#so actually EIGHT muses

[noblehcart]

i swear i'm always tempted to add an oc nurse muse because i think i don't write any/that many medical muses until i start writing Mccoy and realize just HOW many medical i do actually have. SIX.

[aparticularbandit]

haruhi's immediate hatred of yasuke is just. so much fun to write.

i love her.

[tonycries]

FIVE! - C.K.

Synopsis. Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader 

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, bréeding, Choso with rings + a tongue piercing, creampíe, mentioned kids, cúmplay, he goes feraI, oraI (fem receiving), Itadori family shenanigans (mild spoilers for unc-kuna), overstím, fíngering, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Will I ever write a Choso fic without the Itadori family? No absolutely not.

4:37PM.

“Ooo, Cho can we check that place out?”

And, listen, just because Choso would give you the moon right along with his heart doesn’t exactly mean he’s jumping with joy when he follows your gaze to that gaudy little shop tucked away in a corner of the mall. Flashing a loud, glittering sign reading, “FORTUNES: FIND YOUR FUTURE!”

Traitorous memories flash through his mind with each step you drag him closer. Of all those fortune shops he’d frequented years ago, trying to figure out whether you’d say yes to a date - before even thinking of actually asking you. 

He won’t ask anything, Choso reassures, stepping through the heady, curtained doorway. Probably not anything, he’s musing, pulling out his wallet to pay for your session. Well, maybe some things, he concludes, eyeing the sprightly old woman that takes a seat opposite you two, peering down at her dramatically large glass ball on the table. 

But that doesn’t mean he’ll-

“Babies.”

“Huh?”

“Yes.” the woman gives a solemn nod. “Five of them.”

Both of you let out a squawk of surprise, much to the amusement of the fortune teller. And Choso can feel his palms getting sweaty against your own as he manages to croak out a low, disbelieving, “Five?”

All but toppling out of his seat in suspense as she takes a moment to scrutinize her orb once more. And, surely glass balls can glitch, right? Mix up fortunes or something? Because while he knows you’ll be by his side in this life and every other one after - kids were a whole other responsibility that neither of you had talked about, yet.

At least, that’s what Choso was trying to convince himself right before the woman lets out a thoughtful hum, “Well, you-” pointing a wisened, accusing finger right in his flushed face. “-want more - about eight - but, of course, your future wife says no.” Gesturing to your giggling figure, “Honestly, young man, learn to keep it in your pants, the poor dear!”

Shit, he was going to run away, do something to end up on the national news - and judging by the way you squeeze his hand, you could tell, too. 

Subconsciously, Choso’s eyes scan the wall for any hidden cameras, wondering what type of strange prank this was. It had happened once four years ago - and just-so-happened to be what made him give up and finally ask you out - but, hey, it made for a pretty great first date story, right?

Finding none, he sighs, barely opening his mouth to ask before she plows on, “And of course there’s only so many your uncle can piggyback at once, right? No matter how much that grump says he doesn’t like it.”

Right.

Of course.

Oh god, he thinks he could faint. 

Choso doesn’t dare say anything for the rest of the session, nor does he look directly in your eyes. Save for that one time to admire your delighted laugh when the fortune teller prattles on about how your kids will “fight his needy self for your attention.”

Not until the two of you are stepping back out into the too-bright mall, your fingers intertwined with his, voice sweet in his ear as you continue with your forgotten mission to find the good brownie mix for the family dinner tonight. 

“Eyes like yours and hair like mine.” You sigh, repeating what you’d heard mere minutes ago. Hooking a finger subtly into his belt loop, smirking, “Sooo, five, huh? You’re this worked up over that?”

“N-no.” Choso replies hastily, but the heavy gulp he takes is a dead giveaway he can’t stop thinking about tiny combinations of the two of you running around. Face too-hot, hands jittery, brows furrowed as he decides for the second time in his life that, yeah he’s never stepping foot inside a fortune shop again. 

You notice - of course, you do. 

Especially when he pulls you into the nearest changing stall, knuckle-deep inside your drenched panties, rings cool against your cunt, lips kissing at your throat. Ignoring your teasing complaints about “getting late”, despite how you’re letting him have his way. 

He feels the vibration of your voice under his hot tongue, laughing - even when he gives your pretty clit a little pinch. “Five.”

And through it all, he can’t help but think - hypothetically, of course, that he hopes they all have your laugh.

---

7:16PM.

Honestly, the one thing that made the Itadori residence more of a home to Choso was having you there. Even when you’re standing with him outside the front door, letting out a sigh as you glare at your sad excuse for brownies.

“Ugh, Cho, we totally burnt them.” you grumble up at your boyfriend. “Your dad is gonna hate it and Sukuna’s gonna make fun of me and-”

“Sukuna can try.” Choso hits the doorbell once more, sure that the ruckus inside was too loud to even think over. “And he probably will.” Before turning back to your adorable pout, and ah he can’t stop himself from cupping your face, smoothing over that furrow in your brow. He leans in to give your lips a chaste peck, “But, he’s still gonna steal some. N’ dad’ll love it, and you already know gramps is gonna sneak in some even though his doctor told him not to.” He’s getting out through kisses, pulling your giggling face closer to his. “And we’ll be lucky to get any before Itadori inhales them.”

He ends his little speech with a slow, lingering kiss. Sliding his soft lips across your now much happier ones. Dancing a hand down to pull your hips closer, murmuring throatily, “N’ most of all, I’m gonna love ‘em, baby.”

You gasp at the feeling of his long fingers pressing just at the hem of your panties through your dress, “You’re- you’re too much.” You hiss, but it comes out more breathless than you intended. “But, the brownies really are-”

Slam!

“Yeah yeah, Jin, the brats are finally here, jus’ fucking on the porch!” 

If there’s anything Choso’s learned from all the times you’ve had dinner with his family, it’s that 1. Yes, the brownies - as burnt and questionable as they were - will always turn out to be a hit in the Itadori household. 2. You were really, really too perfect for your own good, even amidst the chaos. 

“Oh no, let me.” you flash Jin a beaming smile, taking over the well cleared-out plates to the kitchen. Only to be followed by an enthusiastic Yuji almost tripping over his own feet to help you out. 

“You got a good one there.” Choso snaps out of his soft stare to whirl around at where his grandpa was seated next to him. He tips his head over to where you were chattering animatedly with the younger boy taking your load of dishes. “Real lovely. Though, the desert I’m assuming you helped out with.”

Jin pipes up, “Bah! I thought that liquorice was great.”

“They were…brownies.” Face burning, he stammers, knowing full well that you were the one that forgot them in the oven. “And uh y-yeah, you got me…”

And, of course, because it’s a family dinner, Sukuna has to lean over to rile him up. Interjecting teasingly, “Then you best wife that cute lil’ thing up before those baking skills of yours make ‘em run off n’ find someone that can bake.” He smirks devilishly, eyes flitting to the view of the kitchen, “And…”

“And?”

“-is fuckin’ great with kids, too.”

Several things happen at once - the words are barely out of Sukuna’s mouth before he’s being swatted over the head. Hard. After all, being the nicer of the two doesn’t make Jin Itadori forget his roots as the older brother.

And Choso’s jaw is dropping into a soft oh! Not at the unusual display of strength, no, instead it was at the heavenly scene before him.

He swears, the lights grow just a bit brighter and the world becomes a little rosier at the sight of you teaching an eager Yuji the correct way to scrub strainers. Gently guiding the boy until that confused furrow between his brow disappears. “Yeah, just a bit more on the side and you’re done!”

He gives you a very soapy high-five, “You’re literally a lifesaver, Kugisaki was just making fun of me for this the other day.” Moving onto the rest of the workload, “‘Can’t do shit’ gonna show her, seriously. Thank you mom- uh-”

Yuji freezes. You freeze. And it seems that everyone in the world might’ve frozen, except for Sukuna who was still rubbing that bump on his head. 

And you, of course, promptly cutting off the flurry of apologies that looked like they were about to burst from Itadori’s lips. Smiling at the flustered boy softly, “Well…good job, Yuji.” you bump his hip. “And now onto the blender.”

“AW, MAN.”

Suddenly, everything was normal again. Except for Choso - definitely not Choso. 

Mom? 

So utterly, completely not Choso when everyone’s still talking downstairs, and he’s not. Making some cheap excuse about a ‘bathroom break’, which really didn’t explain why he covertly drags you behind him by the hand. All but shoving you into his childhood bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as he could without alerting anyone of your tryst. 

“Ch-Cho-” you squeal when he pushes you against the wall, dropping down to his knees with a fervor that makes you wince. But if it hurt, then Choso doesn’t show it - doesn’t show anything but pure need when he bunches your dress up at your waist. Soft tongue darting out to glide along your drenched slit, “What’s gotten- hngh- into you?”

The only response you get is a murmured growl of something you can’t bother deciphering. And he doesn’t give you any other, either - sluggishly nudging away your panties to admire your glistening cunt. 

So close. Just hovering over your puffy folds, smiling at the way they only get wetter at his hot breath, “Five.”

Too close. Glossy pink lips falling slack to wrap around your clit and-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Though, it was more of a bang. And an even louder voice from outside, “OI, you brats better be decent, gramps found some dusty old albums n’ wants you two down.”

---

9:02PM.

“Awww, this is from his first fight with Yuji- yes, Choso so what if I took a picture?” Jin excitedly points to a photo on the page, “Yuji was the one with a bruise, but Choso was the one bawling.”

You titter at the glossy picture, a confused-looking Yuji as a toddler, being smothered by his older brother in a hug - big, fat tears running down his pouty cheeks. Adorable. And somehow that encounter with the fortune teller today rings in your mind - wonder if your kids would have those same eyes?

“As cute as ever, huh?” your gaze dances across all the gems of childhood on the page. 

“Disagreed.” Sukuna leans over, no matter how much he’d like to pretend he wasn’t interested in these albums. “Look how attached the lil’ anklebiter used to be.” A painted nail pokes at one of Choso on his uncle’s shoulders, tiny fists happily gripping onto pink hair - much to his disgruntlement. “And then I look over at him now and-” He glances over at the man in question, very much unamused. “Well. That’s disappointing.”

Choso rolls his eyes, “What’s disappointing is how you’re this old but still can’t find a-” 

“Ooo look this is from when he’d run away during bath time!”

That album is snatched so fast out of Jin’s hands that you wonder whether it might just be your imagination. But you look over at a red-faced Choso, seeing him hold it way above your heads. Muttering out a hasty, “I think that’s enough photo time.”

Amidst the collective groans of disappointment - even Sukuna lets out a low huff, you hadn’t gotten to those ugly matching Halloween costume pictures yet - only Yuji speaks up, “Do you think I’d be like that, too?”

Sukuna scoffs, “What? An emo bastard? Might just work out for ya, kid, the dumbass look isn’t doing you any favors.”

Yuji juts his chin in indignance, “No- we already have Fushiguro for that.” Tilting his head over to the album still tight in Choso’s clutches. “Do you think your kids would like me? Would I be that cool favorite family member?”

“No way, brat. It’ll be me.”

Choso’s grandpa also chimes in as well, “Huh? No, I’d be the favorite.”

“Gramps-”

“Says who?”

“DISRESPECT TO YOUR ELDERS!”

“Hey!” Everything turns to Choso, startled at his sudden outburst. Tension crackling as he pokes a thumb at his chest, “I’d be their favorite. For all five of them.”

And you knew a fist or two to be thrown, hell, you half-expected the album to be used as some type of weapon. Because before you knew it, Sukuna was on Yuji, and both Yuji and Choso were on Sukuna. Falling to the floor in a tangled pile while his grandpa sat on the sidelines, chanting an elated, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Ah, it’s times like this that you wonder how Jin Itadori really had the patience. Because with all the grace that was lacking in the current scuffle on the living room floor, he claps his hands loudly. “Alright. Perhaps Choso’s right, that’s enough photo time for tonight.” He plucks the album out of a dazed Choso still gripping onto it, before moving to walk out. “And for the record-” Flashing you all a devious smile which suddenly had you remember that shit, him and Sukuna were twins, after all. “-I’d be the favorite.”

The arguments that followed were ones you had to record on your phone to giggle at later. And, yet, through it all, the only thing you could truly focus on were Choso’s words - all five of them.

Fuck. You were truly, irrevocably so fucked, and one sideglance at the pretty pink blush burning at the tips of Choso’s ears told you he wasn’t faring any better. 

You jolt when his hand wraps around your waist - nothing out of the ordinary - but what was was the way he strayed past their usual perch at your hip, trailing slightly above to just caress your stomach. Something so electric in those eyes when they catch yours briefly. 

All five of them, huh?

---

9:37PM. 

SLAM!

“Cho, why’d you-”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know what’s hitting you first - his lips crashing against yours, or the realization that this was Choso. Dark eyes half-lidded, skin burning, breaths heaving with the fervor he was drinking you in with. 

“What-” you yelp when he pulls away lazily to suck on your lower lip. “What got-” Only to come clashing back down again, drawing out all the air in your lungs as he blindly shoves the two of you against the nearest wall. “What got into you this- mmpf-” And again it’s like Choso didn’t want you to talk - could bare another word in your sweet voice for fear of poking some deep, visceral part of himself awake. 

This time, not even daring to break the kiss, he pants into your open mouth, “Shut up.” So bruisingly sloppy, “Please.”

And oh he was so very determined to have it that way, because all you can do is let out breathless gasps when his hands dance down your body. Handling you so rough with the way he snaps the neckline of your cute lil’ dress, kneading your breasts, your hips. Everywhere and anywhere he could reach until he makes his way down to cup your already-damp cunt through your panties. “-because tonight m’gonna have her talking.”

Choso pushes his hips against yours with a strained grunt. Lips curling into a sinful leer when all you can do is gasp at the outline of his thick erection through his pants. Grinding down onto his palm subconsciously, dragging your sloppy pussy. 

“Shit.” Choso immediately brings his hand up to admire - now all glistening with a sheen of your syrupy slick. Looking you right in your glassy eyes as he pops a wet finger into his mouth. His own rolling to the back of his head, “Oh shit.”

Oh, he was going to enjoy this. So very, very much.

“Turns out…” he trails off, cutting himself off by dropping to his knees. Hard. Large hands groping your ass closer to his greedy mouth, “-she says we got some unfinished business.”

You whine when Choso hooks an index underneath the mound of your drenched panties sliding it along your puffy folds. All the way up until he was nudging at your pretty clit, then down, down, down until you were just coating his fingers. 

“Ngh- Cho-” your knees weaken, when his hot breath hits your pussy. And he notices - of course he does. Circling his muscled arms around your legs to hold you up, “Oh my god s’too much.”

Too much? He’s barely even getting started. And he tells you that - slurs it between his sharp canines biting down on the thin fabric of your panties. He tugs with his teeth, “M’gonna- fuck you smell so heavenly- m’gonna ruin you.” 

You whimper in disbelief. Knowing he was too entranced with your cunt to tease you again, you mewl, “Wh-what’s got you this- fuck- worked up, Cho?”

The only response you get is a throaty growl - like the mere idea of the answer to that has Choso losing his sanity. 

And, honestly he feels like he’s lost it already. Instead, taking his time to watch the way your slick beads through the see-through fabric with each passing second. Breaths coming out in little puffs as he pulls your panties back every-so-slightly and-

“Fuck!”

And then he’s pulling - ripping your poor panties to shreds. Cock twitching wildly at the strings of slick connecting your pussy to the fabric. Mouthwatering. 

Your panties lay in tatters on the floor. The cold air hitting you right along with his steady stream of saliva. Once. Twice. Smearing it across your folds with his thumbs as Choso repeats a single, jagged whisper, “Five.”

But you barely even have the time to register his response before he’s diving nose-deep into your dripping cunt. You don’t even know if he took the time to breathe - hell, he was kissing your puffy folds like he didn’t need to breathe. 

