered.

It took a few moments for him to process what was so bad about that. It took him longer to come up with a response, which gave you enough time to shiver at the lack of space he gave you.

You felt horrible that you wanted to leave him, since he was the reason you were invited and had the courage to wear something like this in the first place. It just didn't stand up to how overwhelming the possibility of judgement might be.

Bokuto closed the gap even more so you'd look up at him, face set, "You always think too hard about this stuff."

Frustrated that he couldn't even grasp at the concept, you gripped your shirt harder.

He let up, physically unable to keep a mean mug on his face for more than a few seconds.

"I'm sure ya look real good-," His wild and unruly imagination inspired an obvious up-and-down with his eyes. Your heart skipped at his intense energy.

"So come on!" He tore himself away, grabbed your wrist, and didn't give you the chance to pick apart his tone, "Let's go!"

You weren't moving despite his jerk towards the door. A frustrated sigh made you feel a bit smaller.

He was pretty imposing when he was close to you, and not his usual high-energy self.

This topic of contention wasn't new. He brushed away your usual self-deprecating jokes, and called you cute on a number of occasions-- you thought it was a joke, or just politeness. But he never got irritated before.

"Need me to prove it?" His thumb hooked under his the hem of his trunks and pulled on them enough to make you give a quick, uneven:

"N-o,"

One uncontrollable glance down, and your face was burning fast.

You were pretty sure you just saw his dick. He laughed at your sheepish reaction and slapped a hand to the back of his neck.

"I dunno how else to convince you that you're fuckin' gorgeous."

You tried to pretend not to see him adjust, but he was watching you, like an owl waiting for his mousey dinner. It was difficult to not feel aroused and curious when you were so plainly desired and lusted after by this big, stupid hottie.

The air between you was warm and still.

After a moment of deliberation, your fingers gripped the edges of your shirt and you lifted it off. It was more of a test to see if he still felt the same.

"Damn," He sighed, lids heavy, thumb still hooked to his trunks.

His free hand guided your face up to his- you found no reason to deny him a needy, raunchy kiss. He was so forward, there was no room to doubt or overthink his intentions when his hands were filling with your hips and chest so fervently.

You had never felt so wanted before.

The ease in which he picked you up and set you onto the bed forced a startled moan against his lips.

He sucked a toothy kiss to the side of your mouth with a boyish giggle, "Sooo pretty."

This time, you took his compliment as it was intended. Unlike the countless other times he told you that and you assumed the worst.

He was only gone for the moment it took for him to wrench his own trunks off, leaving him completely bare with a generous size straining against the air.

Being naked truly didn't bother him at all. He looked so natural it was like he could walk outside like that, completely fine.

You envied his simplistic mind.

His cock was burning hot against your skin once he sandwiched it between yourself and his weight.

If there was one thing you could tell from his messy, rushed kissing, it was that he hated taking things slow. It took a few deliberate whines to keep him from yanking on the bottom piece of your bikini.

He melted at your successful efforts and the squeeze of your legs around his hips.

Your hands fluttered over his strong back, pushing, pulling, poking here and there at some hard muscles that you didn't even know existed. You wanted to enjoy as much of him as you could.

To keep his discomfort at bay, he rubbed himself against your softness, breath labored and hot on your lips.

"'Need you so fuckin' bad," He laughed, unable to cope with his peaked impatience.

This time you didn't fight his efforts to remove your bikini bottoms-- but you gasped at his unhinged lick to the inside, where you had been slowly getting them wet.

He tossed them to the side with a smile and pulled you to the edge of the mattress so he could stand. This was better for his control, in his opinion.

The guy had clocked this height to work before you had even expressed any interest much earlier.

Another few kisses you had to reign him in for and he was sliding against you, getting himself coated with your wet, yearning to be inside you already.

It helped that he gave you such a good view.

His hands kept your twitchy, plush thighs still as he pushed into you.

You gave a fretful sound, not quite as prepared for his size as you preferred.

A guttural groan escaped from him, one that only further proved his bottomless lust as valid. You watched his face tighten, then drop into something a bit sleepier- it helped you adjust better, feeling, seeing, hearing exactly how much he wanted you.

His big, strong hand grabbed the bottom half of your face, "That feel good, baby?"

He didn't wait for you to respond to him before stealing a few hungry, rough kisses from your puffy lips.

When he pulled away after stealing enough of your breath, his head flew back and left you to watch his taut, muscular body twitch and flex as he fucked deeper into your cunt.

An absolute piece of art was taking you, in a stranger's bed no less.

"Ah-h!" You whined as he set an intense pace.

His cock felt so good, stretching you out over and over again, and you gladly adjusted to his unquestionable enthusiasm.

A handsome, boyish sound was his giddy chuckle, "Ya like that?"

Those skilled, eager thrusts resonated throughout your entire body- he watched your tits bounce in your strappy top under him in a stupid daze. His hands were filled with the plush of your hips, constantly stretching to grab and pull more of you onto him.

He fucked you like he'd never get the chance to again. Under his touch, you felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. Nothing else mattered much in comparison.

"Fuck, yeah," It came out in a whimper, but still captivated him like you'd muttered some spell.

His satisfied moan at your affirmation was choked and uneven. He nabbed one of your wrists to place a kiss on, but his pussy-fixated brain could handle one thing at a time.

You needed him deeper- fuck, he looked so pretty panting on your wrist like that.

The squeeze of your thighs stalled him. His eyes were filled with a confused, yet intrigued restlessness when you pushed on him so you could flip over.

"Mm, yeah, yeah- That's so-o fucking hot!!" Bokuto whined.

He let you take the lead because he loved seeing your confidence shine through. It was beyond sexy watching you own it and put your ass in the air for him.

"Oh, f-uck," He moaned, breathless as he sunk into you.

You squeezed around him when he landed a hard slap on your soft, supple skin.

Yeah, this was all you needed. Next time you were feeling down, this perfect man could just fuck the insecurity out of you.

You settled into a deep stretch with a nice arch for him and felt a calloused hand pressing into your lower back to keep you still.

He certainly hated wasting time.

At this point you leaned into it, crying whiny curses into the pillow beneath you while he fucked you hard.

His heart skipped a few beat when you cried, uneven at each thrust, "Feel s-o good, Bokuto"

His nails dug hard into your ass, his breath getting choppier, voice raspy when he told you, "Been waitin' so long."

He laughed, barely swallowing his own whine at the threat of needing to cum so bad.

"You'll get this- h-ah," He winced, having to stall a moment when you clenched around him, "Nex-t 'ime you wanna act all fuckin' shy..."

Your climax was hard and fast, rendering you a bit lightheaded as he pounded his last few strokes out and finished all over your ass.

Everything was hot and hazy when he rolled onto his back next to you. You slid so you were laying onto your tummy.

His big, goofy grin was a bit cloudy in your vision: "One more?"

requests: open

masterlist

[gold-onthe-inside]

gingerbread kisses

who? spencer reid (s4) x bau!reader

summary: your first christmas as a couple with spencer involves baking, construction, and lots and lots of kisses

word count: 1.9k

content warnings: oral (f receiving), spencer calls r 'sweet girl', minors dni

"Yours looks so much better than mine," you whined, looking over at Spencer's gingerbread house, perfectly cut panels holding together to form a house while yours sagged at an angle.

"It's not that bad," he replied, if only to make you feel better and shifted closer to see if he could fix the angle of it, and you peered over his shoulder, watching his nimble fingers carefully adjust the panels, reapplying icing like it was glue. "There," Spencer said, pulling his hands away... and then it sagged lower and he frowned at it, puzzled, and you stifled a giggle against his shoulder at his utter confusion. Your nose pressed into his soft woollen sweater, arms wrapping around him. "Maybe if I--"

"Just leave it," you told him, kissing his cheek, your lip balm sticky against his warm skin. Even now, 6 months into dating, his cheeks flushed at your kiss, and he looked down at you, chasing your lips, his hands finding your cheeks, fingers equally sticky with icing. It was always so earnest, filled with as much longing as the first time you'd kissed him. He doesn’t want to let go when he pulls away, but then there's a streak of icing on your cheek and he can't help a wince.

