#the brainrot is real and every time I attempt to draw him he comes out different

[movjazz]

You know how his background was changed from “noble” to “charlatan”? Yeah what if he faked his way to be a magistrate lmao

[reidrum]

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded

A/N: if i stared at this any longer it would never see the light of day...so here she is! this is the longest fic i've ever written and i'm kinda gagged about that but i really hope you like it and if you don't that's okay too this is just silly angsty brainrot anyways thanks for reading this my inbox is open if you wanna yap more summary: in which your kidnapping forces you and spencer to face the fallout following your recently ended relationship cw: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is kidnapped/held hostage, implications and mentions of SA to reader but nothing happens, cm type violence, ex!spencer, lowkey lovers to enemies back to lovers, cat adams, medical jargon, miscommunication trope, the bau team is family, afab!reader, pet names wc: 5.1k

Every case you and Spencer have been on has been insufferable for the rest of the team since your falling out, if it had to be given a name. Everyone always had to deal with your constant bickering and harsh words. It was the same in every case, a difference of opinions that led to incessant fighting between you two, Hotch would have to separate you both and use your joint intelligence separately for the sake of keeping everyone alive.

This last case was nothing different, a serial killer in Athens, Georgia who was religiously sacrificing young women in the name of a cult. Both of you fighting over what you believed the other to be wrong about in their part for solving the case. Spencer thought the unsub would have struck in a zone closer to his home, you assumed he was only going after women who resembled someone in his life. The real problem was that you were both wrong.

And it ended with you being held hostage.

It all happened so fast. You were in the car with Spencer and Rossi driving out to the unsub’s house to check for new evidence when you had stopped at a gas station about 15 miles out from the house to refuel. Rossi got out of the car to pump the gas, Spencer sat in the passenger seat, and you went inside to use the bathroom and grab a quick snack.

You quickly washed your hands after finishing in the bathroom and wiped your hands on your pants, still slightly damp as you turn the handle of the door. As you’re perusing the aisle looking for a snack, you can feel the presence of watchful eyes on you. Casually, you slowly look up and around at the source and clock a figure an aisle over with a cap turned downward blocking their face. 

Your gut was sending flares up, telling you that danger was near. You nonchalantly walk over to the aisle he’s in, pretending to look at the nuts and dried fruits while attempting to get a look at his face. In a (maybe not so) bright idea, you think to knock a bag of nuts on the floor next to the lurker’s feet in the hopes he’ll bend down to pick it up for you.

With a push of your hand, the bag knocks off the shelf and onto the floor and you both bend down to pick it up.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you chuckle lightly, “I’m such a clutz.”

“No problem at all, Miss—.” He stops talking all of a sudden, you’re unsure why. You follow his gaze to your left hip where your FBI credentials are peaking out.

Shit.

He draws a weapon faster than you’re able to react with getting your own out, and by the time yours is out the barrel of his is flush with your forehead.

“Drop it.”

You quickly recognize the man as your unsub, miles away from his hunting ground and about to stray from his victimology with you.

“Come on, up. We’re going for a little ride.” He snarls, glancing outside at the black SUV with your colleagues. He grabs you by a hairful and drags you out the back door, shooting the gas station clerk before making the escape with you to his pickup truck. You’re shoved against the car door, back facing him, as he place a zip tie on your wrists and opens the door to sit you in the back seat. The unsub gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car, glaring at you through the rear view mirror, “I’m gonna have fun with you, fed.”

Meanwhile, back in the car Rossi stands at the pump waiting for the tank to fill and Spencer remains in the car looking over the case details once more. He can’t help but feel something is wrong, but can’t place his finger on it. He looks over the details again meticulously, searching for a fault anywhere in your, or even his own logic. Rossi closes the tank and hops back in the car, “She’s not back yet?” he pondered.

Spencer hadn’t even realized you weren’t back yet, “I guess not,” something wasn’t right, “She went ten minutes ago right?”

Rossi nods, opening his mouth to speak when a gunshot coming from the gas station cuts him off. The men look at each other, eyes widened and rush out of the car, weapons drawn.

“FBI!” Rossi enters, looking for any sign of you but coming up empty. Spencer takes note of the disheveled store, produce and cans lying astray. He steps around the mess to find an out of place bag of sour gummy worms on the floor in the middle of an aisle only filled with nuts and dried fruit. 

Sour gummy worms were your favorite.

A sinking feeling settles in Spencer as he tries to fight the reality his brain is trying to tell him. He looks to Rossi with a pained expression, and Rossi matches it back.

“He took her.”

___

The next few hours are a blur for Spencer.