“Shouldn’t have taken me to ngh- that fortune shop.” his lips mesh sloppily with yours. “Shouldn’t have gone to dinner, too.” Licking down your folds, the cold metal of his piercing making your head spin. “Fuckkk we shouldn’t have. Ohhh we shouldn’t have- ”

He can’t help but let out a guttural, fucked-out little grunt at the sight. Looking right up into your glassy eyes as the tip of his nose bumps against your throbbing clit. On purpose. 

You buck your hips deeper into his pretty face, mewling. “O-oh. Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Letting him lick so filthily all over your clit - your folds - just barely dipping into your hole like he couldn’t decide. And it finally sets in that just maybe you weren’t getting off easy this time. “Five?”

And fuck you can feel the way Choso grins against your pussy, wrapping his now-glossy lips around your clit to suck so harshly.

“Mhmmm.” he moans, cheeks hollowing as he tugs on your poor, ravaged clit. Rolling his tongue - the ball of his piercing - right across the sensitive bud in just the way he knew you liked. “Shouldn’t have put those thoughts in my head, baby.”

Oh.

Oh, shit. Five. 

You definitely weren’t making it out alive today.

The same sentiment seems to ring in Choso’s pussydrunk head as he pulls away with a lewd squelch to grin up at you. So fucking pretty with his eyes miles away, hair messily framing his smudged eyeliner. Lips all puffy and glistening, your slick covering the lower half of his face, his chin - some even on his jaw like Choso was trying to get messy on purpose. “Ya finally got it, baby? I could feel her gettin’ wetter.”

You did. How could you not?

You jump when Choso reattaches his lips, this time bullying his tongue past your folds, into that first, feeble ring of resistance. Stretching out your sopping entrance on his tongue in persistent, rough pushes. “Seems she hngh- really likes the idea, hm? Of me breeding this lil’ cunt?” he moans, muffled with the way he was thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper with each second. Roaming for those cute sensitive spots he knew so well, “N’ who am I to say no to the fuck- mother of my kids?”

“There! Oh my god there-” you cry when his piercing just hits at your g-spot. “I-I thought you ngh- didn’t want kids, Cho–”

As if to prove you wrong, Choso’s only curling his tongue deeper into your walls. Squeezing past your walls to fuck you exactly the way he wanted to with his aching cock right now. Hitting that magic spot again and again and-

“Oh yeah? Seems-” Like he was fucking addicted, Choso surges forward again. And again. And again and again so deep that you could feel the curve of his chin, each and every movement of his jaw. “Seems the last five hours were a bit- eye-opening. Fuck- you’re squeezin’ me s’fucking- mmf- tight”

And it was true - your walls were milking Choso’s tongue so hard you half-lucidly wondered whether it didn’t hurt. Whether his tongue wasn’t cramping up at this point, lips aching. 

But if they did, then Choso acted the exact opposite. Nails leaving neat little patterns on the plush of your hips as he makes you ride his face harder. 

“Cho!” you buck your hips wildly when that wasn’t enough for your needy boyfriend either. Big, fat tears of overstimulation rising up to your eyes when he swipes his thumb across your pulsing clit. Rings cold against your cunt when he starts to draw urgent, messy little circles in time with his tongue.“Oh fuck-” 

“Five.” he’s spitting into your cunt when your thighs start trembling beside his head. Jaw sagging open so lewdly as he gets faster - sloppier. Fuck any rhythm or reason. “Five.” he moans, sounding as strained as you felt - as taut as a tightrope right now with each drag of your sloppy cunt over Choso’s ravenous mouth. Greedier - letting your slick run all the way down his wrist now with how messy he was getting. “Five.” he whispers, when you finally cum. 

And shit, you’re such a vision when you do. Tears springing to your eyes, fingers tightening on Choso’s hair. Letting out such cute sobs of his name, hips moving out of control all over his mouth while he still pulls and pushes his tongue into your gummy walls. Fucking you so obscenely through your high. 

“Yeah? You all done with the first one, baby?” he rasps, giving your sensitive cunt one, last peck at your delirious nod - and another extra, just to watch you squirm. “Then-” Choso does the same up your body, pressing his lips to your stomach, “-you can-” the valley of your breasts. “-take responsibility.”

That’s all it takes for Choso to easily throw you onto his sculpted shoulders like some ragdoll. Taking long, urgent steps towards the nearest flat surface - that just so happened to be your couch. 

“Cho- slow-” you squeal when he throws you onto the cushions. “-down.”

And he does anything but. Barely paying attention to your zipper when he pulls off whatever’s left of your dress, throwing it god-knows-where behind him. “I’ll buy you a new one when we go pregnancy shopping.”

Choso lets out a long, strained groan when he unbuckles your bra. “Gonna be so pretty as a mama.” Large, soft hands coming to knead and guide your pretty nipples into his mouth, “Gonna be- fuck- so pretty with these all full.” 

And you can only watch, jaw-dropped, as Choso sucks on your tits. Eyes rolling to the back of his head with how harsh he was - as if he was trying to get out milk. Needing to feel it - to taste it on his tongue. 

“And this- oh this-” A hand sneaks its way down to splay out over your stomach. Pressing down, hard. “So round and full with my kid.” He manages to grit out over the metal clinking of his belt, “They’ll look at you and all they’ll see is me.” He pauses, feeling something crinkle in his pocket - a shiny condom. One that Choso chucks along with your dress, “Fuck, they’ll see me. Know how I ruined you. Me me me me-”

Fuck- 

You’re so caught up in Choso’s sinful little mutters that you barely even noticed he’d pull down his pants - just enough for his rock-hard erection to spring free. And he looked so painfully hard, such an angry red at his weeping tip, leaking all the way down, down, down those prominent veins. 

Twitching upwards at the mere sound of your voice, “Why don’t you p-prove it then, Cho?”

You broke him. You were sure you broke him. 

The words have barely left your lips before Choso’s fist is squeezing at the drenched base of his cock. Angry. Desperate. 

All but cumming on the spot when he glides his fat head along your slit - letting your cunt drool all over him before-

“F-fuck-”

“Shhh baby, I know I know.” his mouth crashes against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Sucking on your tongue while he bullies his massive cock into your snug cunt. Inch by fucking inch. And whatever’s remaining of Choso’s sanity knows he should slow down, let you breathe, maybe stretch you out more - but how could he when he physically can’t. “Fuck- too- too good. God, I have t-to do this more often.”

Your raw cunt too heavenly that he genuinely can’t stop his hips from splitting you apart deeper, from spreading your thrashing legs so far apart it burned.

From feeling the way you’re torn between taking more and flattening your feet to push away- Letting out a strangled groan, “No no no no no- don’t you take this pussy away. How else will I breed her?” He runs his delirious mouth, strong arms just dragging you across the couch back onto his mean cock. “Need this- need this so bad. Fuck-” Choso throws his head back as your cunt sucks up his leaky tip. “-oh god think m’gonna die if I don’t get to breed this pretty pussy. To give her my kid.”

Pushing in small, sharp jabs to bully himself inside, having your puffy folds bulge so obscenely around his cock. Quivering and struggling to take him all. Not even a quarter of the way in yet he was pushing in and out in and out in and-

“Oh- please-” you claw down his toned back, his waist, onto the biceps that were pushing your knees up for easier access, all the way until they were at your tits. Folding you into a tight mating press, “Cho–”

Ah, that little nickname always did things to him. And Choso nuzzles the crook of your neck gently - the exact opposite of his hips, leaving faint, dark streaks of eyeliner on your skin. “What is it? What do you hngh- want, baby? I’ll give ya anything.”

And maybe you were a mastermind. Maybe you were an idiot. Because you hum into his ear, sending goosebumps rising down your boyfriend’s spine, “Wan’ five of them.”

If you thought you broke him before then you fucking ruined him now.

Because in one, harsh thrust he’s bottoming out - feeling like he was pushing all the way into your lungs, your hazy brain. And the stretch - fuck. You could feel each and every dip and curve of Choso’s girth, thrumming against your plushy walls. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, stretching you out like such a slut. 

It was all Choso could do to echo, over and over like some type of mantra. “Finally- Five, huh? Five- Fuck!” Leaving little bruises on your thighs from spreading them apart so hard. “Gonna give you five- fuck- five.”

Each word was punctuated by a long, mean thrust, not daring to reel back until Choso could feel his fat head kiss your poor cervix, and his heavy balls smack against your ass. 

It was starting to take a toll on your ability to speak in coherent sentences - as expected, of course. 

“Oh- ngh- Cho, s’too deep. Too- ah-” you blubber tearily, heels digging into his shoulders. And he only fucks you harder into the couch. Bouncing you so rough on his swollen cock. 

“Too deep?” Choso mutters, sounding genuinely surprised. As if to confirm for himself, he trails up a hand to feel for where he knew he was leaving loving little marks on your cervix. Pressing down. “How are ya- hah- how are ya gonna let me breed this cute cunt if even this is too deep, huh?”

You don’t have the ability to answer even if you wanted to - because Choso starts to toy with your still-sensitive clit. Sending flashes of white-hot pleasure with each roll of his ringed thumb over it. Tiny, incessant circles.

He coos over your lewd ah! ah! ah! “Awww. My baby can’t s-speak anymore?”. The curve of his dick fucking you so dumb, massaging your tight walls, hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. “S’alright, jus’ let me hah- take care of it, okay? Jus’ let me paint this oh- heavenly pussy white.” Choso’s knees dig into the cushion as he angles his hips ever-so-slightly to hit that one-

“Fuck! Oh fuck- Cho–”

Found it.

“C’mon, baby.” Choso moans into the valley of your breasts, hips out of control now. Free hand coming up to squish your cheeks together, forcing you to peer into his dark gaze. “L-look at me. Fuck- look at the future father to your kids.”

All while his thick tip hit your g-spot over and over and- 

And oh how he loved how fucked-out you looked already. Capable of only giving him bleary, cockdrunk heart-eyes as he milks himself on your sloppy cunt. He couldn’t think straight - doesn’t think he’s been able to since five hours ago. 

Since he’s been wrecked with thoughts of how he’d do their hair and you’d pick them up from school. And how Yuji would be the best uncle and- Fuck, how he wanted those five kids with you - maybe even more- 

“More?” you gasp. And Choso lets out a guttural groan when you clench so sinfully around him in surprise. Fucking you so filthy, “M-more kids?”

Choso only drawls out a low, “Mhmmmm.” Pinching your clit faster between two fingers to shut up those cute whines because shit- he could cum from just how tight you were squeezing him. But refuses to before the mother of his kids. “Ya don’ ngh- wan’ me to? Don’ want me to fuck a baby into you?” 

You’re crying out harder when he speeds up. Rocking your sloppy cunt so harshly, making sure your poor pussy will remember him for a long, long time. Just trying - needing - to make himself cum. To fill you up with his seed till you can’t take it anymore. “I- ngh- do!”

And it takes everything in Choso to pull away from your ravaged tits, connecting his sweaty forehead with yours. Whispering, “How many?”

“As- fuck-”

“Mhm?”

“As many as you want- hngh-”

That’s all it takes for Choso’s body to bow, teeth digging in right above that rapid pulse on your neck so hard you wondered whether it drew blood. Hips stuttering, giving your sensitive spot one last, harsh kiss.

This time, when you cum you see white flashes behind your eyes - or maybe that was just Choso. Because the sight of you falling apart on his dick was all it takes for him to as well. Hard. Almost painfully so. 

Eyeliner running down his cheeks now with each thick, hot rope of seed he was filling your snug cunt up with. Those cushions below the two of you the last thing on his mind right now as he holds your trembling hips still, fucking his cum deeper and deeper.

The hand on your stomach pushes down, watching awe-struck at how your bloated cunt just coats him in cum. Dribbling down the side of your puffy folds, forming a creamy ring at his base.

“Oh!“ your jaw falls slack at how animalistic it felt. At how slutty your overfilled pussy felt, drooling all down your legs - and his. Onto Choso’s painfully squeezing balls as he fucks you like an animal. Again. And again and-

Again. He was speeding his hips up again. 

Then it’s like something snaps - Choso’s restraint, your sanity, and the couch. Fuck, his hips were so harsh that the couch was sagging entirely too much on your end.

This time, wrangling your legs around Choso’s waist, lifting your limp body up into Choso’s arms before you can react - squirming at the way he still doesn’t bother to pull out. Letting your cum gush all the way down his still-hard dick. 

Hands spreading your puffy folds apart, making such a mess of cum down below as he drags himself across your walls. Like he was marking you from the inside out - and he was.

“Didn’t think we were ngh- done, did you?” Choso’s lips graze your swollen ones. “After all, I did promise five.” Softly pooling a stray tear onto his tongue, piercing burning into your heated skin. “N’ we gotta practice for that, too, right?”

---

“The photo albums, really? Honestly, dad, you might as well have just gone and just outright told them.”

The older man only waves a hand dismissively, turning back to his favorite late-night show, “I’m not getting any younger here. N’ I’d like to see some grandkids before I see the pearly gates.”

Jin only sighs, but doesn’t disagree - after all, he couldn’t deny his father what he himself has been dreaming about ever since Choso finally plucked up the courage to actually ask you out. Yet he persists, “But honestly, Sukuna - you were teasing him a bit too much.”

Sukuna grunts, “Teasing? What teasing?” Crossing two big arms across his chest, “From the way they ran outta here, I suspect he should be thanking me.”

“Well, the true MVP - as the kids say - is this one-” Grandpa Itadori points at a rather oblivious Yuji. ‘Real nice improv to the plan, kid.“

Who only shakes his head before looking around the room for any answers, “Huh, wait. What plan? Did I miss some plan?”

“Ahem- no. Nothing.” Jin coughs, swiftly moving along the conversation above Yuji’s confused protests about what secret plan there was and why. “But, really, it should be that fortune teller you hired, Sukuna. Bit over-the-top honestly, but Choso was telling me all about her and you must’ve gotten a real convincing actress.”

Rolling his eyes, “Huh, I didn’t hire her, I thought that was the ol’ man’s work?”

“Now why would I go looking for actresses, my wife would just haunt me from the grave.”

The silence that follows is a heavy one as it slowly dawns upon everyone in the room - except for a still-floundering Yuji - that this was in no way a creative improvisation to the aforementioned plan. Not at all, really.

Oh. 

Wow. Five…really?!

“GUYS WHAT WAS THE PLAN?”

A/N. This got wayyyyyy longer than I expected lmao.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[clockwayswrites]

So far this file is called 'birdritch'. Those of you who follow my art tumblr might know where this is going. I needed something light to write, been a low day. There has been zero editing or reading through and it is past 2am, sorry and enjoy! (Don't need any typos pointed out, ty.)

---

“You are supposed to be home.”

Danny blinked up from his work to find Lucius Fox standing in the doorway of the lab. The man had the sport of expression one wore around a child who had just done something disappointing.

(Danny was used to the look, even if it had been a long time since he'd been a kid. Or seen his parents, for that mater.)

“Okay, but,” Danny started, “we agreed that I could start at ten and take my eight hours and one for lunch—”

“A mandatory one hour for lunch away from your desk,” Lucius interrupted.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been doing that! I’ve been eating out on the rooftop garden or even leaving the building and eating out or taking lunch to the park. I’ve been behaving, Lucius, I promise.”

Lucius raised a judgmental brow. “It’s after eight, Danny.”

“What? No. I have an alarm on my phone and everything… okay, well, that only works if my phone is charged.” Danny jabbed uselessly at his phone screen. He followed the charger, which was plugged in, all the way to the wall. He resisted the urge to let his head fall against the wall. “I guess Leslie fried the outlet again or something. I’m sorry, Lucius.”

“It’s fine, Danny,” Lucius said, “but only because, one, I know you have been trying, and two, I am going to buy you the most embarrassing alarm clock I can find and mount it to something in this lab. Now it is late and I am going home and so are you, Mr. Fenton.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Fox,” Danny said and made an exaggerate show of packing up his backpack, dead phone and all.