"Sorry," he said, oblivious to your dazed look, moving to wipe his hands and you let out another soft groan of protest at the loss of him, only for him to come back to gently wipe your cheeks clean. "Can I tell you something?" he asked, looking at you intently.

"Always," you replied with your sweet smile and adoring gaze.

"This is the best Christmas I've ever had," he said, putting the cloth away, and you wished you could express how much you loved him in this moment, but you've never been as articulate with your affection as him. So you do what you know best; you tugged him closer, kissing him. You could live in this moment forever, his lips on yours, sitting on the floor of your apartment. Spencer pressed you back against the couch, his hands seeking your jaw, his tongue darting to your lower lip. He's always careful with you, slow and thoughtful, his thumb gently angling your chin higher.

You parted your lips, his tongue languidly exploring your mouth. His hand carefully slid down your neck, his thumb finding your pulse and he broke for breath, placing warm gentle kisses along your soft jaw. "My sweet girl," he murmured, reaching your ear. "I could do this forever."

Your heart fluttered the way it always did. He’d called you his since the beginning, sweet girl. He’d say it often, a gentle declaration of his affection. His hand slid down, thumb tracing the collar of your sweater, his face buried in your neck as he left his own mark on you, teeth grazing gently against the soft skin and your breath hitched. “God, Spence…” He felt you shift underneath him, already overwhelmed by his touch. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging a little when he mouthed at your neck. One of his hands rests on your hip, his thumb brushing the skin under your sweater.

He couldn’t help himself. You felt so warm and soft, so lovely wrapped in his arms. He pushed your sweater up gently, baring more of your skin, his touch warm, and light. He could spend hours just tracing his fingers across your skin. You tasted sweet, like sugar and vanilla, and he shifted, adjusting to slide between your legs. You tilted your head back, looking up at him, your eyes slightly unfocused, lips parted with your heavy breaths. His head dipped, mouth leaving marks along your neck as he pushed your sweater up again, just over your ribs, your breath stuttering as his teeth grazed over the sensitive skin. Your hand fisted in his sweater, a needy whisper escaping you, "Spencer..."

"Let me take care of you," he murmured against your shoulder, pushing your sweater high enough for you to wordlessly lift your arms so he could toss it to one side, and he needed to catch his breath as he looked down at you. He’d seen you a hundred times before, all those soft smooth curves, your soft sighs and breathless gasps that he lived for. You were so trusting in his arms, the way your fingers threaded through his hair, your back arching when his mouth found your stomach, kissing reverently at your soft skin. “So perfect,” he murmured.

You don't have the brainpower to spare to respond with anything other than his name, said so many times that it should have lost its meaning by now, but it never does. The way it came out all breathless and needy, desperate and reverent, the way you’d call his name as he pressed you into the couch, body over yours, pinning you in place as his mouth found your skin, tracing a path along your hip. You pulled uselessly at his sweater, biting your lower lip. “So impatient, my sweet girl,” he murmured, and your whine sent a spark straight through him.

"Want to see you, angel," you pleaded and he couldn’t deny you, even if he wanted to, not when your hands already reached to push under his sweater, your hands warm on his skin and he pulled back, pulling the offending garment off completely. You smiled, looking at him fondly. "Much better," you murmured, shifting up to kiss him again, your warm lips meeting his.

He met you readily, pressing you down again, his body covering yours, a warm comfortable weight. He could never get enough of how you fit against him, the feel of your soft skin against his fingers, the way your mouth moved against him, sweet and willing. The way your legs moved to wrap around him. "Okay if I take this off?" he whispered, hands finding the waistband of your pyjama pants, beige with little cookies printed over them, hot breath fanning over your face, eyes watching you as you nod. He slid the soft material down your legs, leaving you bare before him. It was a view he loved, all your bare skin, all his to touch and explore.

Your breath hitched as his hands gently nudged your thighs further apart, and he slowly sank onto his knees between them. You let out a small groan involuntarily, just at the sight of him between your thighs. "Angel..."

He shushed you gently, fingers tracing circles on your thighs, so close to where you wanted him. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail, your breathing and the way your legs twitched. “Just relax, my sweet girl,” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing soothing strokes across your skin.

"You're not making it easy," you muttered back.

He couldn’t help the smile at your comment, his hands slowly shifting your legs, lifting them to pull off your panties, and he could feel the way your breath caught, your body shifting slightly to help. He was so close to you he could practically feel your heat against his face. He was still gently running his fingers over the skin of your thighs, trying to keep you calm. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, voice impossibly soft.

His warm breath against you made your head spin, and you were too lost in the feel of his hands and mouth to do anything but gasp his name and tilt your head back. You were so wet, so needy for him, and you couldn’t help the way your legs shifted, pleading for more. He gently nudged at them, spreading you open further for him. He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire, the sight of you underneath him, leaning back against the foot of the couch, your chest heaving and your body tense, just for him.

He leaned in, and he didn’t miss the way your body jolted when his tongue licked over you, and he hummed against your skin. You tasted so sweet, so perfect, and he was slowly getting addicted to the taste, his hands holding your thighs in place as he slowly explored you. He’d wanted to make you fall apart, the way you’d done so many times for him, bringing him to the knife’s edge before pulling him over. But he couldn’t wait long, and he pushed forward, his tongue circling before he suddenly thrust forward, tasting as much of you as he could.

The effect was instant, and he felt you jerk against him, your gasp turning into a long moan. The sound made his hands squeeze at your thighs, wanting you closer. You were always so responsive to him, so sensitive, and you were already on edge from his light teasing. He loved the sounds you made, all those soft noises that you seemed unable to help when he was like this. He loved the way your skin felt under his hands, the way you would pull and tug at his hair when he was teasing you. He loved the way you felt, warm and soft all around him. He loved you, and he wanted you to fall apart. He was almost relentless, tongue working over you, delving into you, wanting you to come completely undone.

He didn’t want to pull away, wanted to keep going, to take you as close as he could, but you were already teetering on the edge, so close to climax. He loved how responsive you were, how he could pull those sweet moans and gasps so easily from you with just a few caresses. He wanted to see you come, wanted to feel your body shaking against him. He pulled back for a second, breathless, his voice already wrecked from how sweet you sounded, “Come for me, my sweet girl."

Your fingers scrabbled for his hair, needing something to hold onto as he brought you through your climax, his tongue not leaving you until you were begging him to stop, your body sensitive and overwhelmed. He let his hands gently trail across your thighs as you fell back onto the couch, boneless and still quivering. He couldn’t help a little smile at how wrecked you looked, your hair falling over your eyes, your body trembling. And yet you still looked beautiful, your bare body on display for him, your skin flush and warm. He shifted forward, his lips gently kissing your stomach and travelling up your body, until he laid down on top of you, his weight carefully resting between your legs, his head buried in your neck.

"I love you," you whispered, holding him, your fingers trailing over his back.

He lifted his head at your words, still so touched by your sweetness. After all this time, you still managed to surprise him. He shifted, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at you, his gaze soft and adoring. “I love you more,” he murmured, reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair out of your eyes, fingers tracing the line of your jaw.

"Not possible," you murmured.

He smiled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Agree to disagree,” he teased, his hand gently caressing your hair, fingers carding through the messy strands. He liked you like this; soft and pliable in his arms, your body still trembling from your orgasm. His fingers traced down the side of your face, before his knuckles grazed gently over your collarbone, tracing the line of your shoulder.

"You were right," you murmured, looking at him. "Best Christmas ever. Even if I can't build a gingerbread house for the life of me."