Rossi called the team to meet them at the gas station, already telling Garcia to hack into the security cameras to find any clue of where he’d taken you. Emily and Derek were checking out the crime scene, Hotch and Rossi talking to the sheriff. JJ finds Spencer staring off onto the one road connected to the station.

“We’re gonna find her, Spence.”

He whips his head up at the sound of her voice, “I should’ve realized sooner. I knew there was something off about his MO, a—and I just couldn’t place it. And now she’s gone and it’s all my fault and I never—“

“Spencer,” JJ interrupts softly, “You couldn’t have known. None of us did, even her.”

“I should have,” he laments, “And if she…if something happens to her because I wasn’t paying attention…” He trails off, too afraid of what his brain thinks is the ending of the sentence.

JJ offers him a sympathetic look, understanding the conflicting emotions, “We’ll find her, she’s strong. You know that.”

He stares back at her hoping, praying, that she’s right and you’re going to be okay. You have to be.

He’s pulled out of his head by Morgan calling him and JJ over, telling Garcia on the phone to repeat her findings.

“Okay, I think I have a lead based on the security camera footage on the car he has and where it’s been last seen. I’m sending the last known coordinates to your phones now.” 

An idea springs to him, “Garcia, can you also check the gas station records and see how much he filled his tank?”

The clacking sounds of her keyboard ring through the phone before she speaks again, “He didn’t fill a full tank, only like, fifteen miles worth of gas.”

Everyone looks up at each other in realization of what the new information means. You had to be close by. Morgan walks over to tell Hotch, who immediately talks to a state ranger about setting up a 15 mile radius around the gas station with monitored roadblocks, no entry or exit without inspection. 

After Hotch finishes he walks back to Spencer and lays a hand on his shoulder, “Good job, Reid,” He nods back with a thin lipped smile and fiddles with his pen anxiously, “Are you okay?”. Spencer can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking him or if he’s asking him for the sake of him being able to do his job properly considering the circumstances. Ever the profiler that man is, he thinks.  He nods again nonetheless and walks over to meet Derek at the car.

Spencer and Derek get into the car and set the route for the coordinates Garcia gave, ETA 14 minutes. He swallows nervously, do you even have 14 minutes? What if he’s too late? What if you’re not even there? What if he never got to tell you—

“Reid. Are you even listening?”

“What?”

Derek raises his eyebrows as he glances at his friend, “Got something on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a shit liar, man.”

“I’m not lying.” Even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Spencer—“

“I’m just worried! Okay? We’re all worried, it’s not a big deal.” he snaps.

Derek stops at a red light and looks over the console, “I’m going to ignore whatever that was,” guilt sweeps over Spencer’s face as he continues, “I’m not stupid kid, I know how you’re feeling. But you can’t let whatever turmoil you got in that big brain of yours affect this case. Not now.”

“I know that, Morg—“

“No, you don’t. I know you’re thinking about her, we all are. And we all want—need—her to be okay too. We will find her, but we can’t let the unsub get away too.”

Spencer sighs outwardly seeing the truth in his words. As concerned as he was about you he needed to remember this was still an active case. He couldn't let your past with each other cloud his judgement, even if the fallout still haunts him every day of his life. He needs to save you, but he also has a job to do. He just wasn’t sure if he’d remember that when they finally found you.

——

A pounding in your head stirs you awake, the bitter taste of metal flooding your senses as you come to. You blink a few times adjusting to the lowlights of the unfamiliar environment, hoping to find something distinguishable to ground you back to reality. It doesn’t help once you realize the blood crusted over your eye is the reason for your obscured vision. You attempt to rub it off on your shoulder ignoring the sharp pains shooting up from the abrasive contact. 

Once you think you’ve cleared enough you blink a few more times registering your surroundings to be a house, a cabin more accurately. Your memory is a little fuzzy as you try to recount what happened before you were knocked out cold.

Gas station. Unsub. Unsub at the gas station? But where was I…I went to the bathroom… and was getting…gummy worms?… But Rossi and Spencer were just outside… now I’m here…so does that means the unsub—

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

You jolt at the voice—the unsub you’ve come to remember—and you realize your hands are tied up behind your back, quickly coming to the second realization that you are rendered both injured and immobile.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say hoarsely after a minute.

He chuckles, “I didn’t know they made them so pretty at the academy…” he walks over and kneels in front of you, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb to move your head, “They probably kept you around for…entertainment right?”

You whip your head, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh, you’re feisty. That’s good, keep it up. Makes this more fun.” he walks back over to the table and fiddles with something, you can’t really tell from the floor, “So how’d they make it work back in—what is it called—Quantico! They take turns with you or? There’s so many of y’all, probably had a system.”

The pounding in your head makes it more difficult to process anything he’s saying, “The hell are you talking about, take turns with what?” you ask, wincing through another wave of pain.