Lucius gave a little snort at the antics, but left with a ‘get home safe, Danny’. After his boss was gone, Danny took the time to actually make sure everything was in his bag and secure. He still didn’t get why he couldn’t just work late, but apparently WE had something of an insistence of work life balance. According to Lucius, Danny crossed the line too often and so was being kept in line. (Danny didn’t think mention he didn’t have much of a life, literally and otherwise, would help his case.)

Still, Danny mused as he stepped inside the empty elevator, the rules did keep him from becoming his parents. And that was a very, very good thing! Being a mad scientist in Gotham usually ended up landing someone in Arkham. It was just that after the chaos that Danny grew up with, going back to his empty apartment was depressing. It wasn’t as if Danny never got out and did things, it was just that all those things were mostly on the weekend. Most days he just didn’t have a reason to go back to his place.

There was no getting out of it tonight, the great and powerful Fox had spoken and Danny knew better than to try and sneak back up. He lifted his hands over his head, stretching as the elevator descended the last few floors. Oh well, at least it was before ten. He could still grab something on the way home and have a full, warm meal to take his pain meds on. By the pull along his forearm he would need them.

“Night, Bill,” Danny said as he passed the security guard who was on the evening shift. He got another ‘get home safe’ in response and gave a little wave in reply over his shoulder.

Even after the few years in Gotham, it still amused Danny how much everyone wished everyone else some sort of safe travels here. As much as Gotham was a city of hardened realists, there still was so much hope about it. Hope people got home safely, that the Bats would get where they were need in time, that the city would rebuild again and again and again. The undercurrent of hope was so strong that Danny could practically feel it moving through the city like a river.

It had been one of the reasons Danny had taken the job.

He could use hope.

He also had been very careful not to look too closely into it all. While Danny’s early life may have been dominated by the occult, he tried to stay away from it these days outside of the necessary visits to the Realm for his health. As much as the Far Frozen was full of ghost yetis, Frostbite was still a being of science and being there felt more like a cold vacation to his weird relatives than anything else those days.

Danny was actually worried that he was getting close to needing another visit. He shouldn’t, not yet. He wasn’t actually due back for another three months, but the thought of visiting Frostbite had been pulling at the back of Danny’s mind. The most annoying part of it all, is that there wasn’t any concrete reason that Danny felt he needed to go, just a lot of little things: the ache was deeper in his bones, he’d been missing noticing little things, his near constant vertigo was worse, and, oddest of all, he had been feeling chilled.

Maybe he should just take a long weekend and go for a quick visit.

Lucius would undoubtedly approve of the break.

Tomorrow, Danny would ask tomorrow.

(As long as he remembered.)

[benevolentbones]

gideondaughter!reader and spencer first time talking when the team goes to dinner and spencer is just a mess talking to her

thank you sm for the request!! hope you enjoy<3 requests are still open i’ll be working through them!

kids table | spencer reid x gideon!reader part 1

part 2

warnings: mentions of alcohol, light flirting.

word count: 1.5k

summary: it’s gideon’s birthday dinner and the team are here to celebrate.

“are you sure he booked it for 8:30?” jj hummed, holding her clutch purse close to her sage green maxi dress.

“yes. gideon party of nine at mastro’s, 8:30pm.” spencer recalled, having the time and place drilled into his mind in fear of being late.

“party of nine? but there’s only eight of us?” elle’s brows contorted, she counted everyone in the room. jj, morgan, reid, garcia, hotch, prentiss, herself and then gideon who was yet to show, that was only eight.

“maybe he’s bringing a date?” penelope chuckled, her hands smoothing down the hem of her fitted pencil dress.

“gideon? with a date? i highly doubt that.” morgan snickered, leaning against garcia.

the group of agents waited rather impatiently for gideon to arrive to the restaurant. all adorned in their best dress for the awaited man of the hours birthday dinner.

hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb.

“it’s only 8:25, he will be here.” he muttered out.

spencer began to fumble with his hands, he would class himself as a fairly patient man, the only thing on his mind currently was who the mystery ninth guest could be. he didn’t like not knowing things, it was part of being a profiler he guessed.

the doors to the dimly lit restaurant swung open, jason gideon walking in full stride with a grin on his face. he wore a navy blue suit jacket paired with his signature chinos.

“finally you’re here, they’ve been complaining for the last ten minutes.” prentiss sighed, placing a hand on her hip.

“its not even 8:30, i said i would be on time- but y/n here couldn’t find the shoes she wanted to wear.” gideon let out a small chuckle as a figure walked through the doors behind him.

a girl, roughly in her early twenties stood beside gideon. her hands clamped together in front of her, a black satin dress adorned her figure, hugging her nicely, which she paired with matching black heels.

“well i found them in the end, dad.” she mumbled out, greeting the group with a small smile.

half the team stood there it awe, mouths gaped and eyes locked on the latest arrivals.

“you clean up nice, jason.” hotch nodded towards the older man, then turning his sights on you.

“beautiful as ever.” he smiled, which he rarely did, and leaned over to give you a hug.

“thanks uncle aaron.” you grinned back, embracing his warm hug.

“i’m sorry you need to catch us up real quick- dad? uncle?” morgan titled his head like a confused puppy.

“i didn’t realise you’d have trouble putting two and two together, morgan. this is my daughter, y/n.” gideon mused, ushering you further into the room.

you held out your hand, derek quickly took it in his, giving it a small shake, cogs in his mind still visibly turning.

“and aaron isn’t actually my uncle- he just acts like it.” you pulled your hand back, returning it to your side.

gideon quickly introduced you to the rest of the team, everyone seeming to come to terms with the fact gideon had a ‘secret’ daughter that he never once brought up.

all the while spencer stood, hands glued to his sides as he eyed you. he had never seen someone so perfect, the way the dress hung from your frame, the way you politely greeted every member of the team.

when gideon had finally reached him to introduce y/n to him, he was caught off guard.

“reid, meet my daughter y/n, im sure it’s not as hard for you to understand.” gideon hummed, making a dig at morgan who had migrated with the group to where the table was set up.

unlike the others, you kept your hand to yourself, but shot spencer a sweet smile.

“it’s really nice to meet you dr. reid- my dad has told me so much about you, i know you’re not big on handshakes.”

spencer’s heart was practically doing backflips at this point. he was completely enamoured by you.

“really nice- to meet you too.” he managed to stutter out.

gideon internally rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what was happening.

“how about we sit down and look at the menu.” he began to usher his daughter towards the table, spencer following quick at his heels.

by the time the three of them had reached where the table set for nine was, the rest of the team were sat, eagerly awaiting them. the only free spaces were at either end of the rectangular table, and an extra place next to the end seat.

“hey gideon come look at this” jj beckoned the older man over, to the head of the table. he briefly turned back to his daughter, before he could utter a word she nodded, knowing that she wouldn’t be sitting with him.

“guess we can sit down at the end together.” you affirmed, shuffling to the free seats with spencer by your side.

once seated, everyone began flipping through the menu, all besides spencer who’s gaze every so often flickered over to the girl beside him, who seemed deep in thought about what she was going to order.

“what are you going to get?” she asked, attempting to make quiet conversation with the man at her side.

spencer hummed, he had researched the restaurant before hand noting all of the dishes he might like.

“the uh- the pasta, i think.” he paused for a moment. “what about you?” he cursed the heat that rose to his face, lifting his hand to loosen the dark purple tie around his neck.

you smiled, still scanning the menu, taking glimpses of spencer in his flustered state.

you had heard many things about most of the team throughout your fathers years of working with them, and when he finally allowed you to meet them, you were most excited to meet spencer.

“i might have that too, it sounds good.”

a few hours had past since everyone had sat down, everyone had finished eating and were now onto their fourth round of drinks, all besides you and spencer.

everyone was deep in conversation about a case from a few years back, obviously you had no clue what they were talking about.

you turned to spencer, who seemed to have gotten more comfortable being in such close proximity to you.

“i swear it feels like we are sitting at the kids table at a christmas dinner.” you giggled to yourself.

“i know right- it’s it’s like we aren’t even here.” spencer returned the chuckle, his heart beating a little faster.

“how are you enjoying the night- i hope im not boring you too much, if you want to join the rest of them feel free.” you mumbled out, eyes migrating to your hands that you had placed on your lap.

“no no- i like it here, i like you- i mean i like being with you i-“ spencer fumbled on his words, causing you to smile. god he was a complete mess.

you reached a hand over, placing it on spencer’s forearm. he could swear his skin felt like it was burning from your touch.

“i like being with you too, spencer.” you whispered out, a soft pink blush dusting your cheeks.

his hazel eyes locked with yours, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. he was partly confused as to why someone like you had enjoyed his awkwardness and rambling.

to say he had little experience talking to women in more than a friendly way, was an understatement.

he was completely out of his depth, and the fact that your father, his boss, sat at the other end of the table made things a little more awkward for him.

“you look really-good tonight, by the way.” he managed to mumble out, without sounding like a complete idiot.

this caused your face to flush, darting your eyes away from him briefly.

“thank you spencer.”

“would you maybe want to-“ before he could continue, gideon had stood up from the table, all eyes were on him.

“lets go y/n, your old man is getting too tired for this.” he joked.

“oh right-“ you stood up quickly brushing off your dress, you did a small lap of the table thanking everyone for the lovely evening and telling them it was great to meet them.

you then followed gideon out of the room, all remaining eyes were now on spencer who slumped down into his chair.

“that’s rough man, you had all night and didn’t even ask her out.” morgan shook his head lightly, feeling somewhat bad for the boy genius.

before spencer could say anything, he watched you dart back into the room, a piece of paper in your grasp. you quickly placed it in spencer’s hand before pressing a light peck to his cheek and running off out of the restaurant again.

the now flustered brunette un crumpled the paper, scanning the scribbled words.

thanks for talking all night, id love to go out with you sometime x

555-555-555 - y/n

“never mind- atta boy!”

[scarletriddles]

Lost in the fire ˚༄ | S.R

↳ in which the team’s newest case puts your life in jeopardy, at your own accord.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: angst, sprinkle of fluff

warnings: general cm gore/case discussion, fire/arson, injuries related to fire, swearing, references to religion + greek mythology, friends to…? (they’re in la-la-la-love, your honour), some possible inaccuracies (sorry!), small jemily mention because lesbian rights, hopeful ending, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, second person narrative.

word count: 4.3k

a/n: my first ever fic i’m very nervy🫣i’m not expecting this to gain any sort of traction, but lmk how you find it, i suppose!

“Haley Bradstone, aged twenty-five, and Laura Kilmey, aged twenty-seven, are the most recent victims in a series of murders in Detroit, Michigan. Both victims were discovered four days apart, and only five miles away from each other, their bodies disposed of in black FIBC bulk bags that were left in trash-sites.” JJ pauses, her gaze flickering between the team, almost hesitant as her thumb circles the silver remote. But, with a clearing of her throat, she continues. “Cause of death for both victims has been ruled asphyxiation…by smoke inhalation.”

You abruptly halt toying with the frayed edges of the case file, your eyebrows shooting up and head lifting to look at her, and then also at the rest of the team - who look just as bewildered.

“Sorry, did you just say smoke inhalation?” You ask, genuine confusion weighing down your tone.

JJ nods, her expression dismayed as she eyes the two beaming faces displayed on the board. “Yes, as laid out in the case files, high levels of carbon monoxide, hydrogen cyanide and hydrogen sulphide were found in both victim’s lungs. The coroner also noted soot around the victim’s faces, and TBSA burns, all of which are synonymous with death via smoke inhalation.”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning is actually the leading cause of death in smoke inhalation - causing approximately 2,100 deaths in the U.S each year.” Spencer adds, followed by his familiar flat smile, which he usually does when he doesn’t know what to do with his face - which happens to be always.

You blink, with a slight quirk to your lips, despite the circumstances. Trust your good doctor to know just about everything.

“Were there reports of any fires around the general area?” Hotch pipes up, his face set in his usual stony expression, though his eyes betray his pensiveness.

JJ shakes her head, adjusting her stance. “No, which is what makes this stranger. The DPD reported no calls about any sort of fire on the days our victims were killed.”

“What? So our unsub just…lit a bunch of fires in plain sight?” Derek questions, with a flick of his brow, his gaze alternating between the board and the manilla folder in his grasp.

You huff, turning to face him with a slight smile, musing. “Must be one hell of a magician.”

Derek smirks in general bemusement, his dark eyes swirled with mirth, his tone light as a feather as he shifts in his scratchy office chair. “Looks like it, lil mama.”

Ever the smooth talker.

“Or, he could be using a secondary location.” Emily chimes in, her narrow-eyed gaze set firm on the file in front of her, her slender fingers fiddling with a bullet-point pen, and her lips contorted into a reflective pout.

“That’s plausible, but you’d think at least someone would notice.” Rossi adds, with a slight huff of incredulity, his calculating gaze sweeping across the entire room before him.

The two smiling faces are quickly joined by two more, both just as radiant, both just as nausea-inducing. Those poor girls.

“We don’t know for sure. But, the most recent victims join twenty-eight year old Sarah Holloway, and twenty-two year old Jessica Bailey. Who, similarly, were found four days apart, five miles away from each other and dumped in black FIBC bags, also ruled dead via asphyxiation. However, Sarah and Jessica’s dumpsites were around 14 miles away from Haley and Laura’s.” JJ purses her lips faintly, eyes still fixated on the crime scene photographs of four similar looking women who didn’t even live properly yet, robbed of the chance to, just like Poseidon robbed Medusa of her autonomy, on the marble steps of her deity’s temple. The thought alone just worsens the crease between her brows.

“four victims…why are they only just asking for our help, now?” Spencer ponders, features frozen in contemplativeness. His fingers sweep up to push his black-rimmed frames back to their previous position on the bridge of his nose.

God, you love his glasses.

JJ’s face morphs into a faint grimace, as she replies in a reluctant tone. “Unfortunately, the media managed to connect the dots on this one, they’re dubbing our unsub ‘the smoke-killer.’ But, the DPD really needs our help with this.”

You sigh, eyes trained on the gruesome imagery displayed on the silver screen. No matter how long you’ve been with the BAU, the violence never quite gets bearable for you, though you can’t bring yourself to look away - like witnessing a car-crash. You understand the psychology behind it, shock rooting the human body in place as the brain tries to comprehend that what it’s processing is real.

But, guilt still flows around in your system like the Noachian flood. Maybe, if you thought about it hard enough, you’d feel the ark bashing against your innards as it tries to navigate the brutal waves.

You suppose the violence doesn’t get easier for the team, either. Perhaps that’s what keeps you all tethered to each other, bonded. After all, the Greeks did beat the Trojans in unity - and disguised as a large, ligneous horse, but you digress.

Hotch nods, solemnly. “Alright, we can discuss further on the jet. Wheels up in 20.” And with that, he abruptly stands up, striding out of the room with a sureness in his step that only he could possess, effectively putting an end to the briefing.

The screen then goes dark, the car-crash finally being attended to. The sounds of chairs scraping across the frizzled navy carpeted floor and paper rustling bounces around the small space, as everyone heads out and into the bullpen, all but the exception of spencer, who remains seated, brooding over his manilla file as though he’s a modern day Thomas Aquinas. always thinking. You muse to yourself, though your eyebrow still raises in question nonetheless.

“Reid, you coming?” You probe gently, standing in the doorway with a faint grin. Your eyes flickering like fairy-lights all around his hunched-over frame.

Spencer startles slightly, craning his head up from the file and over to you - a rosy hue creeping up the nape of his neck from the sight of you alone. He swallows, standing up suddenly, and pushing his chair out with his hip, as he breathes out. “Uh, yea-yeah i’m…i’m coming.” He collects his things quickly, scrunching up his case file as he slings his satchel over his shoulder. Though, it doesn’t really matter, he’s already memorised it from start to finish. Eidetic memory and all.

He flashes you his signature flat smile once again, as his muddy hues rake over your appearance. You look pretty today, well he thinks you always look pretty, but today especially. Your hair swishes around your face in wisps like cotton-candy, your frame adorned in your usual grey fitted slacks, paired with a pink striped puff sleeved button down and black leather boots.