He looked at the wreckage of the house, then back to you, hiding a smile. “You’re good at a lot of things, sweetheart, but decorating is just not your strong suit,” he teased and you huffed and shoved at his shoulder in mock offence. He just pulled you on top of him, kissing you deeply all over again.

[aperrywilliams]

Ocean (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Spencer has shut you out for months, and you don’t know how to get to him. A new argument endures, and you think this might be your last chance to make him understand how deep your love for him is.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst/hurt/comfort. Spencer doesn't want to see reasons. Reader and Spencer cry. Mention to Spencer’s time in Milburn.

A/N: It’s just another self-indulgent fic to tell our boy how great he is.

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"Are you going to say something?"

Your voice is clipped, and you feel a whole storm bubbling inside of you. Spencer's silence doesn't help to ease your desperation—a last call for some hope in your already damaged relationship.

As he sits on the couch, his eyes are lost in the window of your shared apartment, tranced by the distant bustling of the streets below. It seems everything is better than looking at you right now.

‘How can someone stand so damn close

And feel like they're a world away?

I can see your sad story eyes

So how do you have no words to say?’

“Please, say something. Anything."

Your insistence sharply contrasts with the demanding tone with which you initiated this conversation—or fight, as Spencer accused you earlier.

Still standing in front of him, you only want him to look at you, to see in his eyes what he really wants.

“Do you want me to leave? That's it?”

You don't know what else to do or say. After bickering for a solid forty-five minutes, Spencer decided he didn't want to respond to your questions/accusations anymore. Coincidence? Hell no. He went silent just after you touched a nerve mentioning the tabu, the only thing Spencer decided must remain unspoken: the three months he was locked in Milbum.

You understood his reluctance at first. Of course you did. Putting in words the nightmare of his days there can’t be easy for anyone, and to Spencer, you bet your ass it was tougher. To lose control, to engage in a world he only knew from afar. Exposed. Vulnerable.

You understood why he didn't want you to visit him there. His pride and self were wounded. However, you would never resent him for it. You said it to him but respected his wishes so as not to put more pressure on his shoulders.

It didn't hurt less, but you were willing to take it.

Weeks followed, and the only news you had about your boyfriend were the messages and phone calls from his coworker, Penelope, and his boss, Emily.

The day he was released must have been the most chaotic you had in your life. And for Spencer, sure, it was worse: His mom was kidnapped by another psychopath, threatening her life.

As Spencer hugged Diana at the BAU, you stayed back, looking from afar, not wanting to disturb such an important moment.

Penelope hugged him after, and then JJ and Tara. The whole team welcomed him before you had the chance to.

When your time came, your eyes locked for the first time in months, and you knew. That man wasn’t the same Spencer you saw the night before he went to Mexico. And you were far from expecting he was, but something felt different with you compared to the reaction he had with the rest of the people there.

Not saying a word, Spencer enveloped you in a tight embrace. Hiding his face in the crook of your neck, he couldn't articulate anything to say. You were the one who reassured him, mumbling encouraging words.

‘Everything is going to be okay. You’re safe now.’

And you believed every word, even knowing the road would be hard. Knowing there would be bad days and not-so-bad ones. But you were determined to make it work because you loved Spencer, and he didn't deserve less from you.

All I want is to fall in deeper than I've ever been

Why won't you let me?

I can handle your heart, so help me.

But Spencer didn't open up to you the next day, nor the week that followed, or the month after. You were patient. You didn't take personally the prolonged silences, the avoidance, the eagerness he showed to go back to work.

At some point, you start to wonder what you have been doing wrong because there is definitely something wrong.

Waiting for him to confide you was the only thing you decided to do. He would come to you eventually. Instead of pushing him, you offered your solace and a safe space for him to be peaceful.

But after three months, things didn't get better; they were quite the opposite. Spencer frequently showed signs of irritability at home and started to snap at almost anything.

And that's when the arguments started. You were getting exhausted by his behavior and the null display of trust from him.

Today has been no different. After coming back from a case, Spencer barely acknowledged your presence, opting for lounging on the couch, too invested in a book to tell you he almost got hurt in the field, and you find it out from Penelope calling you to know how he was doing.

“Spencer-”

“You can leave if you want,” he mumbles, not making eye contact.

“That's not what I asked. I asked if you want me to leave.”

There is a lump in your throat, but it doesn't stop you from voicing your thoughts.

“And for once, be honest with me. Do you want to be alone? Do you want to sulk yourself for God knows how much time?”

There is a brief silence where you think Spencer is truly contemplating his response.

“Yes.”

He says it without looking at you, but his voice is firm enough for you to wonder if he’s lying or not. It hurts. But it hurts you more because he’s hurting and not for the pain he’s inflicting you with his words - or lack of.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

You get his attention this time. He wasn’t expecting you to ask him that.

“Why do you want to be alone?”

You can’t understand why he’s so determined to shut you out. Or maybe you do, but you’re not ready to accept it. Not when you love him more than anything in this world. Not when you are sure your love must count to something for him. Yeah, maybe you can’t ‘fix him,’ but you’re sure as hell you can help him to heal.

Spencer huffs in frustration. What can he say? The truth? It's too simple and yet too complicated to voice.

“I realized it’s better that way. There is no reason for you to stay.”

Is he turning his motives into altruistic ones? It's like he doesn't know you at all.

“There isn’t? You are not reason enough for me to stay?”

Spencer stands from his spot, running his hands through his hair.

“You don't get it? Do you?! Do you want me to throw the words on your face? Uh? I thought you were smart enough to realize by now I can’t love you anymore!”

It's the first time he has yelled that way to you in months. Years, maybe? All the last arguments you both had recently were more like ‘snappy-sassy Spencer’ and a ‘sassier you.’

He just said, ‘I can’t love you anymore,’ and not ‘I don’t love you anymore.’ You don’t miss the wording, and you’re praying right now not to be reading this wrong.

Maybe this is the crack you were waiting for to get to him. Carefully, you look at Spencer, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't.

“Okay,” you mumble, sitting again on the couch, your feet planted on the floor and hands on your knees. Spencer raises an eyebrow, confused by your posture and response.

“Okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay. You can’t love me anymore. I accept it. And I’m not happy with that, but okay. I can’t obligate you to feel in a certain way if you don’t.”

“But you should be hating me,” he refutes. “I failed you, and now I’m ending things.”

You take in his words. Spencer assumes he’s the one to hate, and even if you want to, you know you can’t.

With pursed lips and soft eyes, you gesture to the spot beside you on the couch, inviting him to sit. Spencer understands and, after a second of contemplation, slowly moves to sit there, curious about what you are thinking right now.

“Can I tell you something?” you start. “It's humanly impossible for me to hate you. And yeah, maybe I should, but I can’t. Maybe you can’t love me, and thank you for doing it at some point, by the way. But it doesn't mean I’ll stop caring about you. It doesn't mean I don't want to see you happy because, despite all the awful things you think about yourself, oh, flash news, you deserve to be happy.”

“Don’t-” he wants to refute, as always he does, but you have to make a point.

“Spence, please, let me say it.” Spencer stops and concedes at your request, even if he thinks it useless and that you shouldn’t put that effort into him.

“I know you think you disappointed people for what happened. You haven’t told me that much, but I know. And I can understand you are scared and that maybe I’m not the one you want to confide in. I respect it, really. But please, if at least a fraction of what I think matters to you, believe me, I have never doubted whatever you did in there; you did it to survive. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”

It's a hard pill to swallow for Spencer. He never wanted to tell you what really happened when he was in jail. Granted, you are not a profiler, but you know him enough to see through him.

