#recessive chin

[beastwars-transformers]

Not to be like that but I do not understand why I get hit on it has to be some kind of joke

[plasma-tree]

i love seeing "ugly" characters

[brooke121000]

Hi! This is a request. Something along the lines of Reader sitting on Spencer Reid’s lap as he talks about his special interests and his hands happen to wander all over your body. Make it as smutty or fluffy as you’d like! Thank you!!

wandering • S. Reid

Make it as smutty or fluffy as you’d like, you say??😈😈 I say both. full disclosure, I did write him a bit more dom then my usual. Ty!

word count: 1185

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Spencer liked to talk. a lot.

It bothered people, very frequently actually- but you on the other hand? You thought it was charming. Spencer liked that about you, you were always willing to listen. No matter what station his train of thought was rolling through that day- you’d be there, head resting in your hands, nodding and commenting, your eyes never leaving his.

This particular day, his mind was set on rare neurological disorders. You were sat in his lap on the couch, fidgeting with the ends of his sleeves while he spoke. A nature documentary was playing on your tv, but neither of you were paying attention, so much so you had turned the volume off.

“Oh, another one-“ he grinned,resting his warm hands on your waist. “Metachromatic leukodystrophy. It’s genetic, actually- autosomal recessive.”

“Oh, what does that one do?” You queried, doing your best not to sound disinterested although you were preoccupied with his fraying sweater seams.

“Basically, our brains and nerves are very delicate. There’s a substance called lipids that build up frequently on the brain, spinal chord and peripheral nerves-“ he interrupted his own sentence to place a small kiss on the crook of your neck, sending warmth down through your collarbones. Despite the loving gesture, you frowned.

“That’s sounds scary.”

“It is, it is. Luckily, we all have enzymes whose sole jobs are to break down those lipids. People with Metachromatic leukodystrophy-“

You interrupted with a guess, raising your head to meet his eyes. “Don’t produce the enzymes?”

He grinned. “Exactly, love.”

“I guessed.”

“Well-“ he shrugged. “It was a good guess.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips, going back to his rant. 

“Oddly enough, it actually has similar symptoms to Kuru disease- that’s the one that causes tremors. Only lipids don’t eat away at the tissue,” his hands slowly slid up your sides, caressing your arms and trailing along the curve of your breasts. “..they just block it off.”

You giggled a little at the touch, face warming as you shifted in his lap.

“Stop it.” He said softly, with a smile, guiding your hips down. “It causes a lot of terrible symptoms, anyway. Loss of senses- the most interesting being an inability to detect pain.”

He sneaked another kiss to the side of your neck, a hand moving up to push your hair out of the way. 

“It was discovered in the early 20th century, and three forms emerged. Infantile,” his hands slid down your sides, lips pressing quick, sloppy kisses to your jawline. 

“juvenile,” as his hands slipped over your thighs, caressing the skin, “and adult.” As his hands expertly pushed your knees apart.

Your breath hitched. “Mhm, spence-“

He sighed through his nose. “Are you listening?”

“yeah, yeah, I am, just- keep going.”

His chin rested on top of your head as he firmly grabbed your hips, spinning you around so your forehead was against his chest, your legs straddling him. 

“okay. Pay attention- back to MLD. The infantile form is, of course, the worst, it progresses the quickest and the symptoms are often the most brutal, particularly-“ 

His hands slid between your thighs, sending a rush up your core, and you pushed your head into his chest a little in a sad attempt of soothing your nerves.

“particularly seizures. Because of this, it’s misdiagnosed often, usually for some form of epilepsy.”

Was he really going to do this? While lecturing you about seizures? Jesus, this boy was going to kill you someday.

His fingers traced along the lace of your panties, one hand situated between the plush of your thighs, one on your waist. The contrast between the movements of his hands and the subject matter leaving his mouth was giving you whiplash, but you were so desperate for any kind of physical attention you let him continue speaking. 

“There’s no cure, obviously, there rarely is for anything genetic and neurological.” He spoke, tone never faltering- even as his hand pushed your panties to the side, running along the slick of your folds and pressing a small circle to your clit- causing fireworks to erupt in your core and causing you to let out a long whine, muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

He pinched your side, gently, just as a reminder. “Shhh, love. Don’t you want to hear what I’m saying?”

you managed a shaky nod.

“Good.” He spoke simply, his fingers continuing to work expert circles into you. 

“Anyway- before I was interrupted, I was going to say- there’s no cure, but there’s ways to keep the patient comfortable.”

At this point his voice was sure, constant and gentle, causing you to nearly have to strain to hear him correctly. His hands never faltered- and your muscles clenched, thighs tightening around him as the smell of his cologne enclosed your senses.

Your breath was quick, quieted whines and whimpers peaking through, although muffled by the thick material of his sweater. He continued. “Research, mainly in Europe, is proving stem cell treatment to be beneficial.. but that’s mostly in younger patients.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers just slightly trailed down, circling around your entrance and slowly pushing in as his voice persisted.

“a-ah!”

“Shush. You really need to listen, baby.”

His fingers pushed in and out of you, speed never falling even once. “There’s a drug, that was also developed in Europe- called Atidarsagene autotemcel.”

Your hips circled, his fingers curling as he worked you up to the edge. A choked moan escaped your lips, which he ignored.

“baby, cmon- I was saying, since metachromatic leukodystrophy affects the ARSA gene, the treatment takes hematopoietic stem cells from the patient and genetically modifies them to contain a fake, corrected ARSA gene-“

You moaned into his chest, your thighs clenching tighter around him- one hand flattening onto his back for purchase as his ministrations continued, pulling you closer to your inevitable climax.

“g-god, Spencer, can you just- please,”

His movements sped up. “Please, what? I don’t think you even know what you’re asking for, baby. You don’t have to worry, I don’t plan on stopping.”

You were lost for words, breath leaving your chest as his words began to blur together. You babbled something out, your back arching as fireworks lit up your nerves, pleasure washing over you in the midst of your climax.

“s-Spence!”

You pushed your forehead into his chest as his fingers worked you through your orgasm, his free hand coming up to gently hold the back of your head.

“shh, I know,” his hands withdrew from you, slipping out from your thighs and out from under your skirt. He grabbed your chin and allowed your lips to open, pushing his fingers into your mouth. “Here, taste yourself.”

He watched, desire in his eyes as you licked them clean, your cheeks hollowing. He slipped them out from your bruised lips and pressed another kiss to the top of your head.

When you lifted your still-trembling legs to get off his lap, he furrowed his brows, pouting.

“You’re leaving? I was just about to tell you about prions.”

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[souperidol]

michael i love you but you gotta get help for your... problem

you've been like this since the 2010s

[kiszjuli]

↳ trust me the way i trust you .ᐟ n.jm

— in which you and your lifelong best friend have one of your traditional sleepovers, yet something about you two is different this time. he’s more clingy, you’re more bold..it’s just simple bantering..what could go wrong? oh yeah, and you have an immense crush on jaemin but he doesn’t feel the same- you think.

— parings: childhoodbestfriend!jaemin x afab!reader

— w.c: 4.6k

— warnings/tags: none really, just mc is a little frustrating lmao bare with her (not proofread), jaem is a total flirt, calls reader love, somewhat unrealistic lowk, no angst yippie, non idol au, (kinda) college au

j.note: hi luvvs!! this is my first post and piece of writing so pls don’t bash it too much, i wrote more than i thought i would and i think it turned out pretty good but constructive criticism is always welcome (and needed)!! hope you enjoy :)

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jaemin, your best friend, was over at your house for your monthly sleepover. you had been friends for as long as you could remember. your parents had told you years back that you two originally met at the park and immediately became attached at the hip. everyday since then you two were seen together. he was your best friend. you went to him about anything and everything, as he did, you.

since you had known each other so long and your families had grown close, they let you have sleepovers as of about 2 years ago. during these sleepovers, you would always start with a movie, having your quirky traditions of rating the movie afterwards and voicing your comments and opinions as if you were professional reviewers.

then you would move on to something else as your attention span had grown shorter. usually you guys would go for a walk, or try to learn some random choreography, or even just talk.

this time around was no different; you were both upstairs on your bed. you, sitting crisscrossed typing away on your laptop, and him laid out diagonally on his side facing you scrolling on his phone.

every now and then you would look up from your screen and see him looking down at his phone, seeing the light illuminate his handsome face.

oh yeah, you also had an excruciatingly huge crush on jaemin.

it started back when you were in 5th grade and he stood up for you from boys teasing you at recess. there was something about it that made you see him in a different light ever since that day (now being a sophomore in college) but you would never tell him. you liked what you had with him; it was something not everyone got the chance to have.

breaking you from your pause in typing, your mind having wandered, you hear his phone it the bed and a frustrated groan from him.

you looked up questioningly.

"could you please give your attention to me now?" he sat up and scooted next to you looking over your shoulder to your laptop. he leaned his head on your shoulder, causing your heart to twinge with affection. he had always been comfortable being affectionate with you which only made it increasingly harder to conceal your feelings all these years.

you grinned at ahis pouty tone.

“you sound like a child,” you said and tried to focus on your laptop again.

you heard him scoff next to your ear. "even still, you've been on there long enough," he countered. he shifted his head and rested his chin on your shoulder now. jaemin glanced at your screen seeing a bunch of words typed that he didn't care to read.

"just let me get this done, it's for school, and right now is the only time i have the tiniest bit of motivation," you groaned yourself, knowing that you really didn't want to do it either.

jaemin raised a brow at your words. "is it really that important that you can't even spare a minute to talk to your favorite person?" he said as he slowly shifted closer trying to get comfortable. he didn't really care if you were trying to focus or not.

you sighed. "just 10 more minutes, then my attention is all yours, okay?"

he let out an overdramatic groan before reluctantly leaning away. "fine. 10 minutes, that's it," he pointed a finger at you. he watched as you went back to typing, trying to focus and understand what you were doing, but failing miserably. his main focus was on the digital clock in the corner of your laptop watching as the minutes slowly passed by.

soon enough, the promised 10 minutes passed by and he spoke up. "finally," he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "times up, now your attention is all mine," he smiled like a kid.

you sighed as well and stretched your back. "yeah, yeah." you brushed off and glanced on him. seeing the way his brunette hair fell so perfectly over his eyebrows, you looked away.

shutting your laptop, you put it on your small nightstand, while he moved to sit in front of you mirroring your position.

"at least now i don't have to share your attention with a damn laptop," he grumbled, causing a laugh from you.

"since you wanted it so bad, now you finally have it," you teased smiling at him.

"alright, you make it sound like i was begging," he scrunched his face.

"weren't you?" you asked. you both always enjoyed the playful banter between you guys. there was almost never a day where you didn't.

he thought for a moment. "okay, and your point?"

you shook your head with a content smile before moving to get off your bed.

"where are you going?" he asked sounding almost fearful of your leaving.

"to the kitchen, jaem, i'm hungry," you said motioning to the door of your room.

"you would rather go get food, than be with me? i'm hurt," he said in a dramatic tone, putting a hand to his heart.

you rolled your eyes and started to walk out of your room, "i'll be back in a minute,"

he watched you walk away until you couldn't be seen anymore and leaned back on your bed. laying on his back he waited (im)patiently.

while you were in the kitchen, your parents told you they were going out to see some friends over dinner, and would be back around 10pm. saying goodbye, you took your plate of snacks back up to your room.

by the time you returned, jaemin had flipped over on his stomach with his feet hanging off the bed. you smiled at the sight, seeing his face squished against a pillow. moving towards the bed, you set the plate down and climbed onto the bed sitting over his legs.

him not reacting, prompted you to scoot up further and sit over his butt, with your hands on his back lightly. this is what made him speak.

he lifted his head to look back at you and rolled his eyes, yet making no effort to move you off. he secretly enjoyed the way you were sitting on him all casually. "𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 are you doing?" he asked feeling your weight on his butt.

"sitting? what are you doing?" you asked with a slight smile, playing coy.

jaemin rolled his eyes again, shifting a little to get comfortable under you. "do you not realize that you're heavy? if you were anyone else, i would've complained and made you get off,"

you raise a brow. "i am not heavy," you say hitting his back.

he let out a pronounced 'ow!' then looked back at you through the corner of his eye. "don't hit me! and you are heavy, especially for my poor back," he whined in a mock-suffering tone.

"maybe you're just weak," you said shrugging and slightly rubbed his back instinctively.

he perked up at this. "i am definitely 𝘯𝘰𝘵 weak," he argued suddenly getting an idea. was it a good one? maybe not but he'd figured he'd risk it anyway. somehow, he managed to swiftly roll over onto his back, keeping you up right. the movement catching you by surprise as you now sat straddling his lap. he hands casually going to your hips, keeping you stable.

"i think you forgot who the stronger one was, love," he smirked up at you, as you stared with a dumbfounded look back at him.

you decided to keep your cool as best you could. 'whatever," you brushed off before reached to the table to get your plate. you assumed he thought you were trying to get off, as his hands tightened slightly on your hips.

you leaned back how you were, missing the way his face contorted a little at the movement. placing the plate on his stomach, not wanting to hold it, he speaks up.

"admit it, you weren't expecting that were you?" he continued to smirk up at you.

"no, i wasn't," you admitted, but your expression not faltering.

he watches intently as you start to eat some of your snacks, as if you were sitting at the kitchen table.

"you know you really have no idea what you do to me sometimes," he trailed taking in your details. your shorts, which had ridden up due to the way you were seated, your hair that was in what you called your 'signature style', and the way you seemed so unbothered.

"what are you talking about?" you question keeping your eyes on the plate, not daring to look at his eyes in fear of heat rushing to your cheeks. even you couldn't believe how calm you seemed on the outside, compared to your heart that was currently racing.

he chuckled at your obliviousness, his hands fighting the urge to move to your thighs.

"you're sitting on top of me right now, looking like that, eating food, and you're still gonna ask me that question?" he questioned with a slight hint of disbelief in his tone. he tried his best not to let his eyes roam over your body.

you think his words made it all actually click. the fact that you straddling your best friend's lap right now finally making you realize the situation. usually being something a couple would do you pursed your lips. "well you seem perfectly fine," you deflected.

he watched as the realization sunk into your face and scoffed at your words. "i look perfectly fine to you?" he chuckled glancing at the plate conveniently on his stomach for you.

looking down, you noticed the slight difference in his eyes. choosing to ignore it, you spoke again. "yeah, you look like normal jaemin to me," you shrugged.

he snickered. "well thanks for letting me know i look like myself," he said sarcastically before moving his hands up just slightly, almost as if to test the waters.