He believes you’re the personification of an angel, and with the way the abnormally-harsh office lighting is dancing around your hair in a nimbus-like manner, he’s probably right.

“C’mon then doctor genius, we have an hour long flight to catch.” Your voice rolling out with a teasing lilt, a subtle smile curled around the edges of your glossed lips.

Spencer usually loathes being referred to as a genius, namely because it’s said with such obvious sneer and condescension, like he’s an abnormal form, like he’s still that twelve-year-old high schooler. But, you never say it with thinly-veiled disgust, no, you say it with such reverence- like it’s something to be admired.

Yeah, angel.

He mirrors your smile, eyes soft and starry eyed as he follows you out of the room. “one-hour, 19 minutes and 45 seconds.” He corrects softly, always keen for specifics, his satchel smashing against his upper-thigh periodically as he walks beside you.

You huff in amusement, rolling your eyes in jest. “Right. My bad, one-hour, 19 minutes and 45 second long flight.” Your head tilts up slightly to look up at him, your irises dipped in unsubtle gaiety,

Spencer lets out a huffy laugh of his own, shaking his head in amusement. He loved when you teased him, though he’d never admit that. At least, not to you anyway.

“Oh, forgive me for being specific.” He sounds out, airily, like a dish-soap bubble crafted by small exploring hands, as he places his own ridiculously large palm on his chest in mock-offence.

“more like particular.” You reply, just as you reach your desk, in faux-annoyance, the curl of your lips betraying that fact.

Spencer puffs out another slight laugh in response, as he leans against the edge of your desk, watching you comb through it. His gaze doesn’t settle, darting around the array of trinkets and just general stuff aligning the glossy oak, including the multiple pots of bright pens - some looking vaguely like the ones he’s seen scattered around Penelope’s ‘bat-cave’ - and even a stick-figure drawing of him scribbled onto a canary yellow sticky-note, featuring overly large glasses and converse, which are more akin to clown shoes, alongside an equally as dramatised stick-figure version of Morgan, complete with a badly scrawled out six pack and huge biceps.

He feels a warmth blossom in his chest as looks over the cluttered space. It’s just so irrevocably you.

“particular or not, i still believe everything-“ He begins.

“-everything should be accurate, wherever possible” You mock affectionately, with a barely hidden smirk, still rooting through your things like a squirrel digging for an acorn.

A slight pout forms on his face, bordering on more petulant than anything. “How’d you even know I was going to say that?”

A faint effervescent giggle slips past your lips, your head still firmly pulled down, as your hands continue their wandering through your desk drawers. “ ‘Cause you’ve said that line at least a dozen times now, doc.” You drawl out, still grinning to yourself.

He wants that sound to be his morning alarm.

He rolls his eyes, only half-seriously, a smile lighting the corners of his mouth up like a vegas ‘welcome’ sign. “I have not said that a dozen times!” He huffs out, with a shake of his head at the injustice of it all, his dark curls springing with the movement.

You just smile, continuing to rifle through your desk before you locate what you were looking for, quickly straightening up and collecting the rest of your things before turning to him.

“Well, I’m all set doctor, lead the way.”

“Is that just so you don’t get lost again?” he replies, with an overt teasing twinkle.

You groan, blowing out like a whistle “that was one time! i was still new, and the hallways are confusing!”

He just bellows out a laugh, pushing up off the edge of your desk and beginning to walk - more like stride - his way to the elevators. You in tow, but just barely. His legs are way too long.

“I can put a sign on my back that says, ‘follow me’, if needs be.” He throws behind his shoulder.

“Oh, shut up!” You bark out, not really with any bite. Never with him.

It had been about three days since you landed in Detroit, Michigan. Most of that time being spent cramped up in the tiny makeshift office curated for the team, downing copious amounts of coffee, reading files until the backs of your eyes burned and dodging the borderline leering looks from the mid 40-year-old, beer gut endowed cops.

In other words, it was hell.

The team had made some progress, though. Narrowing down the profile to a white male in his early to mid thirties, who works a menial job, of average height and build, and who clearly dislikes women. Obviously, that didn’t narrow down the ‘Where’s Waldo’ search by much. But still, you really just couldn’t shake the obvious question…

Why go through all the trouble of burning these women, but not completely, just to dump their bodies?

And it seemed that question floated around the backs of everyone else’s mind, too. It was bizarre, to say the least.

Currently, the team is all stuffed in said aforementioned makeshift office space, like sardines in a can, no less. Emily and JJ sat at the table together, as usual, Derek propped up against the wall, Hotch and Rossi stood brooding in the corner of the room, quietly discussing something between themselves, leaving you and Spencer situated in front of the board, where the geographical profile is mapped out.

“He’s operating within a 20 mile radius, dumping the bodies within an area he’s comfortable in. He’s either going to strike here.” Spencer points to a spot on the map with his finger, tapping against it slightly before dragging it across and towards another spot, “or here.” His features were swamped in pondering thought, his honeyed gaze encompassing the sight in front of him.

“Yeah, but i still don’t understand why he’d go through all the trouble of burning them till they die from smoke inhalation, and then discarding the bodies. jus’ seems a lil’ pointless t’ me” Morgan drawls out, his stance wide and his arms folded, one of his hands resting on his chin.

“well ain’t that the million dollar question.” You reply, with a sigh lathered in perplexity, your arms folded in a similar manner, but with one of your hands rubbing up the side of your arm, in a absentminded fashion.

“Morgan’s right, it doesn’t make any sense.” Hotch pauses slightly, contemplating - like everybody else in the room. His dark eyebrows stitched together, and his lips set in a taut frown.

“None of it makes sense, i mean, even the dumping method, why bulk bags and not just plain ol’ trash bags?” Emily questions, sitting back in her seat with an exhale, her legs crossed with her boot-clad foot tapping against one of the legs of the rickety table.

You blink, a thought coming to you at her question. “Theres a Hardware store in the middle of town, right?” You throw out, hands stuffed into the pockets of your black slacks.

Hotch’s brows furrow, as he regards you. “Yes, why?” He says simply, almost curiously.

You shrug, “so then he’d probably be getting the bulk bags from there, since it’s easily accessible.”

Everyone goes silent at your question, seemingly mulling it over, before Morgan responds.

“If so, why wouldn’t he just buy trash bags?” He says, with a cock of his brow.

“Because he wants the victims to be found.” Spencer states, plainly, piling onto your train of thought and rocking back and forth on his heels, as his tongue darts out, swiping his slightly dry bottom lip.

“Think about it, a bulk bag is much more conspicuous than a simple trash bag, he wants his handiwork to be seen - maybe not right away, but he knows at least one person would find the presence of a large plastic bag near a dumpster to be…alarming, whereas no one would bat an eye at seeing a trash bag. Same goes for his M.O, he most likely has some sort of access to an incinerator, perhaps due to his job, which allows him to discreetly ‘burn’ his victims, before dumping them in a way which derives notice.”

His hands flail around wildly as he talks, an endearing habit that makes it seem like he’s so excited to talk about what he’s discussing that, at the minimum, one part of his body has to move with the speed of his mouth.

You smile - more of a secret thing, really, just for yourself - you love listening to that man talk. It’s the eighth wonder of the world, to you.

Everyone nods, the notion seemingly settling into their psyche without much problem, as logically, it did make sense.

“If thats the case, then we have a problem.” Rossi scratches the side of his jaw lightly, his head tilted and his bronze hues directed at the table.

Emily raises her brow, in clear need of clarification. “What problem?” She murmurs out, her head cocked to the side, questioningly.

“We have an unsub who wants attention, and will stop at nothing to get it.” Hotch adds on, sharing a brief glance with Rossi, his expression more grave than usual, before he fishes out his phone, dialling a number and setting the onyx Nokia down onto the table. “Garcia, you’re on speaker.”

“Hello, my favourite crime-fighters! To what do i owe the pleasure?” The shrill cheery voice of Penelope Garcia rings out, immediately bringing a small smile to your face. She really was like bathing in sunshine.

“We were wondering if you could take a look at a hardware store’s sales within the last month, more specifically of FIBEC bulk bags.” Hotch drags out, his arms still folded and his face betraying nothing but his usual stoicism.

“Oh, that i can do upside down with my hands tied, sir! just…one…second.” Penelope’s voice hauls out, followed by the rapid clinking of keyboard keys. “What’s the name of the store?” She asks, her tone focused.

“Sally’s Shack” Hotch replies, his tone equally levelled.

After a few moments, and a lot more keyboard clicking, Penelope finally pipes up again. “Ah-hah! so, it appears that our shack in question has sold six FIBEC bulk bags within the last month, all to the same buyer - well, at least the same credit card was used, ending in 4678.”

Hotch looks visibly taken aback slightly, before he asks “Can you get a name, Garcia?”

“Already on it, sir.” Penelope replies, with her usual peachy tone.

A tense silence follows, only sporadically broken by the clickity-clack of Penelope’s rainbow pastel keyboard. Then, she pipes up again.

“Okay…looks like the card belongs to a 33-year-old, Mr. Eugene Humphrey, who currently works at…” Her words trail off, obvious hesitance behind them “…burns funeral home and crematory, and owns a residence just in the middle of town.”

Everybody seems to pause, then. He matches the profile - Mid thirties, works a menial job which would give him access to a ‘discreet’ burning method and just so happened to purchase the same material used by the unsub, whilst also owning his own property not too far away from the hardware store in which the material was purchased…yeah that can’t be a simple coincidence.

“Pen, does he have a criminal record of any kind?” Your voice floats out, drifting through the confined space like Thumbelina on her shamrock lily-pad.

“I will have a looksie for you now, my sweet sugar muffin, just hang on one second-“ Penelope cuts herself off as her fingers begin their ministrations again, the keyboard rumbling with every tap, a smile edging on your face at the absurd term of endearment.

“Alright…looks like our guy spent six months in juvenile detention when he was sixteen for lighting his girlfriend’s car on fire, claimed he caught her cheating on him with his best friend, youch!”

You can practically see the cogs turning in your teammates heads, looks like you got your guy.

“Okay, thats good garcia, could you-“

“-send his information over? already done, sir.” promptly interrupting the low voice of your unit chief, in a way that is so Penelope, that he can’t really object.

“Thank you Garcia, We appreciate it” Hotch replies in his typical authoritative tone.

“You’re welcome, my gorgeous gods and goddesses, now go and save lives.” Penelope chirps out, swinging on her swanky desk chair, her hands now preoccupied with a bright pink fluffy pen.

“You’re the best, babygirl.” Morgan calls out, his tone suave and a smirk illuminating his features.

Penelope lets out a giggle, replying in her token-teasing articulation. “Only for you, my chocolate thunder, now ta-ta!” Her sing-songy voice sounds out with finality, before the line drops, indicating that she ended the call.

“Alright, everyone, looks like we’re scoping a funeral home. I’ll go inform the captain, and i need all of you to gear up, as a cautionary, is that clear?” Hotch demands, his gaze expectant.

resounding murmurs of “yes” fill out the area, to which the dark-haired agent replies to with a curt nod, before swiftly exiting the room.

You let out a breath, turning to the rest of the team with a faintly reluctant expression. “Let’s get this show on the road then, guys.”

Morgan flashes an easy smile, coming up behind Spencer and clapping him on the shoulder, his smooth voice infused with teasing. “You heard her, pretty boy, let’s get moving.”

Spencer has to resist an eye-roll, his cheeks immediately flushing raspberry red, whereas you just let out a small confused laugh - clearly not in on whatever inside joke that seems to be playing out - turning on your heel and prancing out of the room, leaving the two of them to squabble like 10-year-old brothers.

Though, on your way out, you swear you saw Emily squeeze JJ’s hand underneath the table…

Something went wrong. Terribly wrong.

You don’t know how - hell, nobody on the team knows how, but Humphrey somehow found out you were coming. He might’ve gotten some frustratingly accurate in-tell, or maybe he just… knew. After all, bad news attracts bad news, right? And being arrested for the murders of four women sure seems like pretty bad news. Or maybe he was a paranoid fuck. Either thought seems plausible, but currently pointless.

Ironically, Burn’s Funeral Home and Crematory, was well…burning. The two-story high foundation, which you’re guessing was once a depressing waxen colour, is now engulfed in orange. Bright, blazing orange, and for a moment, you almost believe the sun crash-landed onto earth.

The ignited shades dance across your features , making you look like you’re almost glowing. You hear Morgan let out a few curses, and Emily mutter something eerily close to “Oh my God” under her breath. But, the rest of you remain silent, devoid of speech, heads lifted up and staring at the fiery wreckage. Drawn in, entranced.

You can’t pull your eyes away, Not even when Hotch snaps out of his own silent gazing and begins to talk around you, shooting out instructions like darts to your co-workers. Well, until you hear a fire-man trudge past you, in full PPE and carrying a winding anaconda-like hose, writhing along the gravelled floor with each step he takes, similar orders being barked out of his mouth to his team-mates. But, that isn’t what grabs your attention, it’s the information coming from his radio.

A mother and her child are stuck in there, apparently looking for a casket for her husband before the building went up in flames, and they aren’t even going to attempt to save them - something about the fire being “too large, too risky.”

A mother and her child. Her 8-year-old little girl who just lost her father, and now is going to lose her own life, trapped in a scorching maze.

Not on your watch.

You will not, cannot, let this sick bastard take another girl’s life.

Your legs move before your brain even has time to catch-up, darting straight past multiple fire personnel who all try to stop you, but you dodge each one. Not even the sounds of the team shouting your name halts you, your figure retreating straight into the raging inferno.

What’s that saying? Moth to a flame?

Well, consider the molten-structure your flame. Because you won’t stop, will not stop, not until the mother and her daughter are out. Safe.

Either way, God appeared before Moses in the form of a fiery bramble. And maybe, he was doing it again, instead for their freedom, not yours or a 120-year-old man’s. You were getting them out of this desert, even if there were no miles of grainy-sand and the occasional tumbleweed, but instead hot, piercing, smouldering heat.

Spencer’s astute brain doesn’t take long to register what the hell you are doing. And, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so panicked. He practically screeches your name, moving to go after you, but with no such luck as Morgan and Hotch hold him back. But he fights, and he fights harder than he’s ever had in his life, because this is you.

“Let me go! she’s in there! you can’t just let her go in there!” He shrieks, every word sharpened with utter desperation.

Neither Morgan’s nor Hotch’s replies to his incessant wailing actually penetrates his mind. He feels like he’s underwater, succumbing to the depths of the Mariana Trench, fading black and blue.

The water freezes over the longer you’re in there. Trapped in that dismal, enflamed formation. He feels sick, but he knows spilling his stomach content won’t provide any relief, it’s a sickness that’s lodged itself into his bones, into his very being. He wonders if this is what the Woolly Mammoths felt like during the first coming of the glacial-period, just observing as they, one-by-one, all perished to the frost.

He can’t have lost you. Not before he-

…Not before he could tell you that you’re his first thought when he wakes up, and his last before he surrenders himself to the dark abyss of unconsciousness.

No, this can’t be it. He refuses, he downright rejects the thought.

He just stares, and stares at the lit up property, his whole entity screaming for you to just make it. His mind and mouth spinning prayers to god’s he doesn’t even believe in because if there was any chance of that turning the cards in your favour, then he’s taking it and holding on tight.

The seconds feel like minutes, the minutes like hours. Time is a fickle thing, always stretching and compressing back together again depending on someone’s emotions. But, that philosophy does nothing to distract him from the ache. Because a life without you in it, he grasps, isn’t a life at all. Not one that he wants to live, anyway.

Two soot-covered frames emerge from the fiery entrance, immediately being swept away by fire-personnel for medical treatment. And his heart stops, until he realises you aren’t either of those coughing figures.

Where are you? Why aren’t you coming out?