Here you are, next to me

So much beauty at my feet

All I wanna do is swim, but the waves keep crashin' in

No, I'm not afraid to drown

Take me out, take me down

I'm so tired of the shore

Let me in, baby

You're an ocean, beautiful and blue

I wanna swim in you

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. And I’ll leave if it's what you think I should do, but not before telling you how I see you. God, Spencer. You have no idea how great a human being you are. You always prefer to sell yourself short instead, but I know you. If the time we have known each other taught me something, it's how compassionate, understanding, and loving you are. Believe me when I tell you that to love you has been the best thing I have done in my life. And I would do anything for you, even if that means walking away from you.”

You don't know when the tears started to fall, but now you can feel them running down your cheeks and landing in your hands resting on your lap.

Spencer’s glassy eyes tell you he has heard everything you said, and you hope he believes you. At least you have tried pouring your heart into words. It isn’t easy for you to do. That’s something you have in common with Spencer. Your love language is acts of service more than words of affirmation, but you know this time, you need the words.

A tear makes his journey from Spencer’s eyes down his jaw. But he can’t say anything. He thinks if he says something, everything in him will crumble.

You wait, not so sure what, but wait. As Spencer keeps his silence, you think you have nothing more to do, so you break eye contact.

“Okay. That's what I needed to say. I guess that’s it.”

A shaky breath anticipates you getting up from the couch. You stroll to the bedroom to grab your go-bag.

Approaching the door and grabbing your keys from the bowl, you bit your lower lip because you don’t want to cry in front of him anymore.

Like a lighthouse, I've been shinin' bright

Through the dark for both of us

And I've done it outta love is not enough

But God, how I wish it was

And I don't wanna find out

How much lonely I can take before you lose me

Baby, look at me and swear you won't lose me

Determined to leave, you open the door, and before you cross the threshold, a heartbreaking sob paralyzes you in place. Then, a wail and Spencer's broken voice.

“Please, don’t leave!”

It is heartbreaking and comes to you like a prayer from the depths of his being. You stop in your tracks but refuse to look back at him.

“I know I don't deserve you, but please, I can’t - I can’t lose you.”

Wiping away his tears, Spencer gets up from the couch and quickly reaches the door. You still have the bag in one hand and the keys in the other, with your back to him.

“I love you more than you can imagine, and I was determined to let you go. I thought I had hurt you enough.”

“Did you were setting me free? From you?” you mumble, still not wanting to turn around, tears blurring your sight. Spencer sniffles.

“I thought it was the right thing to do. Why drag you to my shit once more? Fuck, you always have been there for me, and it is so unfair. How did I repay you?”

“Repay me?” You let the bag fall with a thud. This time, turning to face Spencer. “Do you think this is about repaying? Jesus, Spencer. I never had ask you that.”

“I know. I know,” he rushes to say. “But I feel like I’m not good enough. An ex-junk. An ex-convict. And a lot of baggage to carry.”

Your fingers fidget with the keys as you hear Spencer beating himself.

“Nothing of that has changed the way I see you. I’m not saying you have to be the same, nor do you have to keep still about it. I love you with all the scars you have and the ones that will come. And I want to help. You don't have to do this alone.”

“It's a lot. I don't even know where to start,” Spencer’s voice croaks, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“We can figure it out. Together. It won’t be easy, but I promise it will get better.”

Your soft eyes and hopeful words warm Spencer’s heart. He can’t conceive you are even real. He can’t fathom how you are still here in front of him after all. He can only conclude that your love is big enough to hold you two at this moment when his weakness consumes him.

Still sobbing, Spencer rushes to envelope you in a tight embrace. But unlike the hug you shared in the bullpen when he was released months ago, this time, he's the one telling you reassuring words.

“I love you. I couldn’t be more grateful for having you. I promise I’ll heal. I promise not to shut you out again. My love, my everything.”

As you cry with Spencer enveloped in his arms, your heart feels hopeful that you both will find a way to get through this. Together.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

[maculategiraffe]

have been helping a bit to look after a little girl who is almost three, about six months older than my nephew, but who unfortunately hasn't been looked after as well as my nephew has.

had her in the kind of baby swing that you buckle a baby into, and she was being very very quiet and meditative. not smiling or engaging with me at all as I chatted away at her, or even looking at me. which is fine of course

but after awhile I said "are you all done swinging?" and she didn't answer or look at me. I said "are you still having fun in the swing?" and she didn't answer. I said, "do you want to keep swinging?" and she didn't answer. I said "are you hungry? ready for a snack?" and she didn't answer

I knelt down in front of her and said "let's unbuckle you and we can go get a snack, ok?" and she just stared at me. but when I reached for the buckles she whimpered and sobbed and tried to push my hands away from them

so of course I was like "oh! you do want to keep swinging!" and she didn't answer, but when I pulled the swing back to get her swinging again she smiled really widely

and it got me thinking about how sometimes, especially if it doesn't seem like anybody ever listens to you, or cares what you think or feel, it's hard to think of language-- including the language of gesture-- as a tool to communicate. because even when she started to cry and pushed at my hands it wasn't really like she was trying to tell me something, or even ask for something. she can talk, I've heard her say a three word sentence, and her speech and articulation are probably better on a purely technical level than my nephew's. but why should she? grown-ups do whatever they want. she didn't communicate her wishes to me, not because she wasn't able, because why bother? she cried because she was sad and frustrated, not because she thought I wanted to know what she wanted. she smiled because she was happy, not because she wanted me to know she was happy.

and I get it, you know? sometimes you have a breakdown because it's easier to get to the point when things are so bad or upsetting that you just have to cry out in protest, in organic despair that just overcomes you, because it's too hard / it seems too hopeless to choose to ask for something before it gets to that point. even if people are actively asking how they can help. because how do you know they mean it? what if you choose the wrong answer? better not to imagine you get to choose.

wish she'd yell "no snack!!!! more swing!!!" like my nephew. who knows I'm listening

[hs-is-loml]

Another Pawn in Your Game. (c.s)

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Capitol!Reader

Summary: you felt betrayed by coriolanus and lucy gray's act in the capitol zoo. or coriolanus coaxes you into thinking what he did was okay.

Warnings: minor felix ravinstill x reader (one-sided). angst. manipulative snow who knows all the right words to say. they stay together in the end. UNEDITED

a/n: if you have seen my post about coriolanus before reading this, my stand does not change. and i am not trying to justify anything. that being said i do find him an interesting character to write for with his complexity!

masterlist

You couldn’t believe your eyes from the act that Coriolanus and Lucy Gray were pulling in front of Lucky Flickerman. Introducing her. Holding hands with a district. You felt eyes of pity land on you from around the table as you were with Arachne, Felix, and Clemensia.

“Did you know that he was going to do that?” Arachne hounded on you.

Clemensia added, “Is that not cheating?” 

“I wish I knew,” you scoffed, continuing to look at the screen of Coriolanus staring at Lucy Gray with ​​narrowed eyes. “He didn’t tell me anything.” 

“Maybe it’s time you realize you can do better than Snow,” Felix grinned while you all watched as the peacekeepers dragged away Coriolanus. “Always more options around…”

“Felix, I would love for you to say that to his face,” Clemensia snickered at his poor attempt at flirting.

“Oh, please. No one would ever dare,” Arachne rolled her eyes at the two and began to get up as the bell rang. 

You walked alongside the group with Felix on your side. You felt him place a hand on your back and leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Let me know when you get tired of him, will you?”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Y/n!” Sejanus called your name from behind the group, walking quickly to catch your arm before you walked through the doors while everyone headed in. “What was that with Felix?”

He held a concerned expression, and the grip on your upper arm began to tingle. “Sejanus,” you tried to move your arm and he finally took notice, dropping his hand and muttering apologies.

“I didn’t mean to grab you that hard. I’m sorry.”

Taking a deep breath in you explained to him, “Coryo wants to make a fool out of me. You saw what he did in the cage. Felix is simply taking his chance.”