He turns around holding a metal rod and walks over, angling the rod under your chin to tilt your face up to meet his as he snarls, “I can’t wait to see how it feels to fuck a federal whore.”

All the color drains from your face and you kick into whatever gas is left in your autopilot. Your feet are flailing in every direction, body thrashing violently to prevent Jason from getting a good grip on you. You quickly learn the purpose of the metal rod hearing the clang! first, a millisecond passing before the pain and threat of unconsciousness spreads through your brain. 

The hit takes you out long enough for him to pin you down on the floor, the weight of his body landing on you before the metal rod goes for your limbs. It’s then you realize the throes of death have wrangled you for what appears to be the last time, and it’s probably wise to start saying—thinking— your final words.

To my parents, I love you. To Derek and Penelope, thank you for letting me third wheel with you. Emily, I’ll miss our weekend Sin City excursions. JJ, please give your boys the biggest hug from their favorite aunt. Rossi and Hotch, you always cared for me like I was your own—I am so grateful for you.

And Spencer…Oh, Spencer. How I hoped I would have the time to say I’m sorry for what happened, I hope you’ll forgive me in due time. I wish I told you that nothing about us ever changed for me. You were and will always be, My Spencer, I just wish I could tell you one more time how much I lov—“

“FBI, Drop your weapon!”

A clattering sound of something dropping rings directly next to your ear and the weight that was on you alleviates at the same time. You groan out and instinctively curl up on yourself, the pain spreading throughout your body. The sensory overload is so much you don’t hear the approaching figure crouching next to you.

“Hey Hey Hey,” Spencer stutters, quickly making work of the ties on your hands and holding you gently as he lays your head on his lap cradling you close, trying to hide the forming tears when he hears your whimpers of pain, “You’re okay, it’s okay. The medic’s coming.” He looks back to where the unsub was and watches Derek put him in cuffs, nodding at Spencer before walking out with Jason.

“…Spencer?” you whisper out weakly. You think you’re dreaming honestly, that in the wake of death you learn heaven isn’t a place but only his arms.

“Yeah, honey, it’s me.” he chokes out looking back down at your bruised face. He’s unsure how you still look angelic even when you’re hurt, but it doesn’t surprise him that you do. You were always good at defying the laws of nature, he prayed it extended to your immortality.

“It hurts.” you pout pathetically.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes gently, “I know it does, honey I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers tearfully.

You cough out and whimper in pain, “I’m sorry too.”

Spencer shakes his head vehemently, “No, don’t apologize. Don’t do that, just keep your eyes open for me, okay? I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

The tiredness soon wins and your eyes flutter close. Before Spencer can even panic and beg you to open them again the medic finally comes and asks him—pulls him— to move so they can start working on you.

He reluctantly backs up and watches on with glossed over eyes, barely registering all the things they were sticking in you to wake you up. The medics stabilize your neck with a C-SPINE and lift you onto the gurney, wheeling you back to the ambulance. The same medic who asked Spencer to move comes up to him again, “We’re taking her to Georgetown Medical, you’re allowed to ride in the back with us if you want.”

You slowly come to again on the gurney and Spencer meets your open eyes before you even realize they’re on you. Without hesitation he says, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

The medic team lifts your gurney inside the rig, and right before Spencer gets in he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around to find Hotch, “You’ll be okay?” 

It’s a loaded question. He’s not asking if Spencer is okay at this moment, because it doesn’t take a profiler to see that he’s the farthest from it. He says it as a grounding reminder knowing how Spencer gets about you. It didn’t matter to the team if you both fell out, the pair of you never faltered in your subconscious for each other. Both of your actions always moved faster than your brains, especially when it involved the other. 

That’s what worried his Unit Chief.

He nods and Hotch gives his shoulder a light squeeze, “Keep us updated,” the concern clearly etched in his eyes breaking through his usual stoicism as he looks inside the rig, “We’ll meet you there as soon as we can.”

Under the bright lights of the ambulance he’s—unfortunately—able to really take inventory of the injuries you sustained. The blue and black bruising scattered your limbs, the congregation of it on your stomach telling him you have at least two broken ribs. His eyes trail further down your body before abruptly stopping, but not on an appendage.

Spencer’s face pales even further than it already has staring at the glint on the undone button of your trousers shining in the reflection of the light.

If they didn’t get there when they did…If he got to you a second later…He can’t even fathom to think about what would’ve happened.

He’s broken out of his spiral by the EMT sitting next to him offering a tissue, which is when Spencer feels the tear and snot streaks rolling down his face. He takes it and wipes his face mindlessly before muttering, “Can I just…” hands reaching out to you before his words come out. Spencer doesn’t notice the EMT tearing up as he gently buttons your pants.