"always here for you," you smiled. you felt his fingers move, trying to ignore it. feeling his touch there was not something you weren't used to, yet it was different this time. which again wasn't something friends did.

jaemin chuckled at your words, his thumbs still gently caressing your clothed skin. "when did you become so snarky, hm?" before you could come up with a rebuttal, he spoke up again. "you know, best friends don't usually sit on each other like this, right?" almost like he read your mind you paused.

"i'm aware, which is why when i'm done eating, i'm getting off," you said, as if it made the situation any better. and to be fair, he was the one that put you two in that position.

smiling at your response, he raised a brow. "and what's stopping you from getting off right now, if you're so aware of our situation?" he teased, his hands tightening on your hips slightly.

you motioned to the plate that was still on his stomach. "i'm eating, duh,"

laughing at your casual attitude and excuse, jaemin kept his eyes on your face.

"most people also don't eat sprawled out on top of their best friend?' he kept his tone light and teasing, finding the whole thing amusing. he definitely wasn't complaining about the slightly intimate situation you were in.

once again shrugging you glanced at him. "since it seems to bother you so much, why haven't you told me to get off?" you raised a brow.

jaemin looked back up at you, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he replied. "who said it bothers me? i was simply pointing out the regular best friends sit," he shrugged in return. though, his thumbs still stroking your hips, betrayed his more innocent words.

you paused thinking for a minute. "if you think about it...a lot of things we do, other best friends- probably don't," you trailed thinking of the countless other times you two could've appeared like a couple.

he chuckled, nodded in agreement. "yeah, you're right.. we're almost too comfortable with each other for 'just best friends'," he said, knowing in his mind that he didn't mind.

you spoke up quieter this time. "maybe we should...change that," you said, almsot done with your assorted plate of snacks.

raising a brow in curiosity, as he spoke. "change what, exactly?"

"the way we act, idiot. what else?" you glared playfully.

"you're awfully sassy for someone who's sitting on top of me, you know that right?" he said with a small smirk, his fingers tracing little shapes on your hips.

seeing you only shrug in response he speaks again. "you're so casual...acting like it's the most normal thing in the world to sit on your best friend,"

"you're casual too," you pointed out, locking your eyes on his. "letting your best friend sit on top of you like this,"

"touche," he narrows his eyes.

looking back down at your plate, you give him the last of your snack, him opening his mouth to take it from you. (again something a little too intimate for people that weren't a couple)

"that felt awfully intimate, too...almost a couple like thing?" he added with a playful hint in his tone. he knew that he silently enjoyed that too, though.

you laughed lightly. "we just cross all kinds of boundaries, don't we?" you asked while picking up the plate from his stomach and setting it aside. as you were done, you reluctantly started to lift off him.

jaemin's hands gripped your hips a little tighter, silently telling you not to get up.

"you don't have to get up just yet, you know..." he trailed.

"don't i?" you asked, however, stopping your movements.

"he shook his head no. "not really, no. i don't mind, love," he said with a smug look on his face.

"you should," you countered, but nonetheless, sitting back how you were.

jaemin, chuckling at your response, moved his hands up a little to rest on the area just below your shirt. "why should i? you were perfectly comfortable where you were,"

you rested your hands on his stomach, which you noted that was quite toned. "it should bother the both of us actually...friends don't do this, not even the close ones like us," you somewhat rambled.

he smiled at your slight denial. "you're right," he paused. "but then again, we haven't ever really been a normal pair of best friend's have we?"

you tilted your head. "what do you mean?"

jaemin held a soft smile o his face as he spoke. "well, we're extremely close, to the point we don't mind being physical with each other like this, i could go on," he squeezed your hips a little before continuing. "we both know that we act more like a couple than just friends,"

"hm," you hummed before looking down, and picked at a piece of lint on his t shirt. now lost in thought, you don't hear him until he squeezed your hip. "what's going on in that pretty mind of yours?" he asked, his usual tender yet slightly flirty tone present.

"nothing really...it's just- it's nothing," you said keeping your eyes down. your conflict evident in your words.

watching you for a moment, he took in your expression. "well then it's obviously something. c'mon, talk to me," he urged, gently coaxing you into telling him what it was.

pursing your lips, you looked back to his eyes, thinking for a moment. "well, like...hypothetically, i was just wondering if...like- if this is how it would be if we were a couple...or dating,' you revealed, struggling to find your words. "that's all,"

he was intrigued, yet surprised to say the least. a small smile hanging on his lips, he asked, "and what was the conclusion of your 'hypothetical' wondering?"

smiling a little yourself you looked up at him again. "i didn't get that far,"

"well, if we were a couple, would you be sitting on top of me like this?" he asked wanting to continue the thought.

after a moment of quiet, you spoke softly. "probably...would you let me sit here if we were together?"

he smirked thinking about your question. "yes, of course i would. as often as you want. you wouldn't even have to ask, honestly." his words making your stomach flip. you couldn't believe you were having this conversation right now, much less while sitting on his lap.

you laughed and thought looking up. "let's see, what else?"

chuckling along with you, jaemin thought too. "well, for starters, i'd hold you like this even more...and touch you whenever i wanted to,"

rolling your eyes you spoke. "you do that anyway,"

he chuckled at your reaction. 'true, but it would be different with you as my girl rather than my best friend," his thumbs still continuing to trace small circles on your skin.

you felt your heart flutter at the mention of being his girl., even if it was hypothetical. "hm," you hummed and straightened your back, sitting up a little.

"you were imagining yourself as my girlfriend, weren't you? you liked the sound of that?" he teased, catching on to your reaction.

you scoff and countered him. "obviously, i had to with what we're talking about right now,"

chuckling, jaemin knew you were deflecting from the truth. "oh c'mon, don't deny it, you know you liked hearing yourself being referred to as my girl,"

"you're full of yourself," you teased, fighting the flush you felt rising in your cheeks.

he laughed along with you before teasing again. "can you blame me when i have a pretty girl sitting on top of me?" he was shamelessly flirting at this point.

"shut up, and stop flirting," you point.

jaemin shook his head with a smile. "no i don't think i will. not when i have you all flustered right now from that flirting,"

"oh, so you admit you are flirting?" you asked raising your brow.

"of course i am, that's what i do," he admitted. there was a short silence before he spoke again eyeing you closely. "i want you to admit something too, though"

you felt your heart beating a little faster. 'okay.." you narrowed your eyes. "then i'm gonna put my plate up,"

he nodded once before speaking. "alright, answer this then: do you like the thought of being my girlfriend? hypothetically speaking, of course," he asked looking up at you.

you looked to the side already knowing your answer but trying to find a way around admitting you liked it, even not hypothetically. "i don't particularly mind it, no,"

smiling warmly, jaemin caught on to your attempt to down play your answer. "yeah? i think you like it more than you'd like to admit," his fingers pausing then slowly tracing along the skin of your thighs. the feeling making you breathe in.

you shrugged. 'maybe i do, but it doesn't matter because it's all hypothetical," you smiled sarcastically and quickly got up from his lap before he had the chance to keep you there.

"wait-" he called and grabbed your wrist just as soon you stood up from the bed. you turned back to him, with the plate in your other hand. "why can't it be real? not hypothetical, but real. us dating," he asked searching your face.

'jaem, are you crazy? it's me, you don't wanna date," you laughed brushing it off. you didn't know why but you couldn't accept the idea that maybe your crush on your best friend wasn't so one-sided.

you moved out of his grip and started out of your room down the hall.

jaemin's expression faltered a little as he got off the bed to follow you. "why wouldn't i wanna date you? you're my best fried. i know you better than anyone. and not to mention, you're incredibly attractive-"

"we're not having this conversation," you cut him off, as you walked down hall to the staircase. jaemin followed close behind, determined to talk about this. he caught up to you as you made it down the stairs into the kitchen. "yes we are. why are you so against the idea of us dating? i don't understand." he crossed his arms.

putting your plate in the dishwasher you spoke. 'because we're best friends," you said before standing back up straight and looking at him across the counter.

jaemin let out a frustrated sigh, his expression still firm. "that's not a valid reason. why does that have to get in the way of us being together? we're already so close and comfortable with each other," he paused walking around the counter to you. " plus, think about it, wouldn't being best friends make it better? we already know each other so well, so that gives us a strong foundation to build from," he explained.

you sighed. "it's...what if it didn't work out? i don't want that to be the reason i lose you...our friendship means too much to me to take that risk," you said breathing out. you said that, but you knew this conversation would change your friendship no matter what.

jaemin's expression softened at your response, understanding the thought and point behind it. he took another small step closer, his voice softer now. "i get that, i really do. the thought of risking our friendship is scary. but you have to think about the fact that we already risk our friendship by flirting with each other. and blurring the lines of friendship and something more." he paused, his eyes locking onto yours. it's already there- the risk," he added. you knew he was right but still. sighing you rubbed your forehead. "that's...different," you still argued.

he shook his head chuckling. "no, it's not different. and i think you know that." you looked up at him conflicted, yet you still didn't know why.

"deny it all you want, but what we're doing already has the potential to ruin our friendship. so why not take the chance, and go all the way?"

you tilt your head. "what? and i mean- are you saying you would have a relationship with me? a romantic relationship. you would want that?" you asked needing the clarification.

jaemin's expression stayed earnest and and serious as he spoke. "i would love to have a romantic relationship with you. i wanna spend more time with you, take you out, hold your hand, kiss you-" he listed. "is that what you wanna hear?"

you shook your head. "no, you don't jaemin.." you denied it for some reason, despite the flutter in your heart.

he sighed, getting frustrated with your denial. "yes i do. i really do. you keep telling me how i feel, as if you know better. but the truth is i have never wanted to be with someone as much as i wanna be with you," he confessed. you froze. he stepped forward again, now standing so close, he could feel your body heat.

you didn't understand why you were going against him. against your heart. you knew you wanted it too, if not more. but you just couldn't.

jaemin watched you close, seeing the turmoil behind your eyes. he could read you like an open book, knowing that you were struggling with your thoughts.

"you know we want the same thing. why are you fighting it? what is holding you back?" his voice holding frustration, but still gentle. he brought his hand up slowly putting it on your cheek.

you wanted to lean into his touch. instead you continued to fight it. "i can't do this with you, jaemin. we've already talked about it too much," you sighed and stepped away from him, moving out of the kitchen.

jaemin watched you you walk away, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment. he followed after you, voice firm. "why can't you? why are you so determined to deny what right in front of you? what we could have together?" he asked almost sounding hurt. you turned around, now at the bottom of the steps. "because i'm scared, jaemin!" you raised your voice a little. ""i'm scared it won't work out, and i could lose you. or that, i'm not gonna be good enough and someone better comes along, or i won't be a good girlfriend, or-"

"hey, hey...shh," he cut you off, grabbing your arms grounding you. his face softened. "you have nothing to be scared of, okay? i'm not gonna get tired of you and there isn't anyone better for me than you. do you hear me?" he asked, searching your eyes.

keeping your eyes on his, you nodded slowly but didn't speak. at your lack of response he gripped your arms a little tighter.

"i need you to believe me. you have to understand that you're everything i've ever wanted. we just need to take that leap," he paused, his thumbs rubbing your skin soothingly.

"trust me, love. trust me the way i trust you,"

looking between his sincere eyes you nodded more sure this time. sighing you speak. "okay," goosebumps rose on your skin from his touch.

a small wave of relief washing over him as you spoke. "good, that's good. i promise you have nothing to worry about. we can take things as slow as you want, but i wanna be with you. i want you to be mine," he said full of emotion.

feeling your heart thumping loudly in your chest you keep your eyes locked on his. "i wanna be yours too.." you mutter softly.

jaemin couldn't believe that he was finally hearing those words from you, as his own heart raced. "say it again," his voiced just as hushed as yours. his hands slowly moved from your arms to your waist, pulling you closer.

leaning into his touch, you spoke. "i wanna be yours, jaemin..and i want you to be mine,'

his heart soared as he heard your words, his arms wrapping around your waist fully and pulling you even closer to where your bodies pressed against each other.

"you have know idea how long i've waited to hear you say that," he confessed looking down at you, admiring your features. you smiled up at him, finally feeling your tense resistance from before, slipping away.

"yeah?" you asked with a small smile.

"yeah," his voice filled with certainty. "now, you're mine, and i'm yours. only yours," his beautiful smile flashing, as he gazed down at you.

after another couple seconds he spoke up again. "can i do something, i've been itching to do for a while now?' he asked with a, now teasing, smile.

"what?" you tilted your head looking up at him, your arms having found their way around his broader shoulders.

"promise you won't hit me?" he says with a cheeky expression. his tone was kept light, yet there was a hint of something else. a desire; a want.

"depends," you narrow your eyes at his change in tone.

he chuckled then spoke as he leaned closer. "guess i'll have to take my chances," he said while glancing down at your lips before crashing his to yours. the feeling catching you slightly by surprise, but nonetheless, you melted into him.

feeling his lips move against yours, creating a spark in your stomach. you broke it leaning back slightly, his forehead leaning against yours. his eyes still looking down at your lips before leaning back in, capturing your lips again. before you knew it, his hands moved from your waist and hooked under thighs, pulling off the ground. you broke the kiss once again with a small gasp as he carried you the stairs with a teasing smile on his lips.

"what are you-what are we doing?" you laughed, clinging to him.

"exactly what we talked about earlier," he smiled as he made it you your room shutting the door with his foot.

let's just say, ‘sitting’ wasn't the only thing that happened.

[enbykelpie]

idk why my brain is so like... Intent on wanting to know what MY skull looks like. I want a 3D scan done of it and then it printed out in detail so i can see what I look like. I have thought almost obsessively over this for several years at this point, I'm always feeling my face and scalp and back of my head like, to feel the bone underneath, and trying to conceptualize what it looks like from that

[hotchscoffeecup]

from across the bar

summary: an observation here and a sarcastic retort there is a sure fire way to catch agent hotchner’s attention at the hotel bar. after sharing a drink, he invites you to his hotel room where he gives it you just the way you ask for it: rough.

tags: light bondage, minor self-degradation, hand sex, oral sex, p in v sex, ass slapping, rough sex

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

rating: m, mdni

word count: 4.2k

Goosebumps bristle across your skin; the sharp bite of winter’s wind whipping against your cheeks and tossing your hair about your face. You fold your arms across your chest, tucking your hands beneath your biceps and thinking you ought to have worn a thicker coat. The thin suede Calvin Klein duster you’re wearing flutters about your ankles as the doorman tips his head in greeting and pulls the door wide. Heat rushes out to greet you and you smile in thanks as you cross through the threshold.