After Doctor Gaul had left the room, you neglected Coriolanus’ attempts to have a word with you, and you continued to keep a conversation with Sejanus. You felt the irritation that radiated off his body when he noticed that you were purposely ignoring him.

“He looks like he is going to murder me if I keep talking to you, Y/n,” Sejanus quietly pointed out as he looked back and forth from you to Coriolanus. 

“He’s lucky if I don’t murder him for what he pulled,” the blank expression that was written across your face mildly scared Sejanus not knowing how you truly felt. 

“At least acknowledge him or something, Y/n,” he pushed.

“And why should I?”

“Because, because this is unlike you and Coryo,” he tried to explain but failed to give any valid reasoning to you.

You turned to your other side and looked at him with darting eyes, “Hello, Coriolanus,” you articulated the entirety of his name. It felt foreign on your tongue. 

He met you with perplexion at your sudden coldness, “Y/n/n. Dearest. What is the matter with you?” He knew that he had said or done something wrong as you gathered your things and went to Dean Highbottom to be excused. 

“How was your little songbird, Coriolanus?” Arachne teased and was aware you could still hear them before you walked out of the room. Livia continued, “Fragile, little thing she is. I do hope her death is rather quick.”

“She’s okay.”

“Did everyone hear that?” Arachne looked around the room to those who were interested in where she was taking this. “Coryo made sure his songbird is okay.”

 Coriolanus had no time for games as his mind wandered back to you, “Arachne. What is the point of all of this?” he snapped at her.

A smirk planted visibly across her face, “Is your Dearest okay, though?” she mocked him.

The realization was evident as it spread to his face. He looked over to Sejanus who avoided his stare by pretending he was focused on his paper instead. 

“Felix, you know he has no shame in going after you once he sees this,” you mentioned knowing the rather possessive tendencies that Coriolanus had to the boy who followed you out. 

Felix hid his nervousness with a chuckle, “What could he do? I’m the president’s son.”

“I’m just warning you,” you went through your bag to look for the rose Coriolanus had given to you this morning. 

“Y/n. You don’t deserve what he did to you,” he tried to reach out for your hand but you had pulled away before he had gotten the chance to. 

Having found the rose, you glanced around for a trash bin to toss it in, “Oh, believe me. I know.”

“Isn’t that one of the roses that Lucy Gray had in her hair earlier when we saw her on the screen?” Felix observed the rose in your hand and noticed it was the same pure white as the one that was in Lucy Gray’s hair. “Is that from him?” he made the connection with the frown you held.

“Yes.” 

He bellowed another laugh as he realized the Coriolanus was found in even more mistakes. “That bastard.”

Coriolanus was searching for you throughout the academy grounds once the bell had rung. He found no luck in finding you until he passed a hallway he had never seen you go into before, and there you were standing by a pillar with Felix Ravinstill standing too closely for Coriolanus’ comfort. Though he could tell that you had not reciprocated Felix’s intentions, it didn’t help the rising jealousy that was consuming his mind. 

For a moment, his vision was red as he saw Felix take his Grandma' am’s rose out of your hands. It had taken everything in him to not launch himself at Felix as he didn’t want to be convicted of murder before the Games even started. He was already in too far. 

Your head turned as you heard a call of your name from Coriolanus, “Y/n.” Through the tone of his voice, you knew he was not asking for you but rather commanding.

Before you started to make your way to him, Felix caught your hand and pulled you back for a moment whispering in your ear while making direct eye contact with Coriolanus, “Make him pay for it, yeah? And don’t forget my offer will always stand for you.” Coriolanus stood there with a tense jaw and flared nostrils as he watched.

Felix smirked at him, seeing you walk towards his direction but going pass him, “Come along, Coriolanus.” 

The silence was starting to get to the both of you as neither of you chose to speak a word before arriving in front of your house. Your parents rarely being home helped your situation because you figured that an argument was going to begin right as the door was closed behind you. 

That’s how it always was. The picture perfect couple in the public eye to keep appearances up than a cracked frame when it was just the two of you. 

“What was that about, Y/n?” he fumed the second the door was shut. You ignored him as you went to put your bag away in your room. “You cannot keep avoiding me here. And don’t think I am going to let go of what you did today.”

“What I did?” you talked baffled.

“You are making a joke out of us-”

“Is it fun for you?” you interrupted him, finally meeting his burning stare.

“Is what fun?” he gritted his teeth at the lack of specificity in your question.

You began to laugh maniacally and spat out, “Making a fool out of me. You already made me a laughing stock for everyone to see.”

 “Is this about-” he started but you didn’t give him a chance to finish.

“Of course, this is about her, Coriolanus!” you proclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hold her hand? And for goodness sake, a district girl from 12 of all people! You are the one ruining us.”

“She is my tribute,” he defended.

“YOU GAVE HER A ROSE!” you yelled at him in frustration. “How do you not see a problem with that?”

“The rose is nothing compared to what you let Felix do today,” he said, enraged, taking steps closer to you, but your hand met his chest, keeping him at arm's length. “You are mine. Not his.”

“And what? She is also yours now too?” you closed your eyes as they welled with tears that you had tried to blink away. 

He moved your hand and grasped it as he stood in front of you. He cupped your cheek with his other hand and softened his tone, “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And how am I supposed to trust your word?” you threw at him and saw a look of hurt flash on his face but it had left just as quick. “Everyone told me it was a mistake to be with you.”

“Do you believe it was?” he blanked, tightening his hold on your hand. 

“I do not know what to believe anymore.”

“It was an act. A farce. She needs to win,” he stroked your cheek with his thumb. “I need to win.”

Your body was tense with vexation and you spoke through clenched teeth, “Am I just another pawn in your game as well? The easiest one you can sacrifice?” It felt like your heart was ready to burst from out of your ribcage waiting for his answer. 

He brushed a piece of fallen hair away from your face and uttered, “No, you are My Queen.”

[sai-int]

uhhh I'd like to request an angsty one here. we all know trauma has two results. one of which is like you try to fix yourself and not inflict your problems which you faced and the other is...you become worse. I have seen people write Simon as someone who tries to do the former but never seen angsty Simon who can't really be gentle and is always on the edge. like some madman on the verge of explosion from little sanity that holds him. how about husband!simon who can't articulate shit and is just an asshole to his wife.

I'd like to add I'm not glorifying this behaviour but rather study it. Please don't approach the idea if you don't like it ! I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable to write or read this

hi doll! thanks for the ask :) this was such a blast to write (despite the subject matter), a lot of ethel cain was listened to in order to bring out the feels

cw: wife!reader, husband!simon, simon's pov, angst

Simon Riley had never been taught how to love—only how to endure.

He had learned survival through clenched fists and gritted teeth, through hollowed-out silences that sat so deep they became his foundation. He knew how to compartmentalize pain and push through the chaos, but gentleness? Tenderness? That had no place in the battlefield of his mind.

His wife was his sanctuary in theory. Soft and warm warm, trusting. Someone willing to put up with his silences, his coldness, his anger. But Simon? Simon wasn’t the man he wanted to be for her.

He didn’t lash out with fists, no—he was better than the man who raised him. But his words were sharp, honed and deadly, like the knives he used in battle. When he felt the walls closing in, he wielded them with precision.

“You never stop, do you?” His voice would cut through the quiet of the kitchen, bitter and sharp. “Always thinkin' you can fix things. You can’t fix me. Stop tryin'.”

It was cruel, even when he didn’t mean it. He could see the way her shoulders would slump, the way the corners of her lips would frown and twitch like she was searching for a response that wouldn’t trigger another landmine. She never yelled back. She never fought him the way he sometimes wished she would.

And that was the worst part.

Because in the moments after the rage ebbed, when the quiet returned, he hated himself more than anyone else ever could.