——

You were a fighter.

At least, that’s what the doctors told Spencer when they came and updated him in the waiting room. He blanks out for most of the conversation, eyes unfocusing and ears on low lest your name be spoken.

“She’s stable and awake now, the nurse can take you back to see her.”

He shakes his head to recenter and mutters a thank you before following the nurse through the double white doors. His senses are heightened as he walks closer to your room. The scuff of his shoes on the linoleum floors, the pedantic beeping of machines in the rooms he passes, until he hears the only voice that’s ever been enough to calm the warzone in his mind.

“Hi, Spence.”

His feet move on their own accord right next to your bedside, hands hovering awkwardly at his side. He’s silent for the first couple minutes, just a faint sniffle here and there before he takes a seat near your bed and hears you speak again.

“You can touch me, Spence. I won’t break more than I already am.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides quickly, “It’s not a joke.”

“Well, someone should be the comedic relief here.”

He lays the tips of his fingers right on top of the tips of yours, “You could have died.”

Your face softens, “I didn’t though.”

“You could have.”

“Spencer—“

“Stop down playing it. You don’t know what it was like finding you like that.”

“I mean I have some idea, ‘cause like, I was there.” 

Spencer deadpans at your poor attempt at lightening the mood, a faint smile peaking through while he shakes his head, “Insufferable even at your deathbed.”

“Yeah, the Grim Reaper heard me yapping and said ‘keep her’.”

He chuckles softly as his hand moves further up to rest the front of his palm on the back of your hand, “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve…been better. The doctor said one of my broken ribs punctured an artery, a big one apparently,” you flip your hand over so both of your palms are touching but not laced, you softly continue, “Told me I was lucky I came in when I did. Any later the internal bleeding would’ve spread to my lungs.”

Spencer feels the tears springing again and a lump forming in his throat, “I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” the pet name slipping out before he could realize, “I should’ve gotten there sooner, or realized something was wrong at the gas station.”

“Hey. Don’t do that. You saved my life.” your fingers intertwine with his and squeeze with whatever strength you can muster, which isn’t a lot and it makes his heart clench tighter. “I’m here.”

He lets out the breath he’s been holding since he walked in, “You’re here.”

“I didn’t forget what you promised me when we…broke up,” God you wish it didn’t sound so terminable as it did, “I knew you’d find me. You always do.”

Another sniffle leaves him as he rubs his thumb soothingly on your hand, “I always do…Look, there’s something I need to tell you—“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Penelope & Company burst into your room bearing balloons, chocolates, and many, many stuffies.

“How’s our girl doing?” Penelope huffs, hauling an entire Hallmark catalog worth of gifts in tow.

“She’s doing fine, Penny.” you chuckle lightly, trying your best to hide the wince of pain from your side, “You did not need to do all this.”

“Nonsense, everyone knows bear stuffies are the real medicine of the world.” she gleefully ignores the nurse onlookers, “I also brought you this, of special request by someone who shall not be named.” From her back she produces a bag of your favorite candy—sour gummy worms. A fact that you knew only one person was privy to.

You act surprised nonetheless, “My favorite! Thank you, Penny. And all of you, for coming to see my crippled self.”

Spencer watches the team take turns doting on you. Emily, JJ, and Penelope sit with you for about four Gilmore Girls episodes—another lost relic of modern medicine, according to Penny—after which Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch keep you company for a little bit before bidding you good night with forehead kisses and well wishes. Spencer stays with you the whole time, never once leaving your side. 

You are so loved, he thinks. He didn’t realize how much he liked watching you be loved. It makes him miss the times when he could do that for you too.

——

Weeks pass since the day of your kidnapping. You still find it weird to call it that, even though it’s literally what happened. You’ve been on house arrest—bed rest—begrudgingly, and while Penelope’s very glittery visiting schedule has kept you entertained, it’s been hard when the only person you really wanted to see has refused to come visit since you left the hospital.

You’ve asked Penelope why Spencer hasn’t come, and all she can offer you is a sad smile and a ‘He said something come up sweetie, sorry.’. Texting him seemed even more daunting, more because you weren’t about to beg for his attention if he obviously doesn’t want you to have it. 

The doorbell steals your attention and you glance over at the schedule before you walk over to open it, not expecting a visitor at this time.

Spencer looks up from his shoes hearing the door open, “Hey.”

A minute passes, “Why are you here?” you ask bluntly.

He looks confused, “I came to check on you, brought you takeout from the Indian place you like.” The food in his hand smells heavenly but you can’t seem to enjoy it yet without getting an answer.

“Why are you here, now?” you ask again with an addendum.