Friday night at The Ritz-Carlton is as busy as any bar or restaurant in DC. Men and women dressed in exorbitantly priced suits and dresses mill about, laughing and cavorting over drinks; standing at cocktail tables or seated at the bar or sleek leather seated areas interspersed throughout the modern space. Recess lighting creates a dim ambience that gives Hollister a run for its money. Your lips twitch and you have to fight to school your facial expression. The opulence is unnecessary, but you roll your shoulders back and situate yourself at the bar anyway, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you do so.

“Something to drink?” a bartender asks, placing a drink menu in front of you.

You smile politely and push the menu away. “A riesling, please.”

“Riesling? That’s awfully sweet, isn’t it?”

Your brow arches in response to the deep tenor rumbling a few seats down from you. You spare a glance in his direction and note the way in which he swirls the scotch in his hand. You’re half convinced that no one actually likes scotch; that it’s more about men establishing dominance around other men while they all pretend to enjoy a drink that tastes like paint thinner.

He is quite handsome though; from the strong set of his jaw to the dark slash of his brow, everything about him exudes leadership and power. A lawyer, perhaps. His suit is tailored to fit his lean frame, an expensive watch peeking out from beneath the cuff of his dress shirt.

You thank the bartender as they place a long stemmed glass in front of you. You take a long slow sip, enjoying the crisp white wine.

“Careful, big shot” you warn, not looking in his direction. “Sweetness often masks the taste of poison. You ought to know,” you say, inclining your chin toward the glass in his hand.

He chuckles wryly and sips his whiskey, “Scotch is an acquired taste.”

You roll your eyes and check your phone, noting the lack of text notifications or any sign of a missed call and slip it back into your coat pocket.

“Not the message you were expecting?” he asks and he seems genuinely curious.

“It’s the lack thereof,” you grumble and take another sip of wine. Five minutes late is one thing, fifteen is a different matter altogether without any attempt to reach out.

“Stood up on a Friday night,” the man arches his brow and blows out a slow breath. “That’s rough.”

“I was not stood up!” you counter defensively. You take a quick breath and actually turn to face him. Your heart stills momentarily as you take in the amused look in his dark brown eyes and the smirk tugging at his lips. Quickly coming back down to Earth, you blink several times and cross one leg over the other.

You feel his eyes level on you and you struggle to come up with some quippy retort. As he sips his whiskey, you can’t help but notice how strong his hands look; his wide palms and long fingers dwarfing the glass in his hand. For a split second you wonder what it would feel like to have those fingers wrapped around your throat or tangled in your hair.

“Wedding ring,” you almost blurt out.

His brow furrows and you point to his left hand, indicating the tan line on his fourth finger. His hand flexes around the cup before he sighs. “Divorced.”

“Ah,” you say, taking another sip of your wine. “So, that’s why you’re drinking alone on a Friday night?”

“I’m not alone,” he replies coolly, arching a brow as he regards you.

His keen stare forces a rush of heat to flush to your cheeks. A smirk tugs at his lips in response to the obvious scarlett trailing across your face and neck.

Taking a deep breath, you finish your glass of wine, stand, and shuffle down to occupy the seat beside him, your high heeled boots clacking against the tiled floor. With a newly emboldened confidence, you place your hand flat against his thigh, boosting yourself up onto the barstool as you level your gaze on him from beneath curled lashes.

His eyes widen slightly, but you see a spark of a challenge flare to life inside them. “What’s your name?” he asks.

You reach for his tie, gently tugging on it. You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. “Forget my name,” you say coolly. “You clearly came out tonight looking to meet someone and it looks like my plans have changed.”

“I have a suite on the 7th floor,” he says.

You offer him a wicked smile, “Then what are we still doing here?”

•

As the elevator doors pings, signaling its arrival in the lobby, the man extends an arm, holding them open for you to enter first.

“A gentleman too,” you remark as you slide past him letting your body brush against despite the ample room to avoid doing so. The heady scent of his cologne sticks to you and you wonder if you’ll be smelling it on your skin here soon.

He steps inside and presses the button for the seventh floor. As the elevator doors begin to close, someone rushes toward them, trying to get on but the man doesn’t move to hold them. “Take the next one,” he says as they seal shut.

He pounces the second they do, one hand curled around your waist and the other tangled in your hair; your combined body weight thudding against the paneled wall of the elevator. His lips crash against yours, and your lips instantly part for him; groaning into his open mouth. This only seems to drive him further and you feel his erection pressed against your thigh.

“Eager, are we?” you breathe against his lips before nipping at the shell of his ear.

His left hand curves around your ass to cup it in his large hand as his other curls around the back of your neck, using his thumb to angle your chin up towards him. “You have no idea,” he says, voice husky as he moves to suckle the hollow of your throat.

You fist the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer to you. You moan against his mouth eliciting a deeper one from him. As the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the seventh floor, you peel yourself off of him and slip through the doors right as they open leaving him panting and aching for more.

Giggling to yourself, you don’t wait for him as you head toward his room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls after you seductively. With a breathy laugh he adds, “You don’t even know which room it is.”

“Oh, don’t I?” you tease. Without turning back, you raise your hand in the air, his key card tucked between two fingers. “You really outta keep better track of your belongings.”

The sound of him slapping his pockets and grumbling curses brings a cheeky grin to your lips. You slap the key against the keypad and buzz inside the hotel room, slamming the door shut just before he reaches you.

A dark laugh rumbles from beyond the door and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Undoing the belt at your waist, you shrug out of your coat and toss it over the nearby sofa. He knocks on the door and in a voice just above a whisper he starts to detail what he’s going to do to you once you let him inside. Your black high waisted trousers accentuate the curve of your waist, the black lacy corset teddy you’re wearing underneath pushes your breasts up and out.

As you move to open the door, you swipe his badge from your coat pocket, the other item you’d managed to swipe from his suit jacket.

He opens his mouth to chastise you, but instead he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes drop to the swell of your breast. He leans into his arm that’s stretched up above him where he holds onto the doorframe.

Pouting, you fold your hands behind your back and rock back and forth on your heels. “I’m sorry for locking you out,” you say coyly. “Tell me though,” you say, leaning forward, looping your arms around his neck. “Do you have a pair of handcuffs somewhere on you to go with this badge, Agent Hotchner?”

Pulling your one hand free from around his neck, you flip open the leather bifold and dangle his own photo in front of his steely gaze.

His lips press together in a firm line as he looks from his badge to you, though the smile doesn’t slip from your mouth. He pushes his weight against the door frame and peers over both shoulders before taking his forearm and pushing it into your chest, forcing your back against the doorway and knocking the air from your lungs. Your chest heaves and your abdomen clenches as you bite your lip, eyes flicking from his mouth to his eyes. He dips his chin so his lips are level with your ear.

“I don’t need my cuffs to keep you at my mercy,” he growls.

The breath in your lungs stills and you feel your pulse increase, thrumming inside your neck. Wrapping his tie around your knuckles, you gently tug him towards you. “Then give it to me, rough, G-man.”

He wastes no time. Releasing the door frame, he drops it and loops it around your waist before yanking you against his muscular frame. He walks you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and the door automatically locks.

His grip on your hips is bruising and you love the ache of his hands on you as he guides you to the bed. His lips seek yours out and when they find them, you slip your tongue between his lips. You can still taste the scotch on him. As you fold your hands into his hair, you gently suck on his lower lip, grazing your teeth along it and savoring the moan that elicits from him.

When your ass touches the edge of the bed, he pushes his pelvis against your hip, his erection digging into your thigh. You yearn to feel that hard length inside your pussy, but you know it won’t be that easy. You’ve played too many games with him tonight to win him over that easily. You lower your weight onto the bed and wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

“So?” you ask, offering a flirtatious glance whilst skirting the toe of your boot up the length of his leg. “What’s the verdict on those cuffs, Agent?”

His fingers curl around your bare shoulders and toy with the straps of your teddy. “I’m not carrying them tonight,” he says after a while. He moves to loosen his tie and your belly clenches as you wonder what he plans to do with it.

“Hands out,” he orders, and the authority in his voice is so natural you immediately feel compelled to listen.

He slips his tie from around his neck and winds it around your wrists, tying them together snugly, but not so much to cut off feeling to them. He grips the loose end and aggressively tugs you towards him so that your chest is flush with his.

You splay your fingers out against his chest and try to reach for the collar of his shirt to start working on the buttons when he yanks your wrists away.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs. He releases his hold on your makeshift restraints and shifts both hands under your ass. With a grunt, he picks you and shifts your weight so that you’re sat fully on the bed.

“Lay down,” he commands. “Arms above your head.”

As you slowly do as he asks, your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Yes sir, Mr. Hotchner.”

He emits a low groan as his name tumbles from your mouth and you know his cock is straining in his pants. Again, you try to tease him through his trousers with the toe of your boot, but his reflexes are too quick and his hand snaps out to catch your ankle. He arches one dark brow at you before focusing his attention on unzipping each one at a relentlessly slow pace. Your pussy throbs in anticipation of what’s to come and you bite your lip as he straddles your waist, one knee on the bed as his other foot remains on the floor. His eyes are fixed on yours as his fingers make quick work of the buttons of your pants. As his fingers curl around the hem and begin to wind them down your waist and hips, you can’t help but reach up and try to run your fingers through his hair.

Immediately, he snatches your wrist from midair and slams it into the mattress. You gasp and try not to giggle, excited by this show of brute force.

“Don’t move.” His voice is low. “If you can’t follow instructions, there will be consequences.”

You push your lower lip forward, “And I hate to suffer those at your big,” you enunciate each word, “strong, hands.”

Hotchner keeps his obsidian eyes, sharp as knives, daggered on you for a second longer, before releasing your wrists and sliding your pants down and off your legs.

“Now this,” he says, trailing a finger down the lace up front of the corset styled teddy. “Makes accessing want I know you so desperately want me to touch a little difficult, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe, you should check again Mr. Hotchner,” you reply with a flutter of lashes.

He regards you curiously, but there’s a dark amusement glinting in the depths of his irises. His hand slinks around your calf, and that alone elicits goosebumps up and down the length of exposed skin. As his hand trails up the inside of your thighs, your muscles quake as you allow your legs to fall open for him.

His lips part as he discovers the missing fabric between your legs. His brow curves as he regards you with keen interest. “One way or another you knew you were getting fucked tonight.”

“One can never be too prepared, can they?”

“No,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh. You squirm as he presses his hand flat against your belly, fingers splayed out as he slowly drags them down toward your center.

“Now let’s see just how ready you are, shall we?.” He sinks one long finger inside you and you groan. “So wet,” he murmurs, slowly sinking another finger inside of you. You feel the moisture pooling, how quickly the torturously slow rhythm of his fingers heightens your arousal. When his thumb presses against your clit and begins moving in slow circles, your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Oh, Aaron,” you say, dragging out his name. Your hands fumble to grip onto the sheets as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, maneuvering his fingers each time to strike your g-spot in rhythm with the circular motion around your clit. The wet sounds of his hands wringing pleasure from your body alongside him murmuring filthy things is too much. You need more.

“Please,” you say, arching your back against the mattress in an attempt to draw his fingers in deeper. “I need more.” You hook a leg around his waist and pull him against the edge of the bed, not missing the way his throat strains and eyes roll back at that thought. He increases his speed and without warning withdraws his fingers. You immediately miss their presence, but then suppress a scream as he dives face first into your pussy. His tongue delves into your center, devouring your pleasure. His slick tongue finds your clit, swirling and sucking on the sensitive nub and your pleasure centers are firing on all cylinders.

You dig your elbows into the mattress and push your hips into the air, pressing yourself against his mouth and he moans against your pussy. You feel the deep tremble reverberate against your walls and cry out as it becomes too much to bear in the best way possible.

He grips your hips and you kick you legs up around his neck, drawing him in as if he could get any closer to you. You clench the sheets above your head and cry out, his name on your lips as pleasure builds in your abdomen, pulsing through you all the way to your core. He shifts then, and before you can wonder what he’s doing, he takes a breath and sucks your clit between his teeth. You hiss at the unfamiliar sensation and swear you see stars when his fingers plunge deep into your pussy.

You come instantly, your orgsam surging through you like electricity. You feel it through every inch of your body, from the tips of your toes to the ends of your tousled hair. The aftershocks are still coursing through you as Hotchner tightens his hold on your hips and with a grunt of effort, flips you onto your stomach and yanks you closer to the edge of the bed. The sound of a belt unfastening and zipper coming down is all the preparation you receive before he slaps your ass and the hard length of his cock slams into you. You cry out with ultimate ecstasy as he fills you.

Turning your face into the mattress, you gasp and grunt with each forceful thrust. Your pussy clenches around his thick girth. The slap of flesh on flesh is all that can be heard as he pumps himself in and out. He releases a sharp breath and winds his fingers into your hair, tugging on it. You cry out and moan as you turn to look at him over your shoulder, finding great satisfaction when you watch him melt under your sultry smokey eyed look.

“Come on, baby,” you urge and you see his restraint crack. “Take what you want.”

His brow pinches and unfurrows as his grip starts to falter.

“Use me,” you push, delighting in the way his lips press together as he fights to hold on to his release.

You press your ass higher into the air, allowing him to plunge deeper into your core as his thrusts become less controlled and his pace becomes erratic.

“You don’t,” you grunt and moan as he strikes your g-spot again and again, “even know my name.” You breathe out and groan as you turn over your shoulder once more. “Let me be your whore, Agent Hotchner.”

Hot, thick ropes of cum erupt from his cock into your pussy. He holds onto your hips so tightly, you know you’ll have bruises in the morning. You relish in his pleasure as much he relished in yours. When he stops shaking, he slowly lowers your hips onto the mattress and smooths his fingers over the tender flesh there.