He’d sit on the shitty recliner in the living room, head craned to the ceiling, searching for a God he knew didn't exist. He'd replay every harsh word, every time he’d shut her out, every time he saw the light in her eyes dim just a little more. He thought about apologizing, but the words stuck in his throat, heavy and jagged. What good would it do? He’d ruin it all over again the next time the walls closed in.

The irony was that he loved her. Loved her so much it terrified him. And maybe that was the problem. He didn’t know how to hold onto something so good without destroying it. But he never could let go when something's already broken.

So, he sat in silence, waiting for the day she’d finally leave, knowing he wouldn’t blame her when she did.

“Simon, can we talk?”

“Not now,” he doesnt want her to leave.

“Simon, please. I feel like—”

“What you feel is irrelevent. ” She can't go. He turned to her, his eyes dark with exhaustion. “Why do you always push? Just let go.” He won't let her.

Her lips parted, but no words came. She stared at him for a moment, the light dimming behind her irises, before she turned and walked away.

He watched her go, like always, guilt settling in his chest like lead.

Simon Riley stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, his hands gripping the sink. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly above, casting harsh shadows over his face. He looked like he was barely holding it together—because he was.

The fight replayed in his mind: her soft voice, his harsh words, the look on her face when she walked away. He dragged a hand down his face, his chest tight with a hatred for himself that festered in his bones like a rot.

As he turned his head slightly, something pink in the trash can caught his eye.

He ignored it at first, turning back to the mirror. But the thought gnawed at him, whispering in the back of his mind to just look, look, until he couldn’t push it aside.

With a frustrated sigh, he crouched down and moved the crumpled tissue on top.

A white stick. Two pink lines.

Simon’s heart stopped. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at it, unmoving.

She was pregnant.

And the rot inside him lingered still. 

mlist

[leeknow-thoughts]

𝅄  ׅ⊹ ۪ ꣑୧ dance of the sugarplum fairy

𝝑𝝔 l.mh x f!reader

𝝑𝝔 synopsis : Minho believes in fact over fiction. He's a scientist. It's practically in his blood. You're as much of a scientist as he is, hell, a better one than him at that. Yet, you still find wonder in the holidays. While you find wonder in presents and twinkling lights. Minho finds wonder in you. Could a confession gone wrong end up going right for him? Could you reciprocate his feelings that he's been pushing down for years and years?

𝝑𝝔 warnings : chemistry professor!minho, chemistry professor!reader, f!reader, mutual pining, christmas in a non-religious way, crying (in a sappy way), jisung! cameo, tooth rotting fluff, smut got mixed in with my fluff??, no clear dynamics, but minho is mommy (sorry guys act fucking surprised), mommy!kink, shower sex, p in v (unprotected, pls don't do this!!), pet names, pls lmk if I missed any warnings!!

𝝑𝝔 note from the author ! : Calliope once again indulges in soft!minho and doesn't apologize for it >_< I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season and that all who celebrate Christmas get exactly what they wanted!! :3

You're as reactive as Fluorine, and Minho wishes he didn't think of you chemically the way he does. He wishes he didn't immediately think of you when he thought of work and his experiments and the fucking teaching position he held. He wishes he could just think of you for you and he could go fuck off for all he cares - having a crush on his coworker.

And you're humming along to the song playing over the radio - some Clario song, he only knows who that is because you love her music. Honestly, he thinks you like music more than you like chemistry - so why did you choose to do this for a living?

You surely weren't a bad singer - Minho had heard you sing, it puts the harked herald angels to shame if he does say so - and you certainly were pretty enough to be famous.

Pretty was an understatement, you were the most devine creation to walk this earth. There's no way in his mind that he can conceptualize that you breathe the same oxygen as him - to him it was a privilege that he got to see you at all.

You were sought after, every fucking college in the nation wants you to work for them, yet you stay here. It wasn't like the place you work at is bad, it's MIT for Christ's sake, but Harvard has been asking for you for years.

He's almost offended by it, colleges treating you and all your brilliance like a tradeable Pok��mon card.

Speaking of Pokémon, you're watching it on your phone as you finish up a lab report. How you can listen to music and watch a show and write a detailed report baffles Minho, but he doesn't question you because you're you, and he's the utter fool in love with you.

"You're spacing out Minho," your voice graces his ears, fuck, was he staring at you? "You look like you need a coffee, let's go get a cup, I'll pay."

You smile that sweet smile and talk in your sweet voice any longer and he's sure he's going to go insane. You're letting your hair down and it falls just right, framing your face perfectly. You had curled it that morning, and worn a perfume that smells like autumn.

He knows it's ridiculously foolish to consider something a chance that is nothing but stolen glances and blush stained cheeks and private thoughts. He can't help it.

"I think Jisung needs to start letting you get some sleep, you're zoning out so much," you hum with such concern, and he crumbles.

He feels almost dirty. Dirty for the thoughts he has of you. Dirty for the reason he isn't getting much sleep. Thinking about you in ways that would terrify a Catholic, or hell, even an atheist.

"'t's not Jisung," he slurs his words together.

They become a wet mix of vowels and articulations when he's talking to you. He hopes he doesn't sound this fucking dumb when he is teaching.

"Maybe you're sick," you tilt your head.

It's a habit you have, tilting your head when you make a statement. He finds it endearing. It was one of the first things about you that he perceived as such.

"'m fine, promise," he brushes off, "'nd I don' need any coffee."

"Well, you better wake up before the festival," you sigh, and he hates to think he let you down.

The festival, fuck, that is today. Each year the college throws a winter festival for the students, a lot of sororities and fraternities set up booths and the cafeteria gets turned upside down with decorations. The faculty's Secret Santa too, shit, he hasn't wrapped his gift. He really doesn't hate the festival or the idea of it, it keeps him young. He just doesn't know if he is gonna be able to stay around you any longer.

"Who did you get for Secret Santa?" you ask, taking a seat at the table, returning to your lab reports.

"Jus' Lix," he hates how drunk he sounds, "what about you? You always go above and beyond in the gift department."

He would never lie to you, you do go above and beyond with gifts. Each year, you go all out, spending a ridiculous amount of time and effort when it comes to the gifts you buy for people.

"Can't say unfortunately," you whisper, "or else it wouldn't be a secret."

You give him a smile that makes his stomach do a flip. "But I did get you something," you perk up.

You walk over to your bag and pull out a wrapped parcel, and carefully hand it over to him. "Thought you'd like it, took forever for it to ship over from overseas."

Minho examines the neatly wrapped box, wrapped in pink wrapping paper with a pink bow tied on top of the box. "Thank you," he sounds breathless.

He opens it carefully, and is met with a white box. He pulls the lid off and pulls out the cloth that sits on the bottom of the box. Revealing a white lab coat. The fabric is crisp and ironed. In the corner the text 'Dr. Minho Lee, PhD' is embroidered in black. Underneath the lettering is another embroidered patch. Instead of his name though, it's his three cats. Each of the cats looks identical to their real counterparts. "Sorry if it's stupid, I-" you apologize, "I just- I dunno-"

Stupid? It's the most thoughtful gift he has gotten in a long time. It comes from your heart, how could it be stupid.

You're the most beautiful and thoughtful person he's ever met. I love you, loved you for so long, he thinks to himself. He's so moved he almost feels like crying.

"Minho," you're quiet, stunned into silence.

He just realizes how his mouth has betrayed his mind, and his legs are moving with a panic.

The air is so damn dense as he sprints down the hall from the lab. The white fluorescent lights taunt him with their hum as he dashes away. Away from you, away from the chance that was all in his head.

He is gripping at the tie around his neck. He sees no comfort in the double doors out of the science lab, he is running without reason.

He breaks through the double doors and is soaked almost instantly. The snow is heavy and it patters against his body.

His legs stop moving, and he just stands there. In the snow. Terribly cold and terribly wet. He could curse God, but he doesn't believe in Him.