Time seems to stretch again, expanding like a black-hole over his fitful, beating heart. Ready to consume, ravage. But, maybe, that would be an act of mercy, anything would be an act of mercy compared to the waiting. Agonising, hoping and waiting.

Then…a third figure finally bursts out of the flames. He’s seen that mop of hair before, he knows that hair. Even at a fair distance, hunched over and simultaneously gasping for air and hacking your lungs up, tousled, with skin embedded in ash, You’re beautiful and you’re alive.

You’re alive.

He pushes his body forward and he runs, he sprints and goes to you. And this time, Hotch and Morgan let him.

[prismalmelonman]

Touching on Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas being a bit undermined in parts of the fandom

So one thing I notice on Twitter is how some people act about the bg3 characters whose abuses were perpetuated by women.

Gale specifically for this reason (but I will touch on others)bbecause I see him dismissed super often as "can't get over his ex".

But Gale's case obviously be has the line of Mystra being like "she was my muse, my teacher, and then my lover" and sure to some that's a red flag in itself (when it comes to adults I don't really give a fuck about teacher/student) but if you view it from not only Gale's own words "ive been connected with the weave for as long as i can remember"

And that doesn't distract from his genuine love of magic of course. And it also doesn't mean that he's actually been in connection with mystra for an amount of time.

However, if you ascend Gale, and he becomes a god, you get a bunch of new little things. Tara reminiscing of course, but you get a letter from Elminster, detailing that Mystra had Elminster scope out Gale when he was eight!

And sure is that pretty cool that he's a prodigy that got the attention of the goddess of magic at that age? Yes. Mystra is, however, known in forgotten Realms lore to seek young young boys who are in tune with magic to make into her chosen. And from context clues, her chosen can be anything from Elminster and Volo, dedicated wizards who try to keep things in check, etc etc. or they're somewhat of playthings to her.

Minsc also has a conversation where me mentions that weave-touched boys in his homeland were hidden away to hone their craft, then suspecting that it was because of Mystra, given Gale's case.

Gale always seems so proud that he got to bed a goddess, and on the surface, hell yeah, that's cool.

Gale continued to have her attention even as he went to Blackstaff Academy, and Mystra eventually did take him on as an apprentice directly to her, later making him her chosen, and sleeping with him.

The reason it bothers me that people dismiss all of Gale's stuff to just "he can't get over his ex" is because that's is like almost textbook grooming? She was in his life from a young age, shaping and moulding him up as he grew up to be her perfect chosen, rewarding him by sleeping with him, and so on. And then of course casting him away when he has his folly with the netherese orb (and to be fair, it very well could have looked like to her that he was trying to seize the power himself and yes the orb does siphon off weave. That is a problem for the mistress of the weave yes).

But she also tells gale to KILL HIMSELF for her forgiveness.

Gale is much more than "unable to be over his ex" this woman was in his life since he was a kid. She's almost all he has ever known. If course it's going to be difficult for him to 1. Say no to her. 2. Get over the fact that he's lost someone that he spent his literal entire life dedicated to. Honestly if asked, I don't even think Gale would acknowledge or really see that what he went through was, in fact, abuse until it was spelled out in front of him. (Which does happen somewhat with the player character pleading to him that killing himself for mystra's forgiveness is actually horrific and that he should in fact be angry for how he was treated)

Similarly, and this one has been discussed a lot, Wyll and Mizora. Wyll was 17 and actively trying to help his people. 17, in a vulnerable state, willing to do anything to help and prove himself. Mizora very clearly took advantage of him, and regards him as a "pet", refers to him being "leashed", and so on. Personally, I do dislike the sexualization of their relationship, because it very much is also grooming (although a different type. Rather than manipulating and shaping his life from the ground up, she takes advantage of a vulnerable and desperate state to manipulate and contract Wyll into doing her bidding. I won't go too deep I to this one because it has been discussed to hell and back. But I did wanna touch on Wyll's situation as well.

Also, Halsin as well, though that has also been discussed in many retrospectives by a very good friend of mine. Halsin's trauma often get dismissed due to his polyamory, open sexual nature, and his own somewhat diminishing/dismissal of it, which honestly I love the representation of, cause for a while I did that with my own trauma. Halsin was a sex slave to a house of Lolth-Sworn drow, a matriarchal society, where the men are generally used as fodder or for breeding, though male Lolth-Sworn drow can be wizards and rise in the ranks if wizardry, but are limited everywhere else. (Minthara mentions that the third male, and every subsequent male child after third are killed for being"useless"). Halsin often referred to them as "hosts" rather than being captors, (though he does touch on that if the Player Character threatens to sell him back into slavery). Again, everything I'd have to say here for Halsin has entirely been discussed top to bottom by a friend, their link is below!!

Anyway, long story short, I dislike it a lot when Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas and abuses get diminished, even if/when the character themself doesn't see or acknowledge the abuse in the same lens that we, the players, do.

[darkacademicvibes]

Only One ~ Yellowcard

Slytherin!Fem!Reader x Mattheo Riddle

Not canon compliant

For @princess-weasley bc Matty is such a 'Dovie' boy

Sorry I took so long😭

You watch, amused, as he struggles with his tie. "Do you need-"

"No" Mattheo insists, yawning as he fumbles with it before cursing and shoving it into his bag with a groan. "Why do we even have to be here?" he grumbles, and Blaise lifts his head from his arms. "'Cause Umbitch has something to screech" he answers, and it makes a far-too-awake Pansy snicker.

"How are you so awake? It's six o'clock in the morning-" Blaise mumbles.

"On a saturday" Mattheo interrupts to complain.

Theo lifts his head, having been smoking beneath the table. "Shut up, my head is killing me" he grumbles, ducking back to place his forehead on the edge of the table again. You snicker quietly, "real discreet" you muse, eyeing the hungover italian.

Mattheo yawns again, and lays his head on your shoulder, "I'm too sober for this shit" he grumbles to no one in particular, and Blaise grins at you cheekily as warm blooms over your cheeks. Your fingers gently tangle into his hair, "mhm?"

Mattheo nods against your shoulder, huffing.

"Y'got no idea, dovie"

➯ 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚡 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝

𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜

"Come on, y/n, please? Nobody is gonna tell toad-face, we're in our common room" Mattheo pleads for the forth time in ten minutes. Ever since Umbridges new rule, he'd been practically begging for your attention, but you'd seen the words people have had carved into their skin. The weasley twins had 'I shall not be reckless fools that waste time' for weeks. As well as Pansys own 'I should not break important rules for selfish satisfaction' that she was still unable to look at.

"I'm studying, mattheo, if it bothers you so awfully, go to Theodore. You two practically kiss all the time" you muse distractedly, and Mattheo screws up his nose, "sharing a smoke doesn't count, and if you really think it does, than I might have to show you a real kiss, because that's disgusting" he mutters. You pause, "why is that disgusting?" You challenge, ignoring the way he had insinuated actually kissing you, because the way your stomach fluttered at the sound had absolutely no business here.

"Because it's Theo, Blaise would've been a better choice" he grumbles. "Not that I'd kiss one of the boys- or any boy- see what you're doin' to me dovie? I miss you, pretty girl. Please?" And with a painfully dramatic sigh, you push your homework away and open your arms, enjoying the way Mattheo all but crushes you beneath him, burrowing his face into your neck.

"Ugh- get a room!" Draco snaps, walking throught the common room, one of Umbridges many 'enforcers'. "If Riddle wasn't practically glued to your side fourty-eight/seven, I'd remind you of the rule. But I'm not an idiot, and I want to live, so do as you damn well please, I guess" Draco mutters, slumping into a chair. Mattheo doesn't even lift his hand to flip Draco off, merely clinging to you.

"You can never not touch me again, pretty girl, I love'ou. Been driving me mental all week." He complains quietly, placing soft kisses over your throat.

"You love me?" You ask, warmth fluttering alight in your stomach, and when he merely nods, silent, you can only tangle your fingers into his hair.

"Mkay... love you too, Matty."

[parfaitblogs]

snow on the beach ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your boyfriend takes you to see the snow in the oddest of places. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. mention of a past fling (between spencer and r). snow on a beach? word count: >1k a/n: summer fling!spencer reid/reader is a dynamic ive been cooking up with margot... here is them as an actual couple for liamas. we'll give you their origin story one day. 

❄︎ advent calendar masterlist

"Do you want to see the snow?"

When your boyfriend had asked you that nine hours ago, you did not expect to be stuck inside a car for eight hours straight. With one singular pit stop for the bathroom and some dinner. You could've cussed him out on the spot. 

You didn't.

Instead, as you stepped out of the car at an awfully familiar location, you whipped your head around to Spencer Reid, and asked, as calmly as you could, "Were there no closer beaches?"

"None that have forecasted snow like this," he answers, and you had to give him credit, for it was probably true. 

There were flurries of snow surrounding your bodies, catching in your hair and on your mitten clad hands, and you could see a few flakes of snow fall on Spencer's own skin. You smile. 

"Besides," he says, taking your hand within his and tugging you along the path down to the beach. "None have sentimental value like this one."

"You hate it here," you comment, your feet dragging along in the sand as he pulls you closer to the crashing waves on the shore. 

"I hate the water here. Bad memories."

"Same thing."

"And you love it here," he murmurs, barely audible over the wind rushing past your ears, and so he tugs you closer to him, arms looped around your waist. 

"I do love it here," you nod, hands tracing up his arms. "I've never seen snow on a beach."

"Do you like it?"

"It's so pretty," you mumble, turning your head to the side, staring out at the water, vision clouded by the falling snowflakes. "C'mon."

You pull on his arm suddenly, and he's shocked into stumbling after you, before he realises the direction you're headed, and he's stammering out a mess of denials.

"Hey, no. No, no. The water is ice cold. That can shock our hearts and cause panic, or spike our blood pressure and that can cause heart failure and—"

"—Are you eighty and vulnerable?" you muse.

"Eighty, no. Vulnerable, maybe. I'm not in the business of discovering if I am. You shouldn't be either."

"Spencer, our feet in the water won't kill us," you say, slipping your shoes off your feet, grimacing at the mix of cold sand and snow beneath them. 

He seems to give up trying to fight your decision. Perhaps keenly aware that you're not backing down, and instead follows suite in taking his shoes off. 

"I'll put you on my cause of death," he grumbles.

"No. You're gonna live forever, boy genius," you deny, dragging him closer to the water. 

Icicles prickle your skin as you step into the freezing water, and you almost sorely regret your decision. Spencer's in the same boat, and you feel his hand around yours squeeze your palm at the feeling. The sight's enough for you to relax a little, and laugh at him.

Once your blood circulates better — or your feet go numb — you lean into Spencer, staring out at the moon.

"At least I'm not throwing you into the water this time," you chirp after a few moments of quiet. 

It was the middle of the previous summer, before you and Spencer had even told each other about the feelings you had for the other. Feelings that were, frankly, quite obvious, now looking back on it. You blame your obliviousness on attraction hidden under the guise of never being more than a summer thing. 

If only you knew then.

You had taken him to this very Falmouth beach at night, begging him to go for a night swim with you. It took a whole lot of convincing before he had even agreed to put his feet in the water, claiming he hates how unpredictable the ocean can be, even in the shallowest of shores. 

Though, rushing water around your ankles meant his already less-than-perfect balance was thrown off incredibly, and you were able to tug him down into the water. Evidently, soaking both himself, and you. 

You're pretty sure the way he reacted is what solidified your feelings for him. 

Instead of freaking out on you and being angry, he had laughed, spluttered the salt water and sand out of his mouth, and simply splashed you with the ocean.

You weren't going to do the same thing tonight, though. As much as you'd hate to admit it, the water was freezing cold, and you really weren't interested in submerging yourself within it. 

"That's true," he agrees. "Though, I think losing my feet to hypothermia might rival being as bad as you soaking me."

"You'll be fine," you shrug, waving him off. 

More minutes pass, as you stand there, the only sounds coming from the rushing water and the wind blowing snowflakes around your two bodies. The sky is painted with the snow that falls, white on black.

"I love this beach," you say, decidedly, the beauty of it all making you oddly sentimental.

"We've established that," he teases.

You shove him with your shoulder. He shoves you back. 

"Personally, I hate this beach."

"I hate you," you huff, turning around to face him, and he's steadying his hands on your waist, pulling you closer. 

"Okay. Now say that without a smile on your face," he challenges, head ducking down closer to yours, eyebrows risen. 

You couldn't wipe the lovesick grin off your face even if you tried.

your reblogs and replies are always welcome ♡

[dearhargrove]

summary A sleepy morning with cuddly Sam.

word count 820

There's few things you're always ready to spend money on. One of them is a funfair. The overall vibe, the attractions, the food and just the nostalgia of being a kid is exactly the reason you loved them so much. So, when you were out a few days ago and saw posters all over town advertising an upcoming funfair you already marked your calendar.

Today is a free day; no case, no research to be done – nothing. And also the day of the funfair. You're a bit embarrassed over just how excited you are, barely able to fall asleep yesterday and now awake at seven in the morning. You desperately try to go back to sleep so as not to disturb Sam, who's deep asleep next to you with his hair spread out around his head like a halo and his left arm snug around you.

But your attempt to keep calm seems to have failed when he groans and squints at you, “Baby?” he slurs half-awake. You wince apologetically and turn onto your side, “Sorry, didn't mean to wake you,” you whisper back.

He mumbles something incorrigible and then yawns heartily, free hand pushing hair out of his face before falling back into his stomach. “'s okay, hun,” he mumbles to stop you from feeling guilty and turns his head, smiling tiredly.

“We should sleep some more, it's barely eight in the morning, Sam..” he just waves his hand in dismissal and heaves himself onto his side, supported on his elbow. You can see the slight redness in his eyes from just waking up but his soft smile distracts you anyway.

“Why are you awake this early, pretty girl?” he lowly muses, letting his other hand rest on your cheek, thumb running under your eye. The pet name paired with the soft actions and the sight of him makes you melt and scoot forward to tangle your legs between his, throwing an arm over his waist.

“I'm excited,” you admit, sheepish as you push the hand on his back under his shirt to warm it up and at the same time give him a back rub. A soft frown of confusion settles on his face – which you immediately soothe away with a thumb smoothing out the wrinkle between his neat brows – and he makes a soft ‘oh’ sound.

“Excited for what? We don't have any plans today?” You can see the flicker of dread on his face as he passes through the possibility of a forgotten date or anniversary, making you snort softly. “We do. I made plans for us.” He raises his brows but doesn't intervene, letting you finish explaining. “There's a funfair in town.. I really want to go there with you and Dean.”

You bite your lip as you await his reaction, not expecting at all when he just snorts and pulls you even closer, pressing a kiss to your head. “That's why you've been in such a good mood?” he chuckles, bemused.

You pout a bit at his humorous reaction, making him lean down to kiss you shortly, “Don't pout. I wasn't mocking you, sweetheart. Of course we'll go with you.”

Grinning, you pull him into another kiss, this time deeper but still rushed from the excitement coursing through you. He chases after your lips when you pull away too early for his liking, simply pushing you down into the mattress with one big hand when you attempt to squirm away.

“We've got plenty of time before we can go.” He murmurs against your jaw, nipping there once before moving down lower to your throat and leaving similar small bites on your soft skin. He's making sure not to mark you up too much, instead pulling the collar of your shirt down to decorate your collarbones and shoulders with actual love bites and hickeys.

Sighing in mock annoyance you slip your hand out of his shirt and into his hair, tugging at the long strands which just makes him grunt in contentment.

You close your eyes again and play with his soft hair while he leaves marks all over you, soothing each new one with a bout of kisses. His arm is tight enough around your waist that you know he intends for you to lay still and take whatever he'll give – which you don't mind in the least.

After a few minutes he stops and lays his head on your chest, tip of his nose a bit cold from the room being chilly as he tucks it against your throat to keep breathing in your perfume and natural scent.

“Back to sleep?” you guess quietly, already pulling the duvet higher around his shoulders and sinking your hand back into those brown locks to scratch at his scalp the way he loves. He grunts in acknowledgement, arm momentarily tightening around you.