Easing you on to your back, you feel his cum slip down your inner thighs as he clambers over you and tenderly kisses your face and neck. When his lips brush yours, you taste yourself on him.

You reach up and hands still bound, brush the hair from his forehead. He smiles as he reaches up and undoes the knot with one swift move. The tie instantly unravels and he casts it aside. You place your hands on either side of his face, thumb stroking the sharp curve of his jaw.

“Let me help get you cleaned up,” he says gently, eyes soft.

You nod, “I think I’d like that.”

He cradles you into his arms and carries you to the shower where he places you on the tile floor and cranks the water on. As steam begins to fill the room, he helps you out of your negligee. Without words, you turn and push his blazer off of his shoulders. You do the same with his dress shirt and let him kick out of his shoes and socks before curling your fingers around the hem of his pants and underwear and kneel to draw them down over his ankles.

He loops his arms around your waist as you stand and kisses you slowly as he guides you back into the walk-in shower. The warm water cascades over your skin, soothing your taut muscles. You close your eyes as he tilts your head back and smoothes your hair away from your face. He places feather light kisses along your jawline as he pumps body wash into his hand from the dispenser on the wall.

“How do you feel?” he asks as he lathers the soap between his hands and smoothes it over your shoulders.

You release a moan of a different sort as his fingers massage the soap into your neck and back. You turn around and lean against the wide plane of his chest as he curves his hands around to wash your breasts and stomach.

His voice is amused when he speaks. “That good, hmm?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm.

He laughs softly in your ear before pressing a kiss to your temple. He continues to wash your body, treating each limb like a holy object the way he handles you with such delicacy and adoration. When he finishes with you, he washes himself quickly and exits the shower to retrieve two plush towels from beneath the sink. As you work to try yourself off, he fetches the robes provided to each guest from the closet in the main room.

You admire the softness of his stomach contrasted with the hard angles of his face and lean musculature of his arms and legs. He really is a beautiful man.

“Thank you, Agent.” You say with a wink as you take it from him.

He laughs. “You and titles. I thought we’d agreed on no names.”

“I said you didn’t need to know my name. I never said anything about yours. What can I say? I love a power play. After all, you must be used to that in your big, bad FBI office, hmm?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Something like that.”

You continue to towel dry your hair and smile back at him. “I guess this game of ours has reached its end. I gotta say, I had a wonderful time.”

“It doesn’t have to end,” he says with a suggestive arch of his brow.

Tilting your head back and forth, you weigh your options. “How about this?” you say, taking a measured step toward him. His eyes widen, surprised by your sudden prowess. “You and me,” you say slowly and stand on your toes so you can purr directly into his ear, “drop the ruse, order room service, and watch a movie on Netflix?”

He pulls away, expression unreadable for a moment. You keep your eyes on him, waiting, and then smile when his posture visibly relaxes. “Honestly, that sounds great, babe, I’m exhausted.”

A grin pulls across your cheeks as you dash into the room and grab your purse. Returning to the bathroom, you reach deep into your bag and unzip the pocket in the inner lining. You fish out your wedding rings and place Aaron’s in his hand before slipping yours back onto your finger.

“The crotchless lingerie was a nice surprise,” he says as he adjust the simple gold band on his finger.

Your lips quirk into a grin, “Yeah, I thought you’d like that little surprise.”

He smiles and leans down to kiss you. “Seriously though, how’d I do?” he asks. “I’m not used to using my office persona around you. It’s a lot harder than I thought it’d be. With you, it’s so easy to leave work at the office and relax.”

“Well I certainly hope you don’t do that at the office.”

He chuckles. “You know what I mean!” He waves his hand absentmindedly. “The hardened exterior, the stern, hard voice, expressionless. Dominating. I’m never like that with you.”

“Naturally,” you tease, voice light. “I’m so full of fun and whimsy. It’s hard not to come back down to Earth from your Bureaucratic cloud of murder and mayhem when you’re with me.”

He loops his arms around you, hands flat against your back. “Five years of marriage and you still manage to keep me on my toes, more so than some of the men and women I’m paid to track down and put away.”

You pull back and look up at him. “You love the sex bucket list, be honest.”

He can’t fight the grin that tugs at his lips as he nods. “Role playing as two strangers that meet at random is definitely up there with the things we’ve done so far.”

“More fun than when we played naked Twister with the body paint?”

“Ooo, don’t make me choose.”

He dials room service, ordering plenty of food and desserts to refuel after your exciting adventure into role play and as you climb into the California king bed with him and snuggle against his chest, you silently thank whatever divine forces exist in the universe for every opportunity you get to spend with him like this; your lover, your husband, your everything.

[artdcnaldson]

Been thinking about Patrick teaching Art how to masturbate

Patrick lowering himself down onto his stomach and between Art's legs on their pushed together beds, encouraging Art to continue despite his clear embarrassment.

Coaxing him into bringing his other hand down to his balls, only to end up doing it himself because the blonde's hands are shaking too much.

Once Art begins to get closer, so does Patrick. His hot breath fanning over Art's tip as he encourages him breathlessly.

Art shooting thick ropes of cum, half of which lands on his best friend's tongue, dribbling down his chin

And Art cums a lot and Patrick only wants to help. Sucking Art's tip into his warm mouth, licking his slit as he swallows him down

-🕊

I started shaking and vibrating reading this my god

Art jerking off as fast as he can the few random times Patrick leaves their hotel room while they’re at tournaments. He’s really, like, clinical with it— he just wants to cum as fast as possible. There’s no exploration, no teasing. He spits in his palm the same way Patrick showed him and fucks into his fist until he cums.

Patrick went out expecting a blowjob, and winds up getting stood up after the girl gets cold feet, so he trudges back to his room, already pent up and buzzing under his skin. It’s just his luck he walks into the room to see Art propped against the headboard of his bed, fist blurry from how fast it’s moving.

“Jesus Christ, dude, you’re gonna give yourself a friction burn.” Art yelps in surprise, throws a pillow over his lap to cover himself up, like the damage wasn’t already done ten times over. Patrick doesn’t give a shit. He relishes in making Art blush and squirm. He throws himself onto the bed, between Art’s thighs, and grins up at the blond. “You still jerk off the exact same way after six years?”

Art’s face wrinkles. “How else could I do it?”

So many ways. So, so many ways. But Patrick tries to be casual about it. “Dunno… you don’t touch anything else?” He tries not to act interested, like the answer won't plague his every waking moment the second it passes his lips.

"Dude, I don't finger myself. 'm not a girl," Art says, but the whiny affectation it comes out with doesn't help.

And fuck, that wasn't even what Patrick was thinking, but knowing that Art's mind went there... fuck, it does something to him. Patrick tries his best to push that thought deep, deep into the recesses of his mind and brings a smarmy little grin to his lips. It helps to hide his desperate interest.

"Yeah, but what about here-" he flicks Art's nipple and the blond squirms, which, incidentally, makes him buck up against the pillow. His cheeks burn hot and he tries and fails to make his glare look deadly.

"No." Art snaps. "I told you, I'm not a girl."

"I'm trying to help, you know. For old time's sake, you dickhead." He's trying to do more than just help. Patrick was the fucking king of hidden intentions. Of leading Art to do something for his own benefit. "It can feel better."

Art swallows, nose twitching slightly. It reminds Patrick of a bunny being led into a snare. He's not entrapping Art, of course. If Art just... told Patrick to fuck off, he'd go. Of course he would. He'd find some other hot tennis player to suck his dick.

"It can?" Art's pretty eyes are earnest, his pupils swallowing up all that pretty blue. Patrick smiles like the cat who got the cream and tugs the pillow away. When it lands at the headboard, he tries to ignore the large wet spot on the case. He's so hard in his shorts he thinks he'll pass out.

"Yeah," Patrick says. He grabs Art's wrist and moves his hand back between his thighs, past the twitching length of his dick. He moves his fingers over Art's and guides him to squeeze, so he's cupping his balls. The way precum dribbles from his tip isn't lost on Patrick. "Feels good."

Not a question, just... the first thing that he could think of. But Art nods regardless, his hand shaky as he gives a small squeeze. Patrick's eyes train on the expanse of his throat as Art's head falls back.

"God—" Art pants. "That's... yeah—"

Fuck yeah it is. Patrick swallows— all but licks his lips with big hearts in his eyes like a cartoon character. "Do it again. While you jerk off."

Art gulps and Patrick tracks the bob of his adam's apple. The blond exhales shakily and takes his cock into his trembling hand, his grip lax and hesitant. His other hand just barely teases over his sac, making his balls twitch and draw up. Fuck, Art’s so pretty— shaved smooth everywhere, flushed pink and needy, slick with pre.

Patrick wants Art’s cock stuffed down his throat so badly that he’s dizzy with it. “Let me, you’re not doin’ it right—“ Patrick says, and he replaces Art’s hand with his own. The blond whines and bucks up into his fist, legs kicking out.

“Patrick—“ He groans, but he doesn’t move Patrick’s hand, doesn’t squirm out of reach. “Fuck, Pat—“

Patrick swallows, moves closer. Art’s knuckles practically skim his jaw each time his hand reaches the head of his cock. His hips buck like he’s seeking the warmth of Patrick’s mouth. God, he wants that.

“See? Feels good, huh?” Patrick goads. He gives another firm squeeze and Art sobs pathetically, little ah, ah, ahs punched out from his lungs. Art nods, his curls plastered against his forehead. All of his words escape in breathy whines— yeah, feels good, so fucking good, Pat, god, please, please please please don’t stop, need it, do it again, fuck—

Patrick feels Art’s balls draw up, knows he’s going to come before Art even has a chance to warn him, not that he’s particularly verbose about it. All he manages is a mumbled, “Nnngghh— coming, coming—“ and he’s shooting warm, thick ropes of cum.

Art comes a lot. He’s always known the blond makes a mess, but Patrick never dreamed he’d be on the recieving end of a fucking facial from good Christian boy Art Donaldson himself. He feels Art’s cum paint his face, practically glazing him. It drips into his open mouth and he moans without thinking, his eyes fluttering shut as art comes and comes and comes.

When he’s finally spent, Art sobs weakly, collapsing back against the pillows. Patrick opens his eyes, licks the taste of Art’s spend from his lips, and looks at how fucking messy his cock is, dripping with pearly white. Patrick leans forward and licks, the same way he’s teasingly licked Art’s face, or his hand when they’re messing around. A long, messy lave of his tongue that makes Art’s toes curl into the duvet, muscles twitching until Patrick finally relents.

“Fuck,” Art says, breathless, exhausted, satisfied. “That’s… that was… I’m not gay.”

Right. He runs his hand through the cooling cum on his chin and smears it across Art’s face until his whines in protest and kicks Patrick off. “It’s not gay,” Patrick assures him, wiping his face with that same fucking pillow from earlier. One of them would have to sleep on it, but they could use the flip side. “I was just teaching you again. Don’t worry about it.”

Art nods, trying to convince himself through sheer delusion. That it wasn’t gay, that he didn’t like it, that he doesn’t have feelings for Patrick that can’t be explained away as being best friends.

Patrick taught him again, the way he did before. Only this time, he taught Art that when he wants to come hard, all he has to do is think about dark curls and blue eyes and a smarmy fucking grin.

[junkdrawerfics]

hiya! could you write a jasper fic where the reader meets the major? i'm obsessed with how you write for jasper 🥺

A Major Moment

Summary: Takes place in Breaking Dawn, when all the covens show up to be witnesses for the Cullens. Jasper is worried about you being around so many vampires, especially when he starts to feel like he's losing control. When an incident does occur, the Major steps in to save the day. But you have no clue what's happening.

Words: 2456

Note: I'm alive! And writing again. This work gave me so much trouble before I took my break, but I'm pretty happy with it! I hope you like it, thank you for the request!

---

“I don’t like you bein’ here,” Jasper murmurs stiffly, leaning against the doorway to your shared room.

“I know, Jazz, but I’m worried about what’ll happen if I’m not here.” You pull on your coat, turning to meet his concerned gaze. It makes you soften and you give him a gentle smile, “You think I haven’t noticed how tense you’ve been lately, huh mister?”

Jasper’s lips press into a thin line, a wrinkle forming between his brows. Of course you noticed. 

It started the moment Alice had the vision of the Volturi coming for their family. He felt it, in the back of his mind. That slight pull. The need to feel in control. Him. 

Jasper was used to it. He had plenty of practice holding him back, only letting the edges fray enough to help. Like when they fought the newborn army, or when the two of you and Alice had fled with Bella from the hunter. He could control it. He had to.

You were never meant to meet that part of him, the one with stained hands and war-driven convictions. You were too soft for that side of him, too…breakable. So Jasper did everything in his power to keep him out of it, locked away deep in the recesses of his mind.

But then their allies started to appear and something shifted. The pull turned into a dull pressure in his chest, like a beast pressing at the bars of its cage. Snarling, vicious, protective. He could feel it as he watched you interact with them, oblivious to the danger, the hunger he could feel radiating from all of them. It set his teeth grinding.

“You shouldn’t trust ‘em, darlin,” the blond warns you, voice almost a growl.

“They’re our allies, Jazz,” you remind him softly, curling your arms around his waist. The vampire is tense, tenser than usual. You prop your chin against his chest, wide eyes squinting. “Plus I have you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re all pretty intimidated by you. They won’t try anything.”

That does give him a strange sense of satisfaction. While he considers most of these people friends, he knows that he won’t be able to control himself if one of them touches you. The family had made it clear. You’re off limits. Every human in Forks is off limits. Still-

“Hey.” You pinch his ribs, making Jasper jump. Those gold eyes flicker back down to you questioningly. You shake your head, giggling, “Stop worrying! I’m fine, they’re fine, everything will turn out okay. You can relax, Jazz, I’m safe.”

The stiffness lasts for only a few moments before Jasper gives in and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. He’s always had trouble resisting you, especially when you radiate such warmth. There’s no doubt, no hesitation in your emotions. Just complete and utter certainty in him.

The beast goes quiet, if only for a moment.

A moment that disappears as soon as you join the covens downstairs.

The room is tense, filled with quiet, murmured conversations. They’re all on edge. Though they were all asked to come only to be witnesses before the Volturi, the expectation of a battle still hangs over the house.

You flicker among them, sparking conversation, making jokes, trying to just lighten the mood. It’s the least you can do to help. And this way you don’t feel so useless. If it does come down to a fight, that is exactly what you’ll be. You’re only human after all.