The doors behind him open and close. Doom blooms in his rapidly rising and falling chest. "Minho," it's you again, "Minho, you'll catch a cold."

His legs are frozen through. He couldn't move if there were a bear chasing him. He can't speak either. He's rendered silent. "Minho, it's about fucking time you confessed, b-because I-I l-love you too."

He can suddenly find the strength to face you.

When he does, the first thing he notices is your face. Mascara has soaked your cheeks, tear stains evident. "Y-huh? Wh-why are you c-crying?"

"Because I fucking love you," you sound weak- Minho never heard your voice sound so scared, "a-and you love me too? Did you mean it? You love me too?"

You're equally as soaked by the snow as he is. Your arms are crossed over your chest. He moves before he thinks, there really is nothing to think.

Hypothesis : you want him to kiss you. And according to the scientific method, he must test his hypothesis.

He's putting one foot in front of the other and moving to you. He wastes no time, simply cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.

Sparks fly like shown in movies, his lips feel tingly and he can feel his heartbeat in every bone of his body.

Your lips are even softer than he imagined. Soft and molding against his own in ways that make him dizzy.

Like throwing a block of lithium into a pond, he feels like he may explode. Every atom in his body is undergoing a chain reaction that is so right he would never stop it.

"Love you," he's mumbling against your lips, "loved you for so long. You're everything I've ever wanted."

Tears brim his lashes, they nearly fall, but he is too elated to cry. "Minho," your voice is muffled by the sloppy kisses you're placing on his lips. You let out a groan and Minho's composure crumbles.

"Always been you," you hum, "since I met you, no one else."

All he had known until now had been decomposed and resynthesized. Like a chemical equation. He hates that he still thinks of you chemically.

Yet, he'd count every atom in your body so he could find out why you're so you. He's tear apart the heavens and the earth and chemically rearrange them just to see you smile.

Your bodies are melting together, forming a mixture of desperation, love, and lust. His hands are gripping every inch of your soft flesh available.

"Minho- mhm- take m-me home," you whimper into his mouth.

He kisses you one last time. He knows he will have this life, and the next to kiss you, he's in no rush.

His eyes finally open again, and he swears he has never seen a more beautiful sight. Your makeup is running down your face, and your lips are kiss bitten. Your body is pressed against his, and your hands are cupping his jaw. "H-home?" He stutters like a little kid.

"Your house," you grin, and he swears there's a mischievous glint in your eyes, "unless you don't wanna see me naked?"

If his jaw hadn't been on the floor before, it definitely was now. "God," he groans, "c'mon."

He's pulling you along with him, in the pouring snow, to his apartment. "If I catch a cold because of you, Lee Minho," you vaguely threaten.

"Then I'll nurse you back to health," he immediately replies.

You're both placing one foot in front of the other at a fast pace. When he sees his apartment around the corner, his heart thumps rapidly in his chest.

He doesn't struggle with the keys even though his hands are shaking beyond reasonable doubt. The warmth and comfort from his home is nothing compared to that which he gets from you.

He's stepping inside and pulling you in with him before slamming the door closed. A sudden fear rises in his chest, and any semblance of what to do next faded from his mind.

You notice this, you notice everything. "You okay?" you press your body against him.

You're both soaked from head to toe in cold water, yet you're so warm against him. "I-I?" he's stunned, like a dear in headlights.

You try and fail to hide the disappointment in your tone when you say, "do you not want t-"

He doesn't even leg you finish the sentence, "-I do. I do. I do. I-It's just not supposed to hap-happen like this."

"Please explain?"

"I - I have pictured, I've thought about us- us doing this, and I-I feel like I'm doing it wrong," you search his eyes for a clue as to what he means, "I mean-I just thought it would be so much more, romantic. N-not the confession, the- I just want to make it perfect for you."

"And how would you do that?"

"With rose petals and red wine and candles and-"

You shut him up with a kiss that is broken all too soon for Minho's preference, "you're such a dork, oh my god," you sigh playfully and hit his chest lightly, "I don't want roses or red wine, or candles. Minho, I want you. That's it."

"I-I," he stutters and can feel his cheeks heating up, "w-we should hop in the shower?"

"Excellent idea," you smirk.

Minho takes your hand in his and leads you to his bathroom, "sorry for the mess," he apologizes but knows that you won't mind.

He takes his eyes off you for only a moment to turn on the warm water, and when he turns back to you, you're halfway undressed. He swears he's never seen anything as beautiful as you.

You with your shirt and skirt in a heap on the floor, the only thing covering you is your underwear. Black cotton panties with lace hemmed on the side and a matching black bra.

You're reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra when he speaks up, "let me."

You smile at him and turn around, Minho's lips ghost down the side of your neck while his hands busy themselves, taking off your bra. He kisses down the back of your neck and your body shudders against his own.

You eagerly flip around and press your lips against his own. Now it's your hands that are pulling at his soaked shirt. You break the kiss but only for a moment, only so you can take off his shirt.

"Mhm," you moan into his mouth and Minho's grabbing at your sides like a madman.

His fingers hook under your panties and pull them down your legs.

And he finally gets a good look at your most sacred parts. They're more beautiful than his mind has ever painted them to be. Your breasts are soft to his touch, not too big nor too small. And your cunt, it looks tastier than a Sunday dinner in his eyes. His eyes rake down your happy trail that connects to your neatly trimmed bush and he wants to kiss it. He wants to kiss every inch of your skin.

He pulls down his boxers with his pants, and his semi-hard cock aches to be touched, to be inside you. You take his hand and step under the stream of water. He follows.

He'd follow you anywhere.

Hot water brings life to his cold skin. He's wrapping his arms around you, and his lips push against your own. "Where's the scar from?" you mumble the question between kisses.

"Had surgery wh-when I was a kid," he only stumbles over his words because your hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly pump him.

He's so sensitive it hurts. Hurts all over. His body writhes at its own accord. "Your cock is so fucking pretty," you hum.

The words are filthy, but they sound as holy as the Pope's because they're said by you. "Baby- I-" you're so good at making him feel good.

Had you done this with someone else? Had you jerked them off in their shower? Had you ever brought another person this much pleasure?

Jealously pools in his chest at the idea of you with anyone that isn't him. "W-why are you so good at this? I-I just, please, wanna be the last. Can't handle the idea o-of you doing this to anyone but me," he confesses.

His sudden confession makes you falter and he tries to read the expression on your face, "last time I did this was before I met you, there's never been anyone since I met you. You were always gonna be it for me."

He almost sinks to his knees he feels so stupid. "D-do you want me to prep you?"

"There's no need, I promise," you smile at him.

You flip around, your body is pressed against his shower wall, the warm water hits his back and he swears he's never been more comfortable in his whole life.

He holds his cock in his hands and lines it up at your entrance. "You ready?" He can't help but sound a little cocky.

"God, Minho, just put it in," you whine.

His knees falter when he finally presses inside you, your walls are warm, inviting. You were right, you didn't need any prep.

"Oh, God," he groans even though he only has his tip in, "fuck, don't know how long I'm gonna last."

"Don't worry," you hum, a sharp squeak leaves your mouth when he stills all the way inside you.

He's buried so far in his cock is pressed up against your cervix. A shiver runs through his body when he finally thrusts inside you. You're tight and warm and so soft.

He's desperate, with every thrust of his hips he is losing every drop of his composure.

"Harder," you beg, "fuck me like you mean it."

His hips slam against your own, and you let out cries of pleasure as your body convulses against his own.

"Love you," you repeat the words like a mantra, they tumble from your lips with every thrust of his hips.

His hand wraps around your body and finds your clit. He would die if he didn't make you cum first. "Ah, jagi," he moans.

"Ah, Min- mama," you don't even realize what you're saying.

Mama? That was new, but he wouldn't protest. Not to you. Not in a million lifetimes.