“Good idea.”

[aparticularbandit]

WOO WIP WEDNESDAY!

....

You get two files this week because, despite the fact that I definitely have other projects I should be writing on, I really want to maintain progress on one and the other (a new one this time!) is...basically the sole thing I've been writing the past, uh, week or so. And I really don't want to add anything else right now!

So!

File Names:

immortal witch riding hood

junko stays dr1 end rewrite

Snippet from the dr1 end rewrite below the cut!

Notably, there is a brief – very brief – period of time where Junko seems to disappear, and when Kyoko calls her out for it, the only reply she gets is, “Kyokyo wants to see me change?  Oh, what a perverted mind Kyokyo has!  Puhuhuhuhu!~” at which point, Kyoko can no longer suppress the groan she feels like she’s been holding all day.  (This is met with another Puhuhuhu!~ which. is equally uncomforting.  But she tries not to focus on that.)

Eventually, though, the announcements are off (to the best of Kyoko’s ability) and Junko has changed into—

“The Ultimate Fashionista wears sweats?”

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Requested/Friend event mentions under the cut! If you'd like to be pinged next week, let me know!

Friends @fiore-della-valle @redbirdblogs @greenbergsays @idkfandomwhatever @luckyspike

@obaewankenope @mad-madam-m @anonymousdandelion @geometricfractal @prettybirdy979

@eriquin | Requests @aparticularbandit @madnessfromthemountains @makeroftherunes @1attheedge

@whimsicalmeerkat @kidsomeday @lizhly-writes @skyderman @adhdavinci

@owlbearwrites @anachronismstellar @anyctibius @rilannon @lazinesswrites

@zyrafowe-sny @dreaminghour @blue-eyedbeta @candyskiez @dreamerking27

@kalira @virgulesmith @i-want-delfeur @selkies-world @exceedinglygayotter

[aparticularbandit]

Thinking about how Haruhi absolutely screwed over Asakura.

Because like.

Haruhi makes the club. The club goes looking for trouble and finds nothing and also the straws were not in her favor and she didn't get to go looking for trouble with Kyon.

Haruhi gets depressed because nothing has happened in the club in its one week of existence.

Five minutes later, Asakura: Hey. Kyon. Let's play stabby!

One day later, Haruhi: HEY KYON ASAKURA DISAPPEARED YOU AND ME GONNA TEAM UP AND LOOK FOR TROUBLE.

And like. Asakura is stated repeatedly to be the prettiest girl in their class other than maybe Haruhi, and Haruhi can't go after Mikuru because Mikuru's part of her gang.

What I'm saying is Asakura suddenly being stabby is entirely Haruhi's fault.

....

And, as a result, it is highly likely that Yasuke should be concerned.

[yuwuta]

mine. — inumaki toge

❝i just wanna say you’re mine, you’re mine; fuck what you heard, you’re mine, you’re mine.

000. inumaki toge + reader

001. fluff, non-curse/college au, slightly suggestive but barely, inumaki uses sign language and speaks like two actual verbal words

002. baby sized drabble, barely even 1k words

Toge would consider himself patient. He doesn’t mind waiting in long lines for the release of a new game, has no problem when the trains are delayed because it means he can sit and relax in the station a little longer, can sit for hours on end doing nothing and not be bored—but his tolerance for watching other people mess with his girlfriend is extremely low.

He reasons that you continue the conversation because you think it’s merely friend and polite to do so, and you’ve always been such a pleasantly happy drunk. But Toge knows this conversation isn’t friendly on the other end—and it’s not some protective boyfriend instinct, either, he has solid evidence of this idiot talking about you to his other idiot friend in front of Toge during lecture, with no knowledge that he was behind them, or that you are very not single.

(“She’s gorgeous, bro, look,” the kid muses, showing his friend your Instagram profile, “She’s in my bioethics class, and she’s easily the hottest girl. Smart, too. Little bit of a teacher’s pet, but I don’t care, she’s beautiful. A solid eight, for sure.”)

Toge knows that if this guy ever got his head out of his ass and ever bucked up the balls to actually ask you out instead of using roundabout flirting tactics and hopelessly pining over you during lectures, that you’d turn him down. He isn’t worried about losing you, and he doesn’t doubt your love for him. It does, however, concern him that there are people who believe they have a shot with you in the first place. He can’t possibly let that carry on. 

(Also, an eight? How could this guy call you beautiful, but say you’re an eight? It doesn’t equate—Toge doesn’t believe in rating women, but you’re not an eight. You’re a fifteen on a scale of one to ten; a shining star amongst a sea of planets; the love of his life). 

His fuse is about to blow when the guy touches you, reaches for your hair and carefully twirls a bit between his fingers. He knows that move; he knows the excuse was probably that there was something stuck to your hair, but Toge didn’t see shit. He’s had enough, and promptly bulldozes through Maki’s small apartment to reach you. He’s not sure if he’s making a ruckus, or if you can sense him coming, but you turn your head in his direction, a smile spreading on your face before cheering, “Hey, Toge! Do you—”

You’re cut off by a tug on your shirt, firm and impatient—but you’re not moving yet, not quick enough, so he does it again. Your eyes seem to light up with realization. You turn back to acknowledge the boy, and that’s really when Toge really loses it. All he hears is the stupid, desperate pitch of the kid’s voice sputtering out something about finding you later and grabbing drinks for you both, even as Toge’s dragging you through the crowd.

You let yourself be pulled by Toge’s greedy hand. It’s not all that far, just into a corner of the hallway, next to a closet where Maki keeps her cleaning and kickboxing supplies. He’s tempted to pull you into her bedroom, but he’s not up for being bruised for a week. 

“You okay?” you question, voice sweet and genuine—and it makes him grimace, because you really didn’t have a clue. Not one at all. 

Toge huffs, drops your hand to sign; using his left hand to circle around his face slowly, tapping at his chin. You understand, but only partially, given the slight tilt of your head and question that follows, “Beautiful? That’s why you’re upset?” 

He blinks slowly, shaking his head and flailing his arms in the direction of the living room. You follow his hands, down the hall then back to his face, but he can tell you still don’t get it. He tries again, pointing to you, then repeating his previous sign and adding another, and he can see the realization spread across your face, followed shortly by a bashful chuckle. 

“Too pretty? Me?” you ask to confirm. Toge nods his head, all serious and steely eyes, but you throw yours back with a hearty laugh this time. He crinkles his eyebrows, repeating his initial signs this time. Hdoesn’t know what’s so funny, if you’re laughing because you’re flattered or you find him ridiculous or something in between, but Toge means it either way; wants to ingrain it into you, just how beautiful you are.

So, he raises his hands again, when your eyes have met him again, and goes slower this time—pulls his mask down for good measure, so you can read his expression more clearly—to sign one simple word: “Mine.”

You tilt your head to the side again, and now Toge is the one laughing. He thinks you might be a little more drunk than you’ve let on, or maybe you just want him to indulge you. Either way, he has no problem repeating himself, doesn’t mind telling you again and again and again. 

He takes a step forward, leaving mere inches between you. You seem much smaller than him like this, still giggling, but he doesn’t mind. Toge reaches for your rest again, turning your palm upward and using a single finger to trace the letters of the word “mine,” onto your skin.

Your laughter comes to a halt when you verbalize his words, “Mine?” Toge nods, turning your wrist again to lace your hands together, pushes yours against the wall, uses his free one to cradle your cheek. He adores the way your pupils get bigger, the way your lips part slightly in anticipation. It’s his turn to smile, pulling you towards him for a kiss and ghosting his words over your lips, “You’re mine.”

[cirqosmos]

yandere simulator; xo (only if you say yes). yjw

interactive roleplaying game: where instead of a yandere winning over your heart, you win theirs. by getting them to say 'yes', only then you will unlock the key to their heart where psychotic love resides.

currently playing. . . xo (only if you say yes)

warning: yandere, slight profanity, some grammar errors (i'm doing my best to study it >_<)

runtime: 3k.

director's cut, — jungwon boo u never fail to prove me that you're legit my muse in writing </3 this is just a fun fun interactive yandere game i randomly thought of, whatever you choose (majority of the votes) decides what happens to you with yandere jungwon :3

character visual: jw

"i'm sorry, but no. you're just not my type—"

you slammed yourself your face on your pillow, burying it so tight it sent you to heaven itself. however you'd rather die this way than pressing the 'continue' button to read the yandere's next words for his darling—which is you.

but you're not even his darling yet, much less being his close friend. maybe just a friend from school?

yeah, definitely.

well, as a twenty-nine years old office lady with her average monotonous schedule with the same routine over and over again for the past eight years, nearing her thirties yet never being able to find a qualified partner that fits her overly high standards—you're left with a game titled 'xo (only if you say yes) you've found somehow on the devil's hours; a game that was immensely difficult to pass, where you would do your best to win over a yandere's heart.

the game's description was too daring, almost too challenging, you are afraid to admit.

"wanna have your sweet affectionate yandere fawning all over you? no worries! however, as the old sayings goes; without efforts, you may never achieve anything—nothing is free in this world. therefore, why don't you sweat a little, get upset a little, cry a little, break a little—like your beloved yandere would once they fall for you? do your very best to get them to say yes to your love confession just once, and all of them—they will give to you.

blood, sweat, and tears; all of them shall be yours as long as you can make them say yes."

© 2024. all rights reserved xo, (only if you say yes)

and now you found yourself on the final level spending atleast, or disappointingly a huge sum of bucks on the game with currency of gems just to speed up the process, with your eyes bearing a newfound dark eyebags as an extra package of consequences.

you swore by your life and on god himself that you're only playing this for fun out of pure boredom and insomnia, however as you thumb through the game's introduction of yandere as it's dominant themes paired with a comprehensive summary of them; you questioned yourself with sheer shock as to why you've never find an ounce of existence about yanderes for the past eighteen years of your life despite being chronically online.

since yanderes are the exact definition of your overly high standards for men, ever since. no wonder you've never found a men like this before, turns out they only exists in fiction—you scoffed at yourself, filled with disbelief as you roll your eyes.

but! who cares if they don't exist in real life? they're now on the tips of your finger, waiting earnestly and eagerly for your love. a giggle so obnoxious escapes your lips, you feel like you are once a schoolgirl again, but without the experiences of one, actually.

but again who cares!

the game flashes a new pop-up, telling you the next step—choose your yandere character to play with. it shows you a list of seven yanderes illustrated on their respective cards, clad in coquettish-sort-of highschool uniforms; pink ties, beige vest over a dark blue shirt and pants paired with their set of flirty gestures as your thumb glided through each character—reading their descriptions; interests & dislikes, hobbies & talents, a little trivia about them, and of course—their strengths and weaknesses.

surprisingly, they had a range of informations so complete it felt like they were real humans. the developers did quite a spectacular job on it, don't they? and even the fact of how their weaknesses remains the same although with differences in how they would act on it or how far they would go; obsession, possession, and damn psychotic—willing to kill for you.

how romantic. . . in a psychotic way, of course. you hummed unconsciously, letting out a sigh after at the disappointing fact of how you still find it strangely attractive in your late twenties.

are you really that of a single pringle? pfft!

as you giddily spend your time trying to choose one of all characters. they're just all too good, looking too good for your heart to take. but one particular character catches your eye, intrigues you even with those pair of eyes—goosebumps ran down your spine as you could feel him gazing back at you.

like at you, literally.

or was it just the game's tactic to make the players like you fall deeper? hm, probably! it definitely was, unless a random ghost must've possessed your phone but that can't be right?

right?! you yelled the same word out loud, snapping your head around your room—looking for any potential jumpscares, but to your relief—thank god. now you can play your little new obsession in peace!

snapping your head back at your phone, eyes lit up in immense stars as you've made up your mind, heart thumping loudly as you scanned his unique features—tapping the "play with me?" soft pink button below the name 'yang jungwon' aka the mischievous leader kitty of the group.

in yandere academy, this group is called enhypen—and they have a bunch of fangirls, and it's not even a 'bunch', the size of their fandom is almost half of the female population in the academy and even outside of its territories—there is this ridiculously long line of female students from other academies. a feat that cannot be totally underestimated, and it's not even surprising as they are packed with dazzling visuals, and a set of numerous talents of their own.

they catch hearts everywhere, left and right, back and forth with their grand entrance to the school. each of them has their own separate fandoms too, and yang jungwon's taekwondo club practices are always filled with hearty eyes paired nerve-wracking screams that his coach spends half an hour yeeting them out.

"huh?" you let that out a tad bit too loud, almost exaggerated even. the game surely didn't turn out the way you thought, as you had the initial assumption that the yandere you chose already fell for you, and that you just had to spend those lovey-dovey levels roleplaying with them with a one or a few more predetermined routes to choose from.

the rules was pretty simple; try to get his heart—make him fall for you in the set duration of thirty days. in other words, there are ninety-nine percent possibility that he might reject your confession out of pure lack of interest. get that three row of bars; friendship, love, and yandereness as high as you can because if you were unable to do so then there will be no second chances of playing the yandere of your choice without paying an excessive sum of bucks, so you just had to do it once and make sure to do it right.

quite a challenging mission, huh? no it really is challenging but you were determined as your nostrils flared out a puff of air, straightening your posture as

the adorable motion logo of the game plays out, loading in a bunch of texts meant to help you along the way;

'yandere has each of their own unique love languages, pay attention!'

'little misfortunes are often a blessing in disguise, sometimes redirecting you away from what we call a 'disaster.'

'completing side tasks will increase your yandere's love bar by two percent!'

it soon pops up a bunch of pinky hearts and sparkling stars after all those introductions and guides before switching to a scene of him, jungwon—standing before you, and as expected, you were instructed to approach him.

the location in his taekwondo club, all while sandwiched in between his die-hard fangirls with those screams that you had to turn down your volume to zero. talk about in starting a cool first impression—well never mind, two choices popped up on your screen.

choice one: wait for him after his taekwondo practices (20% of working out)

choice two: act like a damsel in distress (5% of working out)

"uh," your thumb hovered over the two choices, is this a trap? act like a damsel in distress—what in the actual fuck? who would even do that in 2024?! you begrudgingly tapped on the first choice, and the scene switches to a pop up message:

try again, jungwon left a couple minutes earlier for a dinner with jay!

[ retry? ] [ exit? ]

your eyebrow twitches, what the fuck? just like that . . .? there's even barely a progress and you just have to fucking retry?

and jokes on you as your jaw dropped on the floor with the new set of choices presented before you, four choices—actually.

"what is this?!" you yelled so loud you immediately covered your mouth, peeking outside the window.

day three.

the love bar ain't going the fuck up, it's still there glaring at your face with it's zero percent. well that's fine, atleast the friendship bar goes up a tad bit—by five percent. a progress is still a progress!

but the game is just so greedy! you can't skip a day? sure then! but you only had three gems a day, one is to play the major mission, second to power up your aesthetics, skills, and status. third, to complete your side tasks such as running errands for your home or completing school assignments!

that even takes a whole day to refill back up, and it's not even enough with these thirty days you got and with this slow ass rate of getting jungwon to fall for you! you threw your phone on the bed, huffing like a madman—contemplating whether to spend a few bucks on it or just drop the game altogether. surely, you can't be that too attached with a yandere character, right?

right?!

jokes on you, your fingers find itself on the payment method against your will. ultimately cashing out a few bucks from your bank account with a single tear trailing down from your eye, all of this would be complete waste of money and effort if you fail to reign over his heart.

you let out an almost animalistic growl—filled with downright spite, actually. is this game even for real?! the choices they gave you are almost like deliberately setting you up for failure, definitely is! you were almost sure that is—to the point of contacting the developers themselves but you held yourself in sheer strength of self-control at last-minute, at the last digit of contacting them.