Jasper lingers along the wall, never taking his eyes off of you. 

It’s in moments like this he wishes he could turn his ability off. Every anxiety, every twitch of impatience, the collection of unspoken concern, he feels it all. It’s like walking through a fog so thick you can barely see. It's suffocating.

And he can feel him again. Prowling along the edges of his mind. Looking for just the right moment to-

A sharp gasp makes Jasper flinch. The smell of blood, your blood, hits him, and for a split second, his focus falters.

Enough for his control to slip.

---

You can barely process it.

One moment, you’re clutching your bleeding hand to your chest, fear freezing you to the ground as you watch a man lunge for you, teeth bared in a snarl.

The next moment, that same man is crashing through the wall of windows, the sound of shattering glass ringing through the air. The whole room goes dead silent.

Jasper stands in his place, drawing back to his full height, face a mask of impassivity, eyes alight with a rage that makes everyone recoil. It pours off of him, fills the room like the static before the storm. 

Your breath freezes in your lungs when he turns to you. It feels like one wrong move could set him off. On what? You don’t know. But you stay stock still as his eyes trace over you slowly. They catch on the blood oozing out between your fingers, the ones you desperately press against your wound. Something dark flashes across his face, his jaw clenching.

“Upstairs.”

Your heart lurches to your throat, wariness and confusion flooding your chest. His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, accent thicker. An alarm goes off in your head.

When you don’t move, though, Jasper reaches for your arm, grip just shy of bruising.

“I said - upstairs.”

Before you can even get a word out, he’s dragging you in that direction, so fast you can barely keep up without stumbling. Glancing to the Cullens, you silently beg for some kind of help. You have no clue what’s going on. But the family just watches on as if they’ve seen this all before. Except Bella, who looks just as confused as you feel.

Your attention is forced back to staying upright when you reach the stairs. Jasper doesn’t slow down for even a second, not until you reach your room and he practically throws you inside. In an instant, you’re backed against a wall, his tall frame eclipsing yours.

“Show me,” he demands, voice low, barely restrained.

“What?” You squeak, eyes wide, heart racing. Something’s wrong.

“Show me your hand.”

You tighten your hold unconsciously. Panic grips you like a noose around your lungs. 

“I don’t- I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jazz,” you croak out. There’s too much blood.

Jasper’s eyes narrow, “And I don’t appreciate repeatin’ myself, sugar.”

“But-”

“Now.”

Flinching, you instantly offer him your hand. Even if it’s a bad idea, you don’t want to test this side of him. Something tells you that he could force you to if he wanted to and this is him being nice. 

You hold your breath when he takes your wrist, waiting for whatever’s going to happen next. Jasper’s never had an easy time controlling himself around your blood. You’ve worked on it, but this is too much, too sudden and you can’t help but brace for more pain.

But the seconds tick by and…nothing. You peek an eye open slowly. The blond moves with practiced ease, checking your pulse, carefully examining the edges of the gash, as if the blood isn’t even there.

Something’s different. Everything’s different. How he holds himself, the way he dragged you up here, his voice. And his eyes. It’s hard to not stare at them. Their usual gold depths are dark as amber, still burning with something completely violent, bloody and crimson and unnervingly calm. 

You’ve never once seen Jasper like this.

“What’s going on Jazz?” You ask, voice pitching up.

The vampire pauses, hard gaze flickering up to yours. You almost flinch, instincts screaming at you that being at the center of this man’s attention is dangerous. It feels like any moment that rage could turn on you, like a wolf, bloody maw ready to clamp around your neck.

“Are you scared, darlin’?” His voice is a low rumble, softer than before, but still rough, dark.

Swallowing thickly, you look down at your hands, head spinning. He quickly covers the cut on your palm, careful not to touch it, but keeping it from your eyes, as if he knows the sight of blood makes you dizzy. It’s at odds with everything else about him right now and it makes you think that your Jasper must still be there somewhere. The worst of your nerves fizzle out.

“I don’t know,” you whisper eventually, and his eyes narrow, “I don’t- I don’t understand what’s going on, or why you’re acting different, but I don’t think you’re trying to scare me. So..so, no, I don’t want to be.”

The man hums, lips pursing into a thin line as he goes back to examining your palm, “No tellin’ if that’s foolishness or courage.”

“Maybe both.” Your voice is still shaking. Taking a deep breath, you try again with a different question, “So who are you? Cause I don’t think you’re Jasper, at least not completely.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, you watch as he steps back, disappearing into the bathroom for only a moment before reappearing with your first aid kit, the one you keep here for emergencies. With that same, practiced ease, the blond pulls out the supplies he needs and starts cleaning your wound.

“Most call me Major Whitlock.”

You hiss as he swipes alcohol over the cut. It stings almost as much as the wound itself, scattering your thoughts. The Major mumbles an apology, but doesn’t pause in his movements. It’s methodical, how he cleans it, applies some ointment, and then bandages it. Like he’s done it be-

Oh.

His words finally process in your mind. Major Whitlock. Jasper told you about him once, back when you first asked him about his scars. The man he was before you, before the Cullens. The man he had to be to deal with all that death. The Major.

“I never thought I’d meet you,” you murmur, all but forgetting your apprehension in the wave of curiosity that washes over you. 

“He never wanted you to,” the Major replies stiffly, taping off the wrap, “He’s scared I’ll hurt you.”

Brow furrowing, you glance down at your bandaged hand. It’s perfectly done and you can barely feel any more pain. Thanks to him.

“I can’t see why he’d think that,” you hum, head tilting, “You don’t seem all that dangerous to me.”

Wrong thing to say.

A sharp, unexpected tug on your wrist makes you squeak. The Major draws you flush to his chest, close enough that you can see the flecks of molten gold in his eyes and feel his cool breath against your face. It makes you freeze, hands trapped between your bodies, unable to do anything as he leans down, lips tauntingly close to yours.

“You shouldn’t be so naive, sugar,” he drawls, voice a low rasp. “You wouldn’t think so kindly of me if you knew what’s goin’ through my mind.”

Like how he wishes he had ripped the arms off the man downstairs for even thinking about touching you. Or how the scent of your blood makes him want to pin you against the wall and sink his teeth into your neck. He wants to know if you taste as cloyingly sweet as you smell. 

“I’m still not scared of you,” you whisper, blinking up at him with wide, doe-ish eyes, cheeks painted a tempting shade of red. “I know you won’t hurt me, Major.”

You trust him. He can feel it radiating from you, soft and warm and simple. It makes something violently possessive curl in the Major’s chest. You were right, after all. He would do anything to protect you, like a feral dog at your heel - loyal even if it killed him. He and Jasper could agree on that, as much as he might not want to admit it.

“You really are somethin’, sugar,” he muses, grip softening. There was no point in trying to scare you any further. You were a stubbornly sweet thing.

You offer him a shy smile, “Thank you. And thanks for saving me.”

The Major nods. “It was my pleasure.” 

He pauses, lips pursing. You watch as his gaze flickers over your face, something you can't pinpoint crossing his features. Then-

“Can I kiss you, sugar?”

You almost laugh. It’s a ridiculous question at this point, but it’s just so Jasper that you can’t help but grin. Guess he’s always been like this.

“If you want,” you hum.

And he does.

It’s not like any of the kisses you’ve shared before, not soft or gentle. Jasper has always been too scared of hurting you, but the Major holds onto you like a starving man. He pulls you impossibly closer, fingers threading through your hair to tilt your head just the right way. It’s hard and insistent but still achingly tender and perfect.

You’re left breathless when he pulls away. Not too far though. He rests his forehead against yours, taking the moment to focus on the sound of your heart and the comforting warmth of your touch. It softens the snarling creature that he’s meant to be.

You can feel the shift. The way his touch turns gentle, hands shifting to hold your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheeks. You can practically feel the concern that fills his gaze.

“Hey Jazz,” you breathe out softly.

He doesn’t respond. You glance up at him, amusement flickering in your chest at the perplexed look on his face. There’s your Jasper.

“I’m fine, Jazz,” you insist. It’s easy to tell exactly what he’s thinking. The vampire frowns, glancing at the bandage covering your hand. Right. You correct yourself, “I’m fine now. The Major saved me and bandaged me up. Good as new.”

You wiggle your fingers, just to show him. It stings a little, but not nearly as much as before. 

“He did a good job, almost as good as Carlisle!”

“He-” Jasper stops, swallows. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“No. Nothing happened.” You wrap your arms around his waist. It’s just like before. He holds himself stiff for a moment, fighting between the urge to relax or push you away to a safe distance. But he still can’t resist you. Not now. Not ever.

The tension drips from his shoulders. Jasper curls an arm around you, voice muffled as he tucks his face into your hair, “Sorry if I scared you, darlin’. I should’ve known that would happen. I just want you safe.”

“I know,” you hum, “And I wasn’t scared. Not really. Though, the Major sure has his own way of doing things. Charming guy, really.”

You can feel Jasper smile into your hair, “You really are something, darlin.”

“That’s what he said!”

---

You cannot convince me that the Major is not still a gentleman at his core! He's a bit rough from his time with Maria, but he was such a kind man before that. I will die on this hill.

Anyways! Hope you guys liked it! I might be a bit rusty, but feel free to send in requests! I'm excited to write for y'all again.

[satorhime]

recess + gojo satoru ── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content : dad!gojo, f!reader, fluff, comfort, reader ‘n’ gojo r not the best parents but they just wanna comfort their sweet baby girl, reader is referred to as ‘mrs’, ‘mama’, school fights, light discussion of insecurities, bullying + discrimination･｡･ w.c. 2.2k

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis : you, satoru, and your daughter’s first trip to the principle’s office.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ notes : i am in the fluffiest mood ever for my dear heart so i present u another one of my dad!gojo fics. this one tugged at my heart strings tho :( not proofread!

the school calls and says that your five-year-old daughter got into a fight with another student during recess, and the first thing satoru asks is “did she win?”

an hour later, the two of you are sitting in the middle of the principle’s office on a worn, brown leather couch while an aide fetches your little girl from lunch. the differences in your respective reactions is stark, a contrast of color that can be seen throughout your relationship.

while you are respectful of authority, nodding along and gasping in horror with your hand clutching your necklace as the principle explains that your daughter was seen punching a little boy in the sandbox, satoru has his legs kicked up on the principle’s big oak desk, his head thrown back in full blown laughter. you have to lash out, smacking his chest with your fist just to get him to quiet down— only for him to retaliate with a pinch to the side of your thigh.

“i believe i see where the violence comes from,” the principle clicks her tongue over the melodramatics of satoru coughing and spitting after your hit, her lip curled in disapproval. she has a severe look about her, like the suffocatingly conservative elders in satoru’s clan. “mister and missus gojo, you must know this behavior is highly inappropriate.”

“we’re sor-”

“you never answered my question you know,” satoru cuts you off before you can apologize like a good little student yourself, sitting up straight and cocking his head to the side. even though you can’t see his eyes, covered by his dark shades, you can almost taste his amusement in the air. he is not taking any of this seriously, and why would he?

he was the one who taught her how to throw a punch.

“and what question would that be, mister gojo?”

“if she won the fight or not, of course!” he says, punctuating each word with a wag of his finger. with his million dollar grin all wide on his face. some things never change no matter how old you get because you can tell that he enjoys challenging authority. that he decided the principle was just another one of the higher ups who abused their power and looked down their nose at the youth after one glimpse of her personality and leadership.

the principle opens her mouth, likely to scold him, but then the door opens and your little one steps through with the aide carrying her backpack. her head is hung low, her chin tucked against her chest and her fists are bunched in the hem of her uniform skirt as she walks in— the very picture of guilt.

“you can ask her instead,” the principle concludes, and you become a little closer to seeing gojo’s approach to things. you don’t like the way she looks at your baby, ready to toss the key away for a kindergartner who can barely speak properly without even knowing if she initiated the fight or not. you grit your teeth, though. you’re trying to be civil, for crying out loud.

after all, your child doesn’t need two maniacs for parents.

“miss gojo,” the principle calls, addressing your kindergartener directly. when she raises her chin, she has a defiant look in her big, glacier blue eyes that rival’s her father’s own. there’s a fleck of rice stuck cutely to the side of her mouth, no doubt from the onigiri you packed in her bento this morning. her little white plaits are in disarray, the colorful barrettes you accessorized her hair with lost and nowhere to be found, and when your eyes drop down to her hands, you can tell that she’s hiding her bruised knuckles in her skirt. “do tell us what happened, and absolutely no fibs or tall tales, please.”

“uhm…” her eyes roam the room, intimidated by the adults watching her with expectation. she earns a patient nod and smile from you, and a cheeky wink from satoru over the rim of his glasses. taking a deep breath, she mumbles, “uhm. i was playing in the big box and sōta-kun started saying mean stuff so i punched him real hard.”

“and do you think that was an appropriate approach to someone saying something you don’t like, miss gojo? our school does not condone violence or bullies. we teach kindness and communication.”

“i thought he would dodge! dada always dodges my hits when we train,” she huffs in defense, blowing air into her cheeks. you shrink in your chair, placing a hand over your face in embarrassment because you know exactly what she’s about to say next. “aaaand, dada told me that whenever i don’t like something someone say, i can just blast them off the face of the earth when i get strong!”

“i do recall telling her that,” satoru takes credit proudly, his grin turning mischievous.

“satoru,” you warn, sighing. “really not the time.”

“i’m seen but silent.” he spreads his palms in surrender, mocking what you always tell your daughter to be when she makes too much racket in public. “and pretty.”

“it seems that neither one of you are concerned with your child’s concerning behavior. you make quips while her fellow student had to be sent to the infirmary because of her actions,” the woman’s voice is grave and authoritative, cutting through the lackadaisical attitude swirling around satoru. his posture never changes, but you can see the moment his spine straightens. “the child’s parents are demanding she be expelled.”

“what’s ‘expelled’?”

“i’ll explain it to you later, my love,” you whisper.

“sheesh, these old geezers are all the same,” he whistles, rolling his eyes.

“excuse me?” she demands, turning red.