"Mama, hmm?" Minho whimpers, "you wanna call me that?"

"Mhm," you nod your head furiously, "love you so much!"

How he loves you too.

His hand glides down your body and finds your swollen clit, he rubs it tenderly as his hips stutter in their movements. "Mama!" you squeal, "gonna cum!"

Minho can't warn you before he cums. He swears on everything he knows, this was the best sex he's ever had. His body convulses against yours and all that can be heard is the water hitting the shower and the both of your debauched breaths.

"Love you," you whisper.

Minho places a kiss on your spine, "I love you so much more, jagi. Merry Christmas."

[naeviskz]

genre. idol!hyunjin x model!f!reader | established relationship

words. 1.5k+ tags/warnings. angst, fluff (towards the end), smut, accusations of cheating, hj is lowkey toxic (but we love it hehe), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, some mentions of crying, not proofread

this has been in my drafts for years and i finally finished it bc i was tired of seeing it LMAO. btw the position i’m referring to is this (nsfw link), i usually hate vids but this was rlly good imo.

“i think we should take a break...” you admit, voice growing shakier as you spoke. this was never something you wish to say in a million years, you wanted this relationship to work more than anything. but you were at your wits end with everything, talking to hyunjin was like conversing with the wall, never truly grasping any of your concerns.

you noticed the cracks beginning to seep in the midst of six months of being with him. he would often be dishonest of his whereabouts, saying he was out late due to “work” but was actually out drinking at some bar with chan or something. it made no sense for him to lie about such trivial things but he does it without even thinking. this was supposed to be a lovely vacation in paris together but lately you’ve grown tired of feeling like you’re unappreciated. a break from each other might be the best solution in getting his act together once and for all.

hyunjin felt his whole body turn limp as you uttered those words. not only was he blindsided by your decision, but you never indicated before to him that you were ready to propose such a drastic idea. “but why though? don’t you think this is a bit random? i mean this came out of nowhere ___, i thought everything was good between us, why are you suddenly saying this now?” his thick, bushy brows furrowed in confusion, he wasn’t letting you off this easy and you know it.

“i just think it’s for the better right now hyune, we’re both so busy. we have a lot on our plate, especially you… and this relationship is just— it’s only putting more strain on everythi-”

“are you serious ___? do you hear yourself? i knew what i was getting myself into the day i asked you to be my girlfriend. i’m well aware that i can’t be with you 24/7, and neither can you—however, i don’t expect that anyway. all i ever wanted was to have you by my side, i want to work through the hardships with you but if you’re so willing to give up like this then… i don’t know. i don’t even know what to say to this honestly..” hyunjin couldn’t help but cut you off, once his emotions take over, all sense of logic and reasoning is thrown out the window.

he was never one to question his worth in the eyes of his partner, but you were his longest relationship, he saw you as his first and only true love. it never occurred to him that he could lose you, the possibility of this break lasting long enough to make your love fade away was a scary revelation. there had to be a way he could fix this, he couldn’t bear to be without you.

“are you seeing someone else? maybe that’s why you’ve been so distant towards me lately…” he wanted to scream for saying that out loud but at least he got it off his chest. he knows how petty it sounds but he didn’t care, he wanted you to give him answers.

“no! i’m not seeing other people, i don’t have an interest in anyone but you hyunjin. i want to do this for the sake of us, we’re clearly not where we need to be and this break could help with getting us back on track and spending time apart could be beneficial.” you try your best to articulate your words properly but he remained unconvinced, he wasn’t on board with any bit of this.

how could you even be okay with something like this? spending time away from you drove him absolutely insane, he couldn’t fathom taking a break—not from someone as important as you in his life. he just needed to remind you that the love was still there, though it may be but a dull flame, he could ignite the spark again, with the little bit of hope he had left.

the foundation of your relationship was built from shared interests, since you both are part of professions that rely heavily on looks, you refused to see each other based solely off those superficial aspects. instead you got to know each other’s minds, your core values and beliefs, what mattered to you the most. you cherished every one of those deep conversations you shared together, it was a beautiful experience, an indescribable memory that shaped your bond forever.

so why is it now that you feel this way? was he really that oblivious to everything? he should’ve done more to prevent this but now he fears it’s too late. he’s faced with the conundrum of losing you and there wasn’t much time for him to stall or ask for a chance of redemption, he couldn’t waste another second.

“fuck that,” hyunjin angrily spat, his face contorting into a look of pure disgust. “you’re not going anywhere.” he reaches out to grab your waist before you could walk away, aggressively pulling you into his chest.

no matter how much you attempt to escape his hold, he’s not letting you go in the slightest. he’s much stronger than you, could easily lift you up without breaking a sweat. there was no use in fighting, you had no choice but to give in and let this conversation go. once his lips crashed into yours, everything faded to black. as if a simple kiss was the cure-all of mending this decrepit relationship.

hyunjin’s forehead pressed against yours as he pulled away, “shhh, lye down baby,” he hushes your quiet mewls, instructing you to do as he says. “gonna make you feel so good,” his hands slid under your skirt, gently rubbing over your clothed slit “you’ll forget everything.”

* :.･ﾟﾟ･ ✿

“oh my- fuckk, hyunjin!” you cry out, almost on the verge of tears just from how skilled he is, rutting your hips upwards into his mouth as he devours you whole.

the pace of his tongue is relentless, roughly lapping up all your juices like he’s the most starved man alive. you’ve lost count at the amount of times he’s already made you come undone just from his mouth alone. your body’s buzzing with titillation, all you can do is scream and clench your pussy around nothing while he fiercely sucks on your clit.

you couldn’t stop twitching, feeling yet another orgasm approaching. your legs anchored over his shoulders, unable to think or speak coherent sentences as his face was fully buried into your dewy cunt. he relaxes his jaw a bit more, going all the way from the bottom inching further up as he comes back in contact with your puffy clit. at any given moment it feels as if your heart’s about to stop.

“hyunjin-” your heads thrown back into the pillow, digging your nails into his shoulder blades from how overly sensitive you are. “n-need to cum.. can feel it. m’so close.” it surprises you when you’re able to even express such words.

a low grunt can be heard underneath, hyunjin loves hearing you— it’s arguably the best part about going down on you. the hand that wasn’t occupied went straight to gripping a fistful of his ebony hair, continuously moaning his name so loud that you genuinely feel bad for whomever the unlucky people that got to hear this.

just when you thought it couldn’t get anymore intense, he slips 2 of his slender fingers inside, making you gasp from the overwhelming sensation. flashes of white invade your vision, violently shaking as your lips form an “o” in the throes of ecstasy. hyunjin knows your body so well that this is nothing for him, he’s got it all down to a simple science. no one knows your body like he does, and especially no one can make you cum as hard as he can.

“go ahead, make a mess for me baby,” he strongly encourages, picking up his pace as his digits fuck into you faster. “just gonna clean it up with my tongue all over again.”

your eyes roll back to the depths of oblivion, feeling an out of body experience when reaching your climax. a slew of curses leave your shaky breath, limbs trembling and faint tears stain your flushed cheeks. hyunjin slows his movements, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently to make you even more sensitive. you love the way he calls you “good girl” and how proud the look on his face becomes while you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. he doesn’t stop showering you with compliments, only ramping up his affection as he plants fleeting kisses to your thighs, hips, and tummy.

once he’s finally come back up for air you grab his face to pull him into your lips again. moaning in his mouth while getting a taste of yourself was probably the hottest thing hyunjin’s ever witnessed.

“can’t believe you’re all mine.” hyunjin whispers against you, gently massaging your aching thighs. “i love you so much baby.”

“love you too hyune.” you instantly say back, feeling more at ease now that things are somewhat back to normal.

maybe a break isn’t necessary after all, how else would you be able to have such earth shattering orgasms?

- 完 ♡︎