"it's okay, pampering myself isn't a sin." you pat yourself on the back, comforting yourself with a huge pout reaching the floor. it's okay! with a newfound determination, you're sure you'll make it!

day ten.

hopeless! utterly hopeless even the god of romance and cupid's themselves would laugh at you. you would, too. due to the fact that you went as far as googling on how to 'win over a man's heart" or "list of dialogues and actions that makes a man gain interest in you".

one of them even says food, that it is the way to a man's heart. but how the heck are you even going to feed a fictional game character? it would be easier if there was a food dialogue!

right, when is your character—or the game itself deciding to send a heart shaped box of chocolates? that would atleast give you a few percent to his love bar!

throwing yourself at your bed like a ragdoll, groaning and kicking your feet in the air. why do you even bother? for what? your search history is so hopelessly embarrassing, and even more embarrassing was when your co-worker had their eyes ogling at it. your mistake for letting your phone screen lit up for everyone to see, thank god she was the only one. patting you on the back that it was okay, and that she too had her fair share of struggles on fictional men.

truly a fellow comrade, you almost shed a tear.

day seventeen.

is this damn game trying to get on your nerves?

deciding to show a new bunch of rules that they didn't bother to show at the first day—set of rules you mustn't do while proceeding with the act of winning a yandere's heart, that is—you were not to skip a single day of playing—in other words, not spending a time with your yandere as in the game's words itself; they will be lonely and might end up throwing tantrums—loathing you for doing so, ignoring you for a short period or even longer depending on how long you were gone, thus risking the amount of effort you've spent so far down the drain.

and you actually skipped not one but two days because of your hectic work piling up after a fellow coworker's taking a sick leave for a week. . . and that was also after finally getting his love bar up to two percent and friendship bar reaching whopping sixteen percent.

yeah, it's sadly a 'whopping' one for you.

and now it's back at zero, with his friendship bar down to crashing down to nine digit and just as exactly the rules stated; every choice, dialogues, and routes you picked ended up him ignoring you with that furrowed eyebrows and slight pout on his lips, or responding to you in a flat out cold tone.

he's not even in love with you, so what are you even throwing a tantrum for?! you screamed that question at the animated game character on your phone's screen.

day twenty-four.

nah, this won't do. it definitely won't so why are you still trying? you bit your lower lip as you look for cheats, hacks, and tutorials online, praying to atleast find some miracle that could miraculously rocket you to ninety percent of love bar atleast!

since all you have left is six days.

you've spent an embarrassing amount of hours and days on this shit, even more dedicated and focused than you do back in your days as a student. you were so sure by this point that you could actually become a relationship therapist with all these accumulated knowledge!

day thirty.

eyebrows and lips twitching, it is.

level thirty, it is—ending on quite a horrible note, or actually, a total doomsday glaring back at you with all your nonexistent experience combined into a recipe with the title "never been in a relationship before".

a helpless laughter escapes your throat, of course—how can you catch a yandere's heart? much less make him your lover? you've never even caught a human's interest over the past twenty years of your life!

how cruel, how utterly cruel! god truly has it's ways of playing jokes. tears, laughter, giggles, sweat, money and effort—all gone down the drain.

all because of that one sentence ending it all, each word literally jumping out from his animated lips in a bold ass pink letters,

"i'm sorry but i can't accept it. i only see you as a friend, (name). i hope you could understand. . i'm sorry, but no—you're just not my type."

huh?! seriously?! a compelling urge, or a really tremendous one so colossal you can break your table into two parts—all that set of routes you've chosen so far with a careful decision and thoughts just for him to say this? just for the love bar to be at total ten percent?

jungwon, how could you? only ten percent? there's no hint of romantic affections found in his eyes or gestures, his friendship bar only by forty percent (a low score of only being his 'school' friend), heck you didn't even trigger his yandereness. like look at him! his yandere bar is at zero looming percent!

a trace of the pink love bar and red yandere bar nowhere to be seen, this is a pure scam! a love scam in the form of a game! meant to target single old ladies like you, fucking hell!

out of pure rage and disappointment, you slammed your phone on the bed—burying your face on your pillows as you let out a long drawn out, muffled scream. downright mad at yourself for even being so triggered by this whole shit, and at the fact of you acting like teenage girl imbued with hormonal changes,

"can't even get a fictional men to fall for me, i'm totally screwed for life!—"

you're so going to uninstall that shitty game, there's no point in playing anyways when you can't have the same character of your choice.

a notification 'tings' up, interrupting your bursts of tantrums—you look over at your phone with the game still up, a big pink heart-shaped bubble pops up on the screen—slowly draining into a pathetic colour of white, ultimately shredding it apart into a broken heart, mocking at your misery.

however the next message pulls outs a gasp from your throat, appearing in its usual glossy pink heart but a little redder at the bottom.

💌 2:09AM

hey there, our precious darling!

we totally get how you feel, there's no need to fret anymore! here we present to you an exclusive package where you will be given a final chance to retry for jungwon! this is a one in a lifetime chance for you—our dear player!

tempting almost, yet you're definitely not falling for that anymore.

and it's all free, let yourself fall deeper and deeper into this world of obsession. you can't really give up that quickly, right?

yanderes never knows when to give up, anyways ♡

free? there's nothing free in this world, even the game itself stated the same words. you've wasted your time, money, and effort on this dumb game and now it's giving a package that is exclusive only for you?

what dirty trick is this game trying to pull off once again?

© pieroulette on tumblr , 2024.

[itsthecline]

WONDERING WHY

0.1 BOYFRIEND

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ summary omit ( verb. ) to leave out or exclude someone / something , either intentionally or forgetfully

word count 4k

warnings our girl is lowkey a brat but i think that’s it other than christian!reader , kook!reader , classism , and allusions to a bad previous relationship

previous chapter

a/n i ended up writing a bunch for this series already , and so here’s the first actual chapter relatively quick after the prologue post:)

THURSDAY MORNINGS usually meant you could sleep in a little later— closer to nine than eight. today , however , you were up at six to get ready for your packed day. you texted jj , reminding him to be here at ten o’clock sharp. no later.

you filled your morning with a jog around the neighborhood , helping your mother make breakfast , and dropping your younger sister off at her friend’s house for a girls day they were having. after that , you had to— for your own sake , go over the checklist of meetings and dinners that you needed to attend before midsummers one more time.

by the time 9:30 rolled around , you were dressed and ready to go down to the tailor for your first fitting. you checked your phone again , seeing if jj had even read your text yet. delivered. maybe he didn’t have his read receipts on.

he’d be here. he’d show up.

that was all you could really tell yourself.

on the other side of the island , jj was just waking up. he jolted awake , face indented from the way he fell asleep on the pillows the night before. he reached over for his phone , looking to see what time it was.

the screen didn’t light up. he quickly shuffled , hand fumbling down the charger cord to see it had been unplugged from the wall. “fuck!” he cursed , shoving himself up from the bed and rushing down the stairs.

“yo , what time is it?” he shouted , hoping one of his many friends would answer him. they all looked over their shoulders from the living room , seeing the blonde stumble around , yanking his clothes and boots on.

“its like quarter to ten,” pope called back out , looking down at his watch.

“fuckkkk!” jj groaned , grabbing the keys to the van, “i’m late! takin’ the twinkie!” he announced , shoving through the front door and bounding down the porch steps. he didn’t even bother to close the door on the way out , instead just hopping behind the van’s wheel and peeling off to figure eight.

kie came around the corner , a couple of water bottles for her friends. “what was that about?” she hummed , looking out the open door.

“he has that thing with the pastor’s kid,” john b answered with a smug smile , grabbing the bottle being held out to him, “he told us ‘bout it yesterday , remember?”

“ohhh , yeah!” kie mused , mind replaying yesterday’s events at the wreck, “she’s cute.”

“she’s also way too polite for jj,” sarah laughed , stealing the water from her husband, “i mean , i remember her from school , and she was just so shy. kept to herself and all that.”

pope shook his head , swallowing down more of his cereal, “nah , they used to be friends way back when though.”

“what?” the girls all gasped.

“rude boy was friends with that shy thing from kie’s parents’ place?” cleo asked , only just ‘meeting’ you yesterday but still as invested.

pope and john b nodded together , recalling a time before high school when jj would skip out on their hangouts to do something with you. ‘family friend , guys. i feel bad,’ he’d lie to them , getting out of whatever they had planned to spend time with you instead.

the group continued theorizing what jj was helping you with , not getting the complete story from him the day before. all the while he was speeding across the island to get to your door before it was ten o’clock. his blue eyes kept darting to the dashboard’s clock , seeing his time run out faster and faster. 9:57 , and he was just now getting to figure eight.

“mom , if jj shows up , will you tell him i’m sick?” you asked quietly , walking into the kitchen where she was working on her laptop.

she peered up at you over her glasses. “jj maybank , your boyfriend?” she smiled , patting for you to sit next to her in the breakfast nook as she was still over the moon from your news earlier in the week, “what’s he coming over to do?”

“he’s not invited anymore,” you corrected her , resting your chin on her shoulder as you looked at her computer screen. it was a spreadsheet , an itinerary for the next weeks approaching midsummers. “he’s late , so i’m upset.”

“well , you can’t blame him , hon,” your mother cooed at you, “he’s probably on the way. give him more than two minutes.” you held back from rolling your eyes at her soft spot for the boy after all of these years. after all of the tears she wiped away from your cheeks when you were fourteen.

“will you tell him i’m sick?” you pleaded again , pulling at the sleeves of her robe like a little kid.

she pressed a kiss to your forehead and tutted at you. “no , baby. we don’t lie in this house,” she answered , going back to typing and organizing on her laptop.

you huffed and pushed yourself out of the booth , straighten out your skirt. “fine , but i’m not happy about this,” you whined , beginning to walk out of the kitchen.

her voice called out your name again as she leaned forward to catch a glimpse of you. you stopped , turning to face her expectantly. “i think it’s a good thing you chose to give him a second chance.”

“yeah,” you sighed , guilt boiling in your gut , ignoring her knowing smile before walking to the front door. you’d just have to go to the fitting by yourself.

as you stepped outside , you could hear the rattle of a car nearing you from the street. it was loud enough to get your attention , telling you whoever was driving was going far too fast for the residential area. next thing you know , the beat up van you knew as john b’s twinkie was pulling into your driveway.

your hand raised above your sight line , blocking the sun so you could glare at jj. “didn’t get my twelve texts?” you asked him , watching as he practically fell out of the van upon his arrival which caused your embarrassment from the amount of times you tried contacting him to simmer.

“i’m sorry! my phone never got plugged in , s’my alarm didn’t go off. the damn twinkie gave out a couple blocks away , and i had to start ‘er back up—“ jj huffed out before you decided to just get in your car. he watched you , already feeling your disappointment.

you rolled down the passenger window , leaning over. “get in , please? we’re late,” you spoke , like you had already forgiven him , which you had. you saw how he was out of breath and the fresh grease stains on his fingers. it wasn’t his fault he was late.

jj ripped the door open , flopping into the passenger seat before buckling up. “where we headed , angel?” he asked you , already poking around in the car’s abundance of compartments.

“the tailor. we have to get you measured for your tux,” you simply answered , backing out of your driveway, “and i have to get re-measured too.”

jj nodded , chewing at his lip , and he couldn’t help but feel like you were giving him the cold shoulder. he was only eight minutes late. but maybe he just didn’t know you anymore. you spoke so much differently than you did from when you were kids , your voice clearer , more affirming. it sounded more like this was a business deal than an old friend doing an old friend a favor.

“it’s kinda like you’re my sugar momma for the next couple’a weeks,” jj chuckled to lighten to mood as you drive through the town’s center , eyeing all of the nice shops he never went to. it’s not like he wanted , but it was another reminder how differently you two grew up from each other.

you scoffed over your small laugh. “i guess so. in a weird way , yeah,” you agreed lightly , finding a parking spot right in front of the business you were going to, “just make sure to use your manners , please. katherine is friends with my dad and a huge gossip.”

“oh , yes , ma’am,” jj saluted you, “i will be prim and proper just for you , m’lady.” he got out of the car as you let out a shaky breath. you followed shortly after , seeing he was already holding the door open. “c’mon , you said we’re in a rush!”

you nudged him with your elbow when you stepped inside the small store. “i only said that so you’d hurry up. we don’t even have an appointment,” you admitted with a chuckle , picking up a pen at the front desk to sign in.

jj’s jaw dropped , letting out a gasp. “miss goodie-two-shoes lied?” he whisper yelled , hand coming to his heart, “is the world ending?”

“hush up,” you bit back , moving about the store as he followed you around like a lost puppy. he wasn’t about to go snooping around figure eight. he didn’t want to deal with it any more than he’d already agreed to.

“y/n! ah , so wonderful to see you , honey!” katherine’s shrill voice echoed through the building as she rushed to the front with her hands high and wide. you barely had time to smile back at her before she yanked you in for a hug. “you know , i’ve been waiting for your behind to get in here for your measurements for weeks!” she cried , guiding you to the back , not even sparing your blonde companion a second glance. you did though , catching jj standing there awkwardly in the front of the store.

“katherine , this is jj,” you interrupted her chatter , stopping to reach back and grab the boy’s hand, “i called about getting him set up with a tux for midsummers?”

katherine’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when she took in who you were holding onto. “jj maybank…” she hummed , knowing exactly the reputation he and his father carried around, “i didn’t realize he was your plus one this year.”

you could hear the condescension in her voice , and by the tightening grip on your delicate hand , you knew jj could too. “well , he’s my boyfriend so…” you trailed off , waiting for katherine to just do her job and stop being like every other kook on the island. you never understood why your father considered her such a close friend. she was snippy and fake , and it was clear to you since the day you met.

“oh!” she smiled, “well come on back.” she turned to lead you both to the fitting areas , calling out her husband’s name to help out with jj’s measurements.

“boyfriend?” jj whispered to you , still holding your hand.

“didn’t i mention that?” you played dumb , knowing very well you left that little piece of information out yesterday when you got him to accept the deal.

“no , angel,” he shook his head , pulling you to a stop, “that’s like five hangouts worth! i only agreed because it was supposed to be one night of helpin’ ya out! and now you’re tellin’ me i gotta pretend to be your boyfriend too?” your hand reached up to cover jj’s mouth , looking around to make sure no one heard you.

“can we talk later?” you asked him , pleading eyes that begged him to leave it be for now.

but jj just scoffed , dropping your hand and flipping the curtain out of the way to follow after katherine.

YOU HADN’T heard a peep from the men’s parlor. katherine had been chatting in your ear the entire time she measured you , talking about everyone and everything. she mentioned having your family over to her house for dinner soon , which you made a mental note to bring up to your father when you got home later.

but you couldn’t help but think about jj behind the thick , velvet curtain. you heard katherine’s husband muttering every once in awhile , but never jj’s voice. was he actually mad at you? it was all pretend , and it would end right after midsummers. what was the big deal? he had done far worse things to you than omit some facts.

after long enough , katherine decided you didn’t even need to come in at all. “measurements are the same as last year , darling. you wasted your time here today,” she declared , sending the bill to your father’s account all while sending you an underlying message.

you shouldn’t have brought that maybank kid here.

“well , jj needed to get fitted too,” you smiled sweetly, “no harm done by comin’ in.” you were always deemed a nice girl. you were a nice girl , but there was only so much hidden snottiness you could deal with from certain people before becoming just as passive aggressive as them. “i’m actually going to go check on him,” you spoke , already turning to head back his way.

“she tells me we’re dating out of the blue , man! i don’t know what she was thinking , but she’s outta her mind!” you could finally hear jj’s cadence followed by marcus’ belly laugh.