“what my heart means to say,” you hiss through clenched teeth, cutting a glare so dark at him that his grin falters. though you’ll have no control over it later, it’s no secret the path you want for your little girl. you have not mistaken the abnormal luminescence in her eyes for anything but what it is, what it will develop into. she inherited her father’s powers, and it’s important that you give her even the tiniest semblance of a normal life. going to a good school with children on the outside, at least at first, is the first step to that. “is that surely, this can be handled with leniency? we still do not know what was said to cause her to react this way and-”

“it does not matter what was said,” the principle barks. “our academy has no need for violence, nor… a peculiar like her who-”

“if i were you, i would be careful with your words,” satoru’s voice lowers and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “it’s her first offense, ain’t it? she’s five. just let her apologize to the kid and suspend her for a couple of days, if you gotta.”

“if not,” he drawls, standing up and stretching his arms casually. you know it’s time to leave when satoru starts threatening people— you hold out your hand to your daughter so that she can take it before grasping onto satoru’s sleeve and hauling him towards the door, too. “i may suddenly become interested in a transfer and a promotion.”

you almost roll your eyes because he doesn’t even have a real license to teach.

“you are over the line, sir. you must know that threats-”

“think about it!”

and then, he grins one last time at the gobsmacked principle as you begin hauling your two troublemakers out of the office.

each of your daughter’s tiny pinky fingers are curled around one of you and satoru’s as you all walk home afterwards, linked together. she still looks so crestfallen, so guilty it almost makes gojo chuckle, but he settles for an amused grin cocked to one side of his glossy lips. she keeps sighing exaggeratedly, and there is never any denying whose daughter she is.

“soooo,” satoru is the one to ask, surprisingly. he usually lets you play the villain in the storybook before bedtime. “what did the brat say that made you knock him out with a right hook, princess? hitting without a reaaaally good reason is bad. i think i forgot to add that in my lesson last time.”

it’s the question that’s been brewing in the back of your mind as well— why did your gentle baby girl get into a playground brawl with another student? has she been displaying this behavior at school all along? you knew that satoru training her before she could even read a book properly was a horrible idea, but you had wanted to compromise with him since you had decided she would be raised away from sorcerers during her childhood.

“the left one,” she mumbles the correction, sniffling dejectedly. “i already- i already said him kept saying mean stuff.”

“like what, baby?” you encourage softly, reaching down to swipe a stray tear that rolls down her cheek. you bite your lip, trying to figure out how to approach the beginning of a lesson on how to direct her negative emotions away from lashing out, and into something more rational. “you can tell me and dada, if you’re comfortable with it.”

“yep! we’re perfect at keeping secrets too.”

“him said that mama wasn’t my real one because i look like a fweak and mama and dada does too. ‘cause i got these stupid dumb blue eyes and stupid dumb white hair that nobody else got. ‘s what they allllll say. ‘cause i’m ugly.”

oh.

satoru’s head lifts a little, and the two of you share a look over her head. anger courses through your veins like liquid fire, ending in hot tears bubbling up in your eyes, and suddenly you aren’t interested in reprimanding your child for defending herself. satoru’s fist clenches until his knuckles turn white, hidden in the pocket of his slacks.

you aren’t idiots— you knew that she would be treated differently, in any school. with you being a foreigner, and satoru having unnatural looks himself, there’s no denying that she sticks out like a sore thumb amongst other children in her class with her snowy white hair and her tiny tinted, prescription goggles that people ask questions about, because while she has the six eyes, she doesn’t know how to use it properly yet and her eyesight is bad because of it.

still, the thought of you missing something is heart wrenching. your baby girl is always cheerful when you or satoru or both pick her up from school at the end of the day, chatting animatedly and showing off her creations from class, but maybe … maybe that was because she was relieved to be home again, surrounded by her favorite things and her loving parents, rather than spending hours a day with people who treated her like she was less than human.

“c’mere, princess,” satoru says, bending at the waist to hoist her off the ground. he perches her up on his arm, letting his shades slide down so that she can look into his eyes. you step a little closer after that, placing a hand on her back for support but you’ll speak to her later when the two of you have a little gossip before bed like you do each night, girl to girl. but right now, satoru is just what she needs. “favorite things that are blue like your eyes? shoot.”

“squirtle!”

“good job, princess. what else?”

she takes great care in huffing, her lower lip stuffing out into a pout, lifting a finger to tap the lens of gojo’s shades, “your eyes.” and then she points to the wedding ring on your finger, with a delicate aquamarine stone set in the middle. she always loved playing with it as a baby. “and mama’s ring.” she thinks for another moment. “and the sky!”

“good job. favorite things that are white like your hair? go!”

a little smile plays on the corners of your lips as you listen to them. satoru is eerily good at parenting when he wants to be, and already she’s swinging and humming because he introduced her to a game of listing her favorite things that looks like her.

“oh-! ice cream, and… and, megumi-nii’s ps5, and.. and.. your hair, dada!” she cheers, her little voice full of excitement as she bounces up and down.

“you’re so good at this. all those things look different from you, don’t they? but they’re pretty to you anyway, right?”

“yep!”

“so… come on here, help your old man out,” he prompts. “what does that make you?”

“i’m pretty too?”

“that’s right. you got a buy one get one free, you know! you got your mama’s beauty and you got six eyes, when most kids only have two! they’re just jealous.” he insists. “they all are.”

“i have six?” she asks in wonder, and just like that she’s on board, her eyes going round and wide behind her goggles. he nods, reaching up to ruffle her little plaits with a grin. then he glances over at you, switching your daughter over to hold with his other arm so that he can pull you close, loop a long arm protectively around your shoulders as you walk and just like that, he’s holding both of his favorite girls.

“yep, and they’re the prettiest eyes ever, this much prettier than your dada’s,” you singsong, cracking a grin and spreading your arms out as a makeshift measurement.

“ouch,” satoru whines, playfully offended. “unfortunately, she’s right.”

“i’m prettier than you, dada!” she giggles, and it means the world to see her spirits lifted once more.

“you’re the prettiest in the world, jellybean. never let anyone tell you otherwise.” you pinch her cheek, earning one of those sweet giggles from her. “our pretty, special baby girl.”

later on tonight, you’ll have a more serious conversation with her about how though the world will sneer and treat her differently because she doesn’t look like society expects her to, she is beautiful despite it all. that she is a product of love, of the most ardent kind. and heart, and happiness. that she is the best thing in the world and you would not trade her for anybody else.

tomorrow, you’ll be raising hell against that school for letting children bully your daughter, for a child having to defend herself against discrimination. but right now, the last thing you say after the school calls and says that your five-year-old got into a fight with another student during recess is “let’s get you ice cream that looks like you to celebrate causing your first black eye!”

[loudclan-clangen]

Cut for Time - Moon 31

Hey guys! New things! Sometimes when we have long moons, there are scenes that I want to show you guys but I just don't have room to do so. With the suggestion of @snailstep-and-her-clan and the help of the loudclan discord I was able to bring some of these scenes to life in written and illustrated form! Enjoy, and go follow the talented artists if you don't already!

art by @mammoth-clangen

“I’m sorry.” Peakpatch tries to look down at his paws shamefully, but Jaggedtail places a paw under his chin, gently urging Peakpatch to look him in the eye.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“But it’s stupid-” tears prick at Peakpatch’s eyes.

“It’s not stupid. Don’t be sorry.” Jaggedtail’s voice is solid and comforting, Peakpatch fights the urge to melt into it. It feels wrong to seek comfort in his friend after rejecting him. It feels selfish.

“It is stupid. I like you, you like me, we should be mates! I just… I'm not ready…” Peakpatch’s tears begin to drip, and he doesn't have the will to fight it when Jaggedtail pulls him into his chest. 

“I understand, Peakpatch. You don’t have to explain it. It’s okay. I’m here as your friend for as long as you need me to be. And when you’re ready to become mates- if you’re ever ready, I’ll be here then too. I’m not going anywhere. I already promised you that.” Peakpatch let out a shaky breath. He couldn't imagine a life without Jaggedtail. If keeping him at paw's length is what Peakpatch needed to do to keep him alive, then he would be happy to. He could find a way to be happy to.

art by @lurking-in-windclan-camp

Hushed voices echo out of the healer's den, but with the majority of the clan at a gathering there's no one to notice two mischievous apprentices hidden in the shadows of the cave.

“Ah! Shoot!” Dancepaw recoils from one of the piles of herbs, cradling an injured paw, “This one stings!”

Erminepaw peeks over at Dancepaw’s pile. “Hm, that must be nettle, then,” He pauses for a moment, before reaching over and gingerly sweeping it into another pile “Songpaw said that fireweed cures stings, so we’ll put those together. Oo, and the stinkweed too, since they’re both ‘weeds’!”

"What about the berries? They all look the same, so how are we supposed to tell the difference? Taste?" Dancepaw hooks a berry with his claw, raising it to his mouth before a sharp smack from Ermine sends it flying into the dark recesses of the cave.

"No! You never eat a berry that you don't know the name of! Don't you pay attention at all when Songpaw talks?" Ermine's scolding earns him an offended glare.

"Well if you know so much then you do it!" Dancepaw sulks around to the other side of the ledge, shouldering Erminepaw over to the berries.

Erminepaw bristles at the shove, but after a deep breath he begins to hesitantly sort berries, too proud to admit that the task is a bit above his level as well. Besides, Erminepaw assures himself, he's watched his mother do this a thousand times, how hard could it be?

“Songpaw better be grateful that we’re helping him out like this.” Dancepaw grumbles.

“I’m sure he will be when he finds out!” Erminepaw pointedly chirps back, trying to push the creeping feeling of unease back down his spine. If he makes a mistake the healers will fix it. What's the worst that could happen?

Art by @featherfrond

“Hey! Wait up!” Rosehiptree trots up to Kingfur as he slips past the jagged rocks that mark the camp entrance, their pelts brushing as she squeezes through the narrow gap alongside him.

“Everything alright?” Kingfur questions, on edge at the unusual attention. Rosehiptree was his sister Sockeyepelt's friend, it wasn't often that she paid him any mind. Perhaps his prank had inspired the pair of them, the thought sent a shiver down Kingfur's spine. His sister didn't exactly know where the line was when it came to practical jokes. He swore that he still had thorns lodged under his skin from the time she decided he needed to go swimming in a pit of devil's club. It was in his best interest to deflect for now. “Sockeyepelt is sunning back in the camp if you were looking for her.”

“I know that. I’m not looking for her.” Great, Kingfur thought to himself, watching Rosehiptree glance around at their surroundings. Had Sockeyepelt slipped out of camp ahead of them when he wasn't paying attention?

Satisfied with her sweep of the area, Rosehiptree turned her attention back to Kingfur, a wide grin slowly taking hold as ice blue eyes sparkled with delight, “I’m looking for the genius who got Juneaucliff to walk around camp puffed up like a ptarmagin with all that junk smeared on his stupid face!”

Kingfur felt pride well in his chest, but quelled it, not about to let himself fall for such blatant flattery. "You didn't seem to find it all that genius from where I was standing. I didn't think you even payed enough attention to notice."

Rosehiptree rolled her eyes, playfully bumping shoulders with the tom. "That's just cause that's what I wanted you to think. I'm not blind!" Their gazes lock for a moment, before Kingfur glances away, his will power crumbling by the second. Had her eyes alway been that blue? Was that some kind of trick to make him let down his guard? Is there some kind of herb that makes your eyes bluer?

Kingfur takes an instinctive step away from the she-cat, and she hesitates, her gaze dropping as she continues dejectedly, "Juneau's a good guy, don't get me wrong, I'm sure he'd make a great mate, but we're just not on the same page, you know? He deserves someone who's gonna make him happy, and that's not me. It's never gonna be me. But, when I say 'never' he just hears 'not now'." Her eyes flick nervously between her paws as her voice trails off.

This isn't a prank. The realisation washes over him all to late, as Kingfur searches for something to say to her, but caught off guard he comes up empty. Rosehiptree clears her throat and flicks her tail, raising her head once again, and summoning a polite smile. "Well I just wanted to uh, say thanks for getting him off my back for a while." She steps to the side, turning back to camp, and Kingfur's stomach twists.

"Hey, uh-" Having her attention turned back to him once again made some childish part of Kingfur wish he had just let her walk away. But he steeled himself, plastering a confident grin on his face to make up for the fact that his stomach seemed to be trying to climb up out of his throat. "I'm glad I could help, and..." Kingfur's brain was working overtime to find something witty. He wanted to make her laugh again. "I'm glad that you were entertained. That'll make it worth it when he slits my throat in my sleep later tonight."

Rosehiptree grinned again, circling back to his side. "Well at least you'll have died for a worthy cause." Kingfur was going to die right here if she kept smiling at him like that. Would that count as a worthy cause? The tip of his tail flicked rapidly as she approached.

Bolstered by his reciprocated playfulness, Rosehiptree stepped in front of him, brushing the length of her body across his chest, "Of course, if you needed some protection I could always sleep in your nest tonight." Her tail flicked under his chin as she started back to camp once again.

Every fur on Kingfur's pelt stood on end. If he had any brain function at this moment he might worry over his resemblance to a porcupine, but even if he had the mind to do something about it, he couldn't have, as despite feeling like his blood was being heated over a flame, his muscles suddenly seemed to be made of unmovable stone. Perhaps this was a prank, intending to leave him frozen in the middle of this trail for a returning patrol to discover.

"Catch me something while you're out. A puffed up ptarmagin prefferably!" Rosehiptree called to him over her shoulder.

“Y-yeah.” Kingfur stuttered, praying to starclan that his lungs would remember how to work before he passed out. Or at least that he wouldn't topple over before Rosehiptree was out of sight. Mediator heirs weren't supposed to do that, but Kingfur figured that starclan would understand the extenuating circumstances and take pity on him.

That's all for today folks! If you enjoy this I'll do it more! It's a great way for all you background character loving freaks (affectionate) to get some more time with your poor forgotten gays. And it also lets me expand on some ideas that are hard to fit into the comic, like Rosehiptree's complicated feelings about Juneau, which is really fun for me! She's just a heart throb idk what to say. Every man of appropriate age is falling for her. (Except Cave he's too busy being poisoned)

[invenusworld]

🎀 some notes on face reading 🎀

forehead: (as seen from side profile)

- rounded foreheads are associated with friendliness, openness & sensuality. people with these forehead types are often very charming & outgoing and may even gain fame via their beauty/sensuality

eyes:

- recessed/deep set eyes are associated with a guarded nature. these individuals are very observant but tend to be calculated regarding what they reveal. they may have a penetrating gaze and it can be hard to tell what they are actually thinking/feeling

- bulging/protruding eyes are associated with a desire to be involved & included. they like to be a part of the conversation and don't like feeling left out. they can be jovial and outspoken as well

eyebrows:

- low set eyebrows (close to the eyes) are associated with friendliness and familiarity. these natives tend to be highly intelligent and process information quickly

geena davis, 140 IQ

- thick/bushy brows are associated with intelligence and mental prowess as well

- thin brows can indicate deep sensitivity

- rounded eyebrows are called 'courtesan brows.' these natives have a pleasing, feminine, accommodating disposition and make good hosts

- arched brows can indicate creativity and a dominant nature

cheeks/face:

- round, full, prominent cheek bones are associated with youth, beauty & charm and those that naturally captivate attention

- a round face indicates a watery temperament, a highly emotional, sensitive nature prone to frequent fantasies

- sharp, angular features and a triangular face shape indicate a fiery temperament - quick thinkers, fast talkers with low patience, always on go

- cheek dimples are associated with youthfulness, lightheartedness, charm, humor and sensuality

- chin dimples are associated with passion and sexuality, 'player' energy

nose: (as seen from side profile)

- small/button nose is associated with hard work and repetitive tasks, these natives don't mind doing the same task over and over to achieve their desired results

- arched noses are associated with creativity and they often appreciate the arts, these natives often come up creative solutions to problems

- a bump on the nose bridge is associated with traumatic events during one's developing years or teens

- large, prominent noses are associated with business acumen and the potential for power and amassing wealth

lips:

- the philtrum or cupid's bow is called your 'libido lines' and a prominent cupid's bow is associated with fertility, sexuality and vitality. a well defined cupid's bow also draws people's attention to your lips and others will be inclined to pay attention when these natives speak

- full lips are associated with passion and sensuality, these natives often have a deeply passionate nature

- thinner lips can indicate a more reserved, cautious nature, especially regarding love matters

teeth:

- crooked, disarrayed bottom teeth may indicate someone with an argumentative nature who enjoys debating

- a tooth gap can indicate a unique disposition and someone is isn't afraid to stray from the norms or what is expected of them

ears:

- high set ears indicate high intelligence & academic achievements

- low set ears can indicate a late bloomer and someone who achieves substantial success later in life, around middle age

- ears that stick out indicate musicality & musical gifts, as well as a desire/inclination to stand out from the crowd in some way

maya schonbrun, ballerina alma deutscher, composer

[luveline]

missing eddie and roan rn🥲

can we get something were roan brings home flowers she picked during recess for reader🫶

Eddie and Roan —Eddie’s daughter brings you a bouquet when you’re sick. (step)mom!reader

Roan skips up the path to the house with a big smile. “Dad, come on!” she demands.

Eddie’s trying to carry three paper bags of groceries and close the trunk at the same time. He is not receptive to criticism at this present moment. “Shut up, babe.” 

“You shut up!” 

“You first.” He drops the keys by accident. “Ro, can you come and grab these for me? Thank you.”

She races to grab the keys and then back to the door. “Dad, COME ON!” 

“You’re being super rude and irate right now but I forgive you,” Eddie says, yanking the door open to let her inside, “because I know you’re hangry.” 

“Not hangry!” she denies, bursting into the hallway and kicking her shoes so hard against the shoe rack that the top layer of your work shoes topple onto the floor. “Mom!” she shouts, one word lined heavily with joy even now. She’s been calling you mom for months and it doesn’t get any less exciting for her, clearly. “Y/N! Y/N, I got you something! Where are you?” 

“I’m in bed!” you call, sounding excited yourself, if a little confused. “What did you get me?” 

Eddie wasn’t aware of any gifts. He puts the groceries on the counter in the kitchen and follows his charge up the stairs, curious and not wanting to put stuff away anyhow. Roan tumbles into the master bedroom still wearing her red vinyl coat, door slamming into the wall, you wincing in bed. 

Eddie winces too. “Ro,” he says desperately, “come on, bub, she’s in bed rest, remember? So we’re being careful about loud noises. I told you twice today already.” 

“Sorry! I just want to see you,” she says, straight to your side and arms up expecting to be helped. 

You pull her into your lap. “I’m sick of resting anyways.” 

Eddie intercepts Roan’s hug to lean down over you and give you a gentle kiss, of which you are extremely receptive. He gets butterflies thinking about you to this day, and having you raise your chin to receive him intensifies them by half, then whole as your lips do finally touch. 

“Okay day?” he asks. 

“Really quiet,” you say, tugging Roan up into your chest before she can get jealous. 

“Head?” he asks. 

“Fine. Barely a headache anymore.” 

Eddie bites his lip. Not too long ago you were in a hospital bed practically catatonic. He cannot afford to be uncareful with you. You’re too much to him. 

“Promise?” he asks. 

You’re distracted from answering by small hands on your face. “Mommy, I was talking to you first.” 

“Sorry, baby, yes you were.” You sink further down. “Can you ever forgive me?” 

Roan could forgive you for almost anything. She wiggles where she’s sitting on your stomach, hands clumsy at the bottom of her coats zipper, her chest rising and falling after her sprint up the stairs. Eddie and Roan are still both cold enough to have it emanating from their coats, but you don’t care, you just want your after school cuddle.

Eddie peels out of his coat at the same time, takes his shoes off with some self-chastisement (mud upstairs is awful and rude of him and he’ll spend the evening trying to rub it out of the rug because you really like the rug and he likes you), and sits on the bed by your feet. 

“Oh, what have you got?” you ask warmly. 

Eddie bends his head to watch her pull flowers from her overall pocket, one small stem at a time. Daisies and buttercups with petals smaller than her fingernails. They keep coming, ten then twenty, maybe thirty flowers on your chest. The stems are broken, but they’re all more alive than anyone could have hoped for considering they’d been sandwiched in her pocket for hours. 

“These are for me?” you ask. 

“All for you. Except this one for dad,” she says, picking up one of the bigger daisies. “And maybe this one for me.” She grabs a buttercup for herself. 

“Aw, thanks baby. These are gonna make me better, huh?” 

She looks like him when she smiles. Cheesy, cute, she arranges the flowers in a bouquet in her hand and presents it to you grandly. “I picked them at school behind the wooden house. Do you like ‘em?” 

“I love them,” you pronounce, just as grand but not half as loud. 

“I love you.” 

“You cheesball,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. 

“Ignore him.” You touch her cheek with a fondness that makes his jaw ache thinking about the love behind it. “I love you too.” 

“And you’ll be better soon,” Roan says. 

Eddie can answer that one. He holds your ankle through the sheets, and gives your calf a quick stroke. “She’s gonna be a hundred percent any day now, bug. Better be extra gentle with her to help her along.” 

Roan rubs her bouquet of flowers softly under your chin. “I’m gentle,” she whispers. 

You rake your fingers through her hair, a half centimetre a second, fingertips drawing down between her shoulders. Such a mom thing to do, Roan dissolves like sugar paper in the rain. 

Eddie smiles. “Alright, I’m jealous.”

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.8  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.10??

p.9

AN: this took a minute, but I was finishing the outline for a few of the other chapters and a few other works I've been doing. I was off from work for a bit, went back, had a set of traumatic back to back days. and well, writers block is one hell of a thing, y'know? aaaand with the seasonal changes I'm just tired maybe a bit down. but thank you guys for your love and support!

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, violence, lashings, blood, mental breakdowns, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside your moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

threats and cwuddles

an: i said what i said

How utterly pointless.

There he was, standing before the pathetic excuse for a man—the one you called uncle, the so-called leader of your disgraceful clan. The ridiculous get up had him holding back a joke, as the man seemed to sneer down at him. His expression oozing disdain—as if he wasn't even worth the effort of a proper glance.

Toji nearly laughed at the sheer audacity.

This man, puffed up with self-importance and brimming with hollow authority, presumed to have the upper hand?

Absolutely comedic.

Toji let his eyes drift over the man slowly, deliberately, as if assessing a weak opponent in a fight he knew he’d already won. Everything about him screamed mediocrity wrapped in false power—his carefully pressed robes, the practiced tilt of his chin, the way he held his hands behind his back as if it really added weight to his presence.

But Toji saw through it all. He always did.

Authority like this was a farce. A staged act meant to instill fear in those who’d never known freedom. And Toji? He was already a foot out the door. And he didn’t play by their rules. Not now. Not ever.

He could kill him in seconds...if he really wanted to. 

"So," Toji said, his voice dripping with derision. "This is the man in charge, huh? Can’t say I’m impressed. You look more like an angry little chihuahua guarding a bone that isn’t even yours."

Your clan leader's sneer faltered for a second at his blatant disrespect. It wasn't often someone so ill-mannered showed their face in his estate, let alone had the audacity to open their mouth in front of him.

But they were all the same to Toji—weak, predictable, and utterly worthless.

Toji wasn’t the type to be a hero—never had been, never would be. Kindness just wasn’t in his nature, and every decision he made came with a price. He didn’t hand out favors for free, and he certainly didn’t involve himself in someone else’s mess out of the goodness of his heart.

So why was he here?

The answer was annoyingly simple.

you.

Maybe it was because, technically, he was your husband. Sure, it was only in name, but the fact remained. Or maybe it was because of Megumi—his dumb, lovesick son—whose actions, if not his words, made it painfully clear just how deeply his affections for you ran. 

From the surface, Toji could make excuses, just how he may have when he first picked you up from this clan. But deep down, way below—in the dark recesses of his mind, Toji understood the real reason.

It wasn’t about obligation or some half-hearted attempt to help Megumi.

It was the moment you'd broken down in his arms.

Sobbing, so uncharacteristically vulnerable, your back covered in those deep, fresh lashes—five if he counted correctly. Clinging onto him, in a way you hadn't ever done before, even when Megumi had been ignoring you. And he could see the scars from previous lashings. Some faint, a light pink indention, and others a solid light purple.

He wasn’t good at comforting people—really. And what good was an assassin in that situation?—but something in that moment had made his head snap. And a mix of different memories and bottled-up emotions compelled him forward. He'd never made impulsive decisions. And Toji Fushiguro was never one for kindness.

But now, here he was. Standing in front of your uncle, the so-called leader of your clan, ready to do something he knew was reckless. Something that could potentially mess things up for both you and his son. A defensive action like this could easily hint at a deeper relationship between the two of you, which was not something he really wanted. These geezers weren't brand new to mind games, but neither was he. And, sure, he could just kill the guy, but that seemed like way too much effort. A few choice words should handle it.

"So, tell me...why is the Toji Fushiguro bothering to grace me with his presence? I can’t imagine you're here to meet the in-laws?" He was fishing, hoping he would rise to the occasion, hint at any personal glimpse into the killer before him.

Toji didn’t take the bait. He just stood there, calm as ever, his face giving nothing away. God, did he hate these clan politics. His dark eyes casually swept the room, clearly bored—not impressed by the fancy decor, not intimidated by the guards at the doors, and definitely not by your uncle. Honestly, he'd rather be back home, digging into some of your homemade yakitori. This whole thing was turning out to be a real drag.

"What’s the matter? Are you just here to puff your chest and waste my time?" He's getting antsy now,

Toji’s lips twitched into an almost imperceptible smirk. His gaze razor-sharp, locking onto the older man. There was a pause as your uncle locked eyes on Toji's. Unmoving, unflinching, before Toji took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance just enough to make the clan leader stiffen. "You know," Toji said, his voice casual, almost conversational, "it’s funny. For a guy so full of himself, you’re awfully quiet about those welts you sent her home with."

Your uncle's eyes widened—but only for a moment, leaning back with mock nonchalance. "Welts? I have no idea what you're talking about. And what's it to you anyway? Don't tell me you've actually caught feelings for her?"

"Feelings? Don’t kid yourself. I’m not here to play hero, and I’m definitely not here for her." Toji shrugged casually, tossing his head to the side and leaning back to give him some room, his eyes flicking over the clan leader, as if taking his question seriously. "But let’s be honest—she doesn’t look as hot in bed when she’s got all those welts. Kinda ruins the mood, you know?"

Stunned, the clan leader chuckled uneasily, trying to regain some semblance of control. He shouldn't have been too surprised given the Sorcerer Killers stellar reputation for the debauched lifestyle. You were technically his wife afterall, "Ah, well—that makes more sense. Using the whore for what she's worth, I guess." Toji could practically hear your resale value dropping by the second, as the clan leader processed this thought before continuing in an almost thoughtful murmur. "Just here to make sure your toy stays intact."

"Call it whatever you want. I don’t care. But if you think I’ll let you mark her skin up again, then you’re even dumber than you look."

The clan leader’s sneer returned, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. Much like a petulant child, not getting his way. "And if I don’t? What then, Fushiguro? You’ll kill me?" Now lets not go putting ideas into his head...

Toji let out a low chuckle, shaking back in laughter at the fear creeping into his voice. "Kill you? Nah. You’re not worth the effort." He paused, feigning a change of heart as his voice dropped, leaning in again for the kill, his words a hefty weight. "Actually, maybe I’ll stick around. Tear this whole place apart just for fun. I hate this sorcerer bullshit anyway. Watching your precious clan crumble might actually make my day."

The clan leader’s face twitched, his bravado faltering again under Toji’s unrelenting gaze, his words hanging in the air-message loud and clear.

"Fine," he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "If it means that much to you, no more marks. No need to make this a bigger deal than it is."

Toji smirked, satisfied. He stepped back as he turned toward the door. "Good. Glad we could see eye to eye," he said oh so smoothly.

With that, he strode out, leaving your uncle in an uncomfortable silence. Toji knew the man wouldn’t see him as anything but a threat, and that was exactly what he wanted. As long as they kept their grubby hands off you, he didn’t care what they thought—or what he had to say to make them believe it. And hopefully your home clan wouldn't go around making decisions on this calculated move alone.

Now, it was time for some well-deserved meat.

Thankfully, your clan visits were few and far between.

The trip home that day had been nothing short of brutal, and your clan head’s disdainful disregard for how you might explain the aftermath to your husband lingered in your mind like a bitter aftertaste.

The weeks dragged on, and before you knew it, the seasons had shifted. Fall gave way to winter, winter melted into spring, and eventually, summer arrived again. Yet, Megumi’s absence remained a constant despite the seasonal changes. 