“women,” he chuckled, “i’ll tell you right now , it doesn’t get any better. happy wife , happy life. get used to it , kid,” he advised the younger man , patting his shoulders before letting him know they were all done.

you stepped through the curtain , ignoring the tinge of hurt jj’s words caused in your heart while the metal loops glided across the curtain rod to announce your presence. “let’s go , jj.” you held your hand out to him , not giving him an option of taking his time. he could tell from the way your neck was stiff that something had upset you , so he wasted no time yanking his jeans back on. he didn’t want to be the reason for your cold attitude again. at least not for the rest of the day.

you dragged him out of the store , not sparing katherine a goodbye. you got in the car , buckling up as jj did the same before driving off in silence. it wasn’t long before you were driving through the streets of figure eight , being the only car on the road.

jj was poking around your glove compartment again , flipping through the owner’s manual to fill the car ride. he jumped and dropped the book to the floorboards when you let out a scream. he jolted and look over at you , watching the way your face nearly turned red from the air you were expelling from your body.

“yo , yo!” he shouted at you.

you took a deep breath , closing your eyes when you came to a stop sign. “sorry,” you mumbled , catching your breath still, “i just really , really dislike katherine! she’s so mean and snotty and two-faced! like , she was makin’ comments the entire time just poking at me!” you ranted , not caring that jj just saw you let out a scream you’d been holding in for about a week, “and don’t get me started on all of her implications about you.”

jj was still taken aback , not too sure what to say. he’d never seen you unravel like that before. he’d never thought you could. “um— well , at least we got it outta the way…” he tried to help the situation.

“yeah,” you nodded breathlessly , beginning to drive again like nothing had happened.

after a few more minutes of awkward silence , jj decided to speak up again , not forgetting what you tabled earlier. “boyfriend , huh?”

you sighed. you had forgotten about the conversation you still needed to have with him , so blinded by your frustrations. “yeah , so maybe my parents assumed that when i told them i had a date for midsummers last week , it was a boyfriend? and maybe i happened to leave that out when asking you to come with me?”

“oh , really?” jj feigned surprised, “i didn’t notice!”

“i’m sorry!” you cried, “but my dad wouldn’t stop bothering me about a date and then it all snowballed.” the pitch in your voice and pout in your lips made jj frown for a moment before focusing.

“i didn’t agree to playing house , princess,” jj reminded you , and your stomach dropped.

you pulled into the driveway , parking the car before shifting to look at him. “are you mad at me? you’re still gonna come to midsummers , right?” you needed him to say yes.

jj thought about it , not giving you any idea if he was backing out now or not. “five— no , six hangouts , and you have to come to a kegger,” he decided , nodding to himself. he felt like it was fair enough. if he would have to prance around figure eight as your arm candy for the next two weeks , you would have to start experiencing some of the cut. it was only right. a true balance he thought.

“but i don’t—“

“ah , ah ah!” he interrupted you , pressing a finger to your lips, “you’re not really in a position to negotiate , princess. i’m callin’ the shots now. if you want me to be your fake boyfriend for two weeks , i want you to start tagging along with the pogues. if not , you can just forget this whole thing.”

you stared at jj still surprised he touched your mouth. “i—“ you sighed , sitting back against your seat, “fine , but i’m not drinking or smoking or nothing.” you crossed your arms over your chest , making it clear you weren’t about to be pushed around on this anymore.

and he didn’t know why , but jj grinned. he knew this would all probably fall apart and cause a few problems— it was just what usually happened when he was involved in schemes , but he was excited. it would give him something to do for the next few weeks.

“pleasure doin’ business with ya , angel,” he smirked , climbing out of your car. he bent over , leaning down to the window. “now don’t just go around tellin’ everyone i’m taking your virginity or nothin’ either. i’ll play boyfriend , but i won’t have everyone thinking i’m corrupting father y/l/n’s precious daughter.”

your face crinkled up at jj’s words before you rolled up the window he was in. “excuse me?” you gasped , getting out of the car and rushing around to his side before smacking at him.

he laughed , blocking himself from the rapid but weak hits from your little purse. “i’m kidding!” he cackled , knowing it was a risky joke , but he had taken far greater risks with less rewards than pushing your buttons.

“you are so dirty , jj!” you huffed , getting one last thwack in at him, “maybe i’ll find a different date.”

“good luck with that,” jj breathed out , taking a step back in case you swung the bag at him again, “no one will put up with that little attitude of yours.”

“i do not have an attitude!” you argued back , flicking a few hairs out of your face, “you just make nasty comments.”

“jj , come on. we’re leaving!” he mimicked you , using his girl voice and waving his hands around, “that don’t sound familiar?” he questioned , hands on his hips after his performance.

you rolled your eyes , seeing that it probably wasn’t too far off. you weren’t blind to the fact that you were a little stuck up. it was never nasty or hateful , but you demanded a certain level of perfection from nearly everything in your life. “whatever , i don’t sound like that,” you finally spoke up , avoiding jj’s gaze, “thank you for showing up today.”

“you’re welcome , princess,” he smiled back , glad you were finally taking a joke, “i’ll text you whenever we’re gonna hangout,” he added with a thumbs up sent your way before hopping back into the twinkie. you watched him drive off before slipping back into your house.

jj couldn’t help but beat his thumb on the steering wheel to the radio’s tune , chuckling a little as he drove through the stop sign you were just screaming at. he’d missed so much of your life , that he hadn’t really gotten a good idea of who you were now. you were still girly and spoiled , but you were funnier than before— a natural humor that took control of your words and behaviors every now and then.

but then jj remembered why you were no longer friends , and his demeanor shifted , pissed off at himself for even saying yes yesterday to begin with. he knew this wouldn’t end well. john b said that last night after jj went to him about the situation too.

it was a disaster just waiting to happen.

hell , you were probably only doing this whole act to piss off your dad while still giving him what he wanted. the idea alone keyed jj up , feeling used now when he hadn’t thought to be before.

“yo , john!” he shouted , stomping into the house.

the brunette popped out from the living room , hardly moving from his position earlier when jj had left. “yes?” john b replied carefully , watching as jj kicked his boots off , clearly frustrated by something. he assumed it had to do with you , but had no idea what you could’ve done in two hours.

jj moved through the house , heading up to his room , hearing his friend follow him up. “you really think i’m gonna fall for that shit like i did last time?” he finally asked after shutting the door. he didn’t need any extra ears hearing his conversation.

john b furrowed his brows. what had you done to him? in two hours? “i don’t know , man. what happened today?” he joined his blonde friend on the bed , getting comfortable.

“so not only do i have to go to this fucking kook festival , right?” jj began , hearing john b’s quiet ‘you agreed to that’ but continuing to rant, “now i have to pretend to be her boyfriend! because she fuckin’ told her parents ‘bout dating me!”

“she what?” john b cracked up , not able to hold back his laughter just to spare jj some dignity, “why the hell would she do that? doesn’t her dad hate you or something?”

“yeah!” jj scoffed , silently thanking his friend for understanding.

“okay , but her mom loves you,” john b added , deciding he’d play devil’s advocate.

“yeah,” jj nodded , seeing the point, “but we haven’t spoken in years , and now she’s all like ‘be my fake boyfriend’ and ‘go to the prom with me’ and shit!” parroting your voice like he had done in your driveway.

it wasn’t the time , but john b kept chuckling at his friend. “man , i think you’re reading too deep into it. she needed a favor. you’re helping her out. that’s all,” he reasoned , sitting up in the bed now, “i know i told you to be wary , but i didn’t mean get paranoid. don’t get your panties in a twist because you have problems and she doesn’t.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” jj questioned , not expecting john b to turn on him. sarah or kie maybe. cleo and pope definitely , but not him.

john b sighed , rolling his eyes at how oblivious his friend was. “you’ve got residual shit coming up right now pretending to be some kook’s boyfriend , dude. you’re gonna have to handle that shit before you take it out on y/n. she seems nice enough to not fuck you over like camille,” he calmly explained , standing to leave, “besides it’s all fake anyway.” the boy simply patted jj’s shoulder before exiting the room , leaving jj to process his words alone with the name he tried his best to forget swirling in his mind on a loop.

meanwhile , back at your house , your sister had brought her friend over upon hearing certain details about your life she wanted to ask you about. you didn’t even make it up the stairs to your room before bella and her friend , olivia , were harassing you.

“why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend is jj? why didn’t you tell me you have a boyfriend?” bella shrieked in your ear , barging into your room after you. you sighed , tossing your purse onto your vanity before turning to face her.

“i didn’t tell you because it’s not your business,” you explained softly, “it’s not a big deal. i didn’t even want to tell mom and dad,” you admitted.

“wait— why not?” olivia wondered , sitting down on your bed with you and your sister.

“well , jj isn’t exactly dad’s favorite person,” you began , getting comfortable. you didn’t mind the intrusion from the younger girls. you actually enjoyed their company , so you had no problem telling them all about your errand with jj.

“but he’s sooo cute!” olivia whined , annoyed that you were so adamant about not actually liking him like that after you told them about the whole ruse.

“and he was always really nice to me,” bella added to their case. they were currently trying to convince you to really date him , even after telling them he never liked you like that.

you laughed at their interest but shook your head. “no , i don’t think i’ll ever actually date jj maybank,” you whispered , letting the words sink in. this was all fake. it was a favor. nothing more. you had to keep remembering that , or everything would fall apart , and you’d be stuck in high school , craving his attention all over again.

taglist @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @dcllhearts @snowtargaryen

[calicoups]

౨ৎ sheet masks & kisses — csc

synopsis you couldn’t let those sheet masks you ordered go to waste, could you? pairing seungcheol x fem reader genre fluff. word count 1.3k hani’s note just terms of endearment for reader (doll, sweetheart) and use of scissors (for its intended use, of course). literally thought of this as i was doing my skincare before bed. and also i miss my cutie cherry bunny guy :((

seungcheol’s shoulders shake with laughter at a video of a cat falling on his phone. it’s actually amusing seeing the things seungcheol finds funny. you swear his laugh could heal someone.

at this moment, you’re laying comfortably on seungcheol’s chest who is splayed out on the couch. you’re not doing anything in particular, just admiring seungcheol. you play with his brown locks, the silver chain around his thick neck and you poke his cheeks, pink lips and his dimples whenever they pop out as he smiles.

you swear a family of eight could live in his dimples.

there’s this glow on his skin, it makes you jealous how beautiful he is and so effortlessly at that. your finger travels upwards from his jaw on the left side of his face to his forehead then back down on the right side of his face, finger landing in the dip above his collarbones. the indent above his clavicles are deep due to the way he’s laying on the couch.

“cherry?”

a ‘hm’ sound echoes in the room, his chest vibrates. seungcheol pauses the video and looks at you, giving you his undivided attention.

“do you wanna do sheet masks with me?”

“sheet masks?” he cocks his head to the side slightly.

“yeah, i ordered a bunch two weeks ago and they came a few days ago but i didn’t have anyone to try them with,” you pause, “wanna be my testing buddy?”

“testing buddy, huh?” he muses, “let’s do it!”

without saying another word, you scramble off of seungcheol and disappear to grab a few sheet masks. when you return, you notice that seungcheol has gone back to watching those cat videos while he was waiting for you to get back. you tap his knee and hold out the different sheet masks, fanning them out like a deck of cards.

“take your pick: lotus, shea butter, green tea or mung bean?”

“hm,” seungcheol puts a finger on his chin to exaggerate his thinking then puts that finger on a packet, “i wanna try lotus root.”

“green tea for me then!” you put the rest on the coffee table, “do you want me to do yours first or mine?”

“can i do yours first, please?”

you think you might die there and then. cause of death: seungcheol saying please.

when you agree to his request, he lets out a quiet yet excited ‘okay’ and plants his knees either side of your body. using his hands, he pushes back your hair, “don’t wanna get it trapped under the mask.”

then, he grabs the green tea extract mask you picked and very, very carefully rips it open, slipping out the wet sheet. and all you can do in this moment is simply stare at seungcheol. he’s doing this with almost trembling hands, wanting to be so careful with the mask, not wanting to tear it as he unfolds it and not wanting to startle you as he places it on your face.

the mask is definitely bigger than your face, it bunches up at the ends and becomes annoying for seungcheol as he tries to smooth it down. remembering a video he saw, he wipes his hands on a tissue from the coffee table and gets up from his spot.

“wait here, i’ll be back in a second,” he ruffles your hair and walks away to grab a pair of small silver scissors.

“are you going to do what i think you’re going to do?” you watch as he straddles you again, scissors in hand. you admit that he looks a little crazy right now, kneeling above you with the scissors in his large hands.

“depends on what you’re thinking,” he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, “i saw this trick somewhere to make your mask fit better because your face is so tiny.”

“oh yeah, i’ve seen that! go ahead, just don’t poke me.”

“i would never, doll.”

seungcheol uses his thumb and forefinger to lift the mask so that the scissors don’t touch your skin, snipping at three spots: the nose bridge, upper lip and chin. he uses his fingers to connect the cut pieces together then leans back to look at his work.

at some point, he had grabbed a mirror on the way back from retrieving the scissors and he hands the mirror to you which you use to inspect for what feels like a while because how is he so good at this?

“i’m just too good, aren’t i?” seungcheol puffs out his chest in pride and you gawk at him then back at yourself in the mirror.

“yeah,” you mumble, “a little too good…‘cus who else have you done this on, huh?”

“excuse me?” seungcheol dramatically places a hand on his chest, “only you, sweetheart, you know that!”

you laugh at his exaggeration, “just teasing you, cherry.”

seungcheol folds his arms over his chest and pouts before mimicking your pose on the couch next to you, “whatever, it’s my turn so get over here.”

since seungcheol’s legs are stretched out, you take this opportunity to sit on his thighs instead of kneeling like he did. you kiss his pouty lips, “such a cutie guy.”

“here,” he hands you the packet of the sheet mask and you take it to tear it open.

the sheet is cold at your fingertips and the liquid coats them. seungcheol holds his hair back for you to lay the mask on his face. to no surprise, the mask fits perfectly on his face and doesn’t even need sizing it down like yours did.

seungcheol stares at you, his brown eyes following yours. you know what he’s doing. he’s making sure that you know you have all of his attention, that he’ll do anything you ask, may that be big or small, silly or not.

you copied what seungcheol had done to your mask and flatten his, getting rid of bumps and making sure it stuck to his handsome face properly. you were almost done but seungcheol being seungcheol, he can never be serious. he captures you with his arms and pulls you close to his chest, squeezing his arms around your body.

“this is payback for the same thing you did to me last time, doll.”

you can barely get your words out with the strength he’s using, “what did…i do last…time?”

“you did this too! said you were loving me or something?”

you never forgot, you just wanted to taunt him because you love when he's on the receiving end of your teasing comments.

“let go! i can’t breathe!” you wiggle in his tight hold and he finally spares you. you put on an act of trying to catch your breath, seungcheol scoffs playfully, “i didn’t even squeeze you as hard as you squeezed me, doll.”

“yeah, you got me there. but you weren’t affected by my strength, anyways,” you point out, “you’re way stronger than me.”

“maybe you should come to the gym with me next time.”

“yeah, yeah,” you pat your face to check the mask, “hey, i think we should remove the masks now.”

you both take the mask off and stuff each one back in its packet.

“okay, now pat the extract in!” you instruct and gently pat at your skin. seungcheol just watches.

“why aren't you patting it in?” at this, seungcheol doesn’t say anything but tilts his head up to gesture at you to do it for him. so, you use your hands to do seungcheol’s job, palms curving at his cheeks as they tap repeatedly. you get more aggressive with each tap and seungcheol’s eyes close shut at each contact of your hand with his cheeks.

“okay, now you’re just borderline slapping me.”

you squish his cheeks together and kiss his lips, “sorry, need your skin to absorb it quick.”

“i need to be compensated, doll.”

“compensation? for what?”

“for all the slapping!”

“i wasn’t slapping but fine, i’ll compensate.” you huff, “what must i do?”

seungcheol puffs out a cheek and taps it, you press a kiss to it. then, he turns his head and puff out the other cheek, you kiss it. he does it again and you can’t help but giggle at his antics yet you follow without protest.

“how many more kisses do you want?” you punctuate each word with a kiss to his cheeks.

“hm…one more?”

you sigh loudly because seungcheol points to his lips this time. say less, you would gladly kiss his lips anytime.