Determined to stay connected despite the distance, you’d picked up a cell phone not long after Megumi left. Toji had handed over both his and Megumi's numbers with his usual air of indifference. “In case of emergencies,” he’d said, tossing the paper onto the table like it was no big deal. But to you, it was. Your focus had been on one number only: Megumi’s. He was the hardest to reach anyways. 

What would you even say? Hi, how are you? Too formal. I miss you already. Too much. The hesitation gnawed at you. After a few moments, you settled on something simple and sent it off, heart pounding in the silence that followed.

Megumi’s replies, however, had been scarce—short, distant, and frustratingly neutral. You tried not to let it sting, reasoning that he was busy adjusting to his new life at Jujutsu Tech. He had training, studies, and an entirely new world to navigate. But the lack of insight into his world left you feeling unmoored and oh so helpless.

Did he eat well? Was he overworking himself? Did he even want to hear from you? The unanswered questions piled up, an invisible weight pressing on your chest.

When his birthday came, you’d agonized over whether to call, but the fear of interrupting—or worse, being brushed off—kept your fingers from dialing. Instead, you texted him, wishing him a happy birthday in a message that felt far too impersonal. Hours later, his reply came: a simple thank you.

It was polite, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t tell you if he was happy, if he’d smiled at your message, if he’d even thought of you beyond that brief acknowledgment. The distance between you felt larger than ever, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was slipping further away—or if you were.

You hoped—prayed—that he’d found some happiness at school. That maybe the time away had helped him grow, helped him heal in ways you couldn’t. You wondered if his sharp tongue and stubborn attitude had softened enough to allow for real friendships. Did he smile more? Did he laugh? You pictured him in that new world, surrounded by people who might understand him better.

As summer approached, anticipation and unease twisted in your chest, a slow, suffocating knot that tightened with each passing day. The thought of seeing him again stirred a mix of emotions—excitement, yes, but also a quiet fear that plagued you. Would he still look at you with that same guarded expression? Would the distance he’d created remain? Would he persist with questions you couldn't answer?

His parting words haunted you, echoing in the quiet moments when your mind wandered too far. You replayed that last conversation over and over, dissecting every syllable, every pause, every look. The unspoken questions lingered like ghosts: Had you done enough? Said enough? You’d wished, countless times, that you’d found the right words to ease the tension before he left.

Now, with the summer sun creeping closer, you could only wonder if it was too late to mend what had been broken—or if it had been broken at all.

And then, one quiet afternoon, he came home.

The sound of the door creaking open sent a jolt through you. Without thinking, you found yourself halfway down the hallway, your heart pounding in your chest.

When you saw him, you froze—and so did he.

He stood in the doorway, his tall frame outlined by the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. A faint breeze followed him in, tousling his hair and leaving it slightly messy, adding to the disheveled charm he carried so effortlessly. His piercing eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away.

Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, laden but charged, his gaze lingering on your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail. He looked different—older, his features sharper, his presence more commanding. You still found yourself struggling to recognize him each time you saw him—such a common occurrence now that it was almost expected. There was something in his eyes, something softer, more vulnerable. He looked like he wanted to say something.

“Megumi,” you whispered, full of hesitance. Your voice almost broke under the weight of the moment, a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

He didn’t move, his hands still gripping the straps of the bag slung over his shoulder. For a second, you thought he wouldn’t respond. Then he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as he stepped further inside.

“Hey,” he said softly, the warmth in his voice wrapping around you like a balm. It was a simple word, but it carried so much—a mixture of relief, uncertainty, and something deeper—something unfamiliar, that made your chest well up.

You’d missed him more than you dared to admit. More than you’d allowed yourself to feel during the long months of silence. And now, standing here, the space between you felt both impossibly vast and achingly small.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, without a second thought, you closed the space between you and wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. He stiffened, caught off guard, before slowly, his arms came up to hold you, and to your surprise, he hugged you back. Not hesitantly or awkwardly, but fully, his arms wrapping securely around you and pulling you close, almost flush to him. His head dipped down, his nose brushing against your hair as he held you firmly against his chest.

“Welcome home,” you murmured, unable to keep the brittleness from your tone, your cheek pressed against him. The words felt fragile, as though the moment might shatter if you spoke too loudly.

He didn’t respond immediately, but you felt him exhale, a deep, contented sigh that seemed to come from somewhere buried deep inside. His nose pushed further into your hair, and his grip tightened just enough to knock the breath out of you.

“I missed you,” his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the stillness. You hadn't expected it, the sentiment not lost on you. It'd been too long, the texts too short, and the emptiness of the house too loud. But the way his arms enveloped you, strong and protective, took away all of those negative feelings.

Your arms tightened around him in return, head still laying on his chest. The words slipping from your lips, practically dripping with affection. “I missed you too.”

Finally, after what felt like both seconds and forever, he shifted slightly, loosening his hold just enough for you to pull back. When your eyes met his again, you couldn't help the small smile plastered on your face. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, and it sent a bittersweet ache through your chest, a feeling you didn’t quite know how to name.

The corner of his mouth twitched, “You text a lot, you know that?”

A soft laugh bubbled out of you. “And you’re terrible at replying.”

“Dinner’s already started,” remembering the pan still on the stove. “You’re probably starving.”

He didn’t let go immediately, his hands lingering on your arms as if reluctant to let the moment end. “Yeah,” his voice low, as a faint flush crept up his cheeks, he finally stepped back. “Starving.”

You gave him a warm smile, brushing your hand lightly against his arm before turning toward the kitchen. Even as you moved away, you could feel his gaze lingering on you from behind—heavy, unrelenting, and more present that he previously was. Whatever walls had been between you before—whatever distance he’d tried to create—seemed to crumble in that quiet, intimate moment. Just what happened while he was at school?

Dinner that night was warm and comforting, a feeling you hadn’t experienced in what felt like forever.

“So, how was school? Are you making any friends?” you chirp, pacing around the kitchen, so aware of his eyes tracing your every movement. The excitement in your tone was impossible to miss, a lightness that hadn’t been there in months. After so many quiet dinners with only Toji for company, the thought of someone else at the table made you relieved. Even if the two of you had been getting along better recently.

Megumi glanced up from his plate, pausing for a moment before answering. “It’s...fine,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind. “I’m focused on my training. That’s what matters.”

You hummed, a small smile tugging at your lips. You don't miss the evasiveness of his answer. “Still, I hope you’re finding time to enjoy yourself, even just a little.”

He didn’t respond right away, fiddling with his food, his gaze briefly dropping to his plate.

“Make any friends?” you try again, gently.

“A few,” he admitted, his tone reluctant but not dismissive.

“Really?” you hum out again, glancing over your shoulder at him. You wanted him to open up to you, but with his nature it wasn't exaclty going to be easy to get him to talk. “Anyone special?”

He shrugged, eyes still downcast. “Not really,” he replied, his voice neutral but you saw the way he trailed off, lost in his own thoughts.

You paused, raising an eyebrow at him, deciding to press a little more. “C’mon, Megumi,” you teased lightly, turning back to the stove. Your tone intentionally unserious. “I know you’re not that antisocial. You’ve got to be opening up a little, right?”

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but the expression didn’t quite land. “It’s fine,” he groaned, though his tone softened slightly, as if the question hadn’t entirely annoyed him. “I’ve been busy.”

You hummed again in acknowledgment, not pushing him further, but your smile lingered. You were just glad to have him here, back where he belonged. Actually talking to you. Even if he wasn’t saying much, his presence spoke volumes.

Your questions continued easily—about school, his classes, his life outside of the house—and though his answers were typically grumpy and brief, you didn’t mind. It was the fact that he was answering at all, the fact that he wasn’t shutting you out, that made it all feel worthwhile. You didn’t dare bring up the tension from last summer, not wanting to risk spoiling the fragile good mood.

Toji was out for the night, leaving the house blissfully quiet, and Megumi made no comment on the food, though he cleaned his plate for the second time. It was a small victory, but it still left you smiling as you settled onto the couch afterward.

Megumi surprised you by sitting beside you. He didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms and leaned back, his expression neutral as you put on a movie. Sure, he'd sat near you before, but the long months that followed his absence made you tense a bit. He didn’t seem particularly interested in the movie you put on, but you heard no complaints.

At some point, exhaustion crept up on you. The day had been long, and the warmth of the room, combined with Megumi’s quiet, steady presence, lulled you into sleep. Without realizing it, you shifted slightly, leaning toward him, your head eventually coming to rest against his shoulder.

Megumi, of course, noticed immediately.

He stiffened at first, his entire body going rigid as he felt the soft weight of you curling against him. His breath hitched, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would break out of his chest. His mind screamed at him to stay still, to not move or make a sound.

But then he glanced down.

You looked so peaceful, so utterly at ease with him, and it sent a surge of emotions through him that he could barely contain. Warmth, nervousness, longing—it all tangled together, leaving him frozen in place. The faint light from the television cast soft shadows across your face, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

You trusted him so much, leaned into him so easily, and it made him ache with something deep and primal. He didn’t know if he deserved this—if he deserved you—but he couldn’t stop himself from savoring the moment.

Tentatively, he allowed himself to relax, his shoulder shifting slightly to give you more room. His fingers twitched in his lap, aching to reach out and brush a stray strand of hair from your face, but he held himself back. He couldn’t ruin this.

He stayed like that, unmoving, as you curled closer, your breathing soft and even against him. Every part of him burned with the overwhelming need to keep you like this, to hold you, to never let you go. 

When the movie ended, and the room fell into quiet stillness, he carefully reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. Gently, he pulled it over you, his hand brushing your arm as he tucked it around you. The brief contact sent a shiver down his spine, but he forced himself to pull away.

He refused to leave, wanting to be with you like this as long as possible. 

p.1

p.10

come home

[iitsarss]

𓎟𓎟 reader x gr13f3r　caught　 ◞ ◟

ꔛ word count: 813⠀╱⠀established relationship + teen(on senior year) griefer 。

(¬_¬")⠀⠀⠀note ⠀╱⠀tw:suggestive(sort of) + mention of protection

hi guys it's your favorite griefer lover ars!!! i love this stupid asshole smmm anyways had this idea while i was in math class lol,,more notes on the end btw

It had been a long, exhausting day for Griefer. It started with his dad anxiously yelling that he was going to be late for school, even though Griefer couldn’t have cared less. Still, his dad’s constant nagging wore him down, so he grudgingly got ready. After enduring the 15-minute walk to school, he met up with some friends and killed time before the bell rang. The first few hours of class dragged on, painfully dull, except for some gossip about a couple that made the rounds—nothing too exciting.

Recess was a slight reprieve, but it was short-lived. Griefer and his friends got into a fight, which led to yet another expulsion letter to bring home. Great. Just what he needed. Another lecture from his dad about how “Brad, you can’t keep acting like this. This isn’t who you are. You need to—” Blah, blah, blah. The familiar talk he’d heard a hundred times. The remaining three hours of school went by quickly after that, but by the time he was finally free, he was completely drained.

After school, he found a spot on the stairs and busied himself with a random game on his phone, waiting for something—someone—to make the day better. And then, there you were. The moment he saw you, his heart raced. He nervously shoved his phone into his pocket, suddenly flustered by your presence. He stood to greet you, placing a trembling hand on your waist before leaning in for a kiss. Instantly, the tension left his body, and he felt a bit more at ease.

"UH... H1, B4B3."

You and Griefer had been dating for about two months, but he had been crushing on you for four years. Even now, with you officially his, he still wasn’t used to the feeling. After some small talk and wandering around town together, you both decided to head back to his place. He casually mentioned that his dad had a meeting at city hall and wouldn’t be home until around nine. It was just you and him, alone for the evening.

Once at his house, Griefer grabbed a couple of Bloxy Colas and some snacks before leading you up to his room. He shut the door behind you both and flopped onto his bed, signaling for you to join him. The afternoon was peaceful—lazy in the best way. You chatted, played some games, and even watched a movie, which Griefer spent most of the time criticizing despite being the one who had picked it. Now, as the evening settled in, Griefer lay on the bed beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist. His hand moved gently, rhythmically, up and down, soothing you while he ranted about how bad some game was. You half-listened, enjoying the comfort of his touch.

Eventually, he turned onto his side, hesitantly moving his hand to your cheek and brushing his fingers across your skin. A few seconds later, he slid his hand to your chin, his voice soft.

"Y0U L00K G00D, Y'KN0W TH4T?"

Nervously, he leaned in, bringing your lips to his. The kiss was tender, full of care, and as his hand drifted from your waist to your thigh, pulling it onto his leg, the kiss grew sloppier, more passionate. You both broke apart for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, before Griefer, slightly embarrassed, brought your chin back toward him, kissing you again. This time, he shifted you on top of him, his hands roaming from your waist to your hair, to your arms, exploring every inch of you. The kiss deepened, becoming more heated, and soon Griefer was sitting up with you straddling his lap, his hands running rapidly along your body.

Things were getting intense—his shirt was halfway off when—

"Hey brad,I'm hom—"

Griefer froze mid-motion, his heart nearly stopping as his dad, Mayor Thaniyel, walked into the room. The poor old guy looked like he was about to have a heart attack, seeing his son half-naked with you sitting on his lap.

"D4D!" Griefer shouted, scrambling to pull his shirt back on while his dad, wide-eyed and clearly mortified, quickly closed the door.

"I’m sorry! I didn’t know! I’m so sorry!" Mayor Thaniyel stammered from the hallway, his voice echoing as he practically sprinted away to another part of the house.

Griefer, flushed with embarrassment, immediately turned to you, apologizing repeatedly while you tried to calm him down, assuring him it was fine. After you left the house, Griefer had to endure his dad apologizing at least 20 more times before awkwardly standing beside him for what was probably the most humiliating moment of his life. His dad, after taking a deep breath, said, “Brad, we should probably talk about protection before—"

"0H MY G0D, D4D!" Griefer groaned, cutting him off mid-sentence before storming back to his room, leaving his dad standing there, red-faced and stammering for words.

grrr i love griefer,anyways!! PLS DONT TAKE THE "PROTECTION" ONLY AS LIKE,FEMALE ANATOMY PROTECTION PLS!!!! i mean it as protection in general with any gender alr...uh so erm yeah i love griefer a lot and senior year griefer sounds funny to me,i want to hold him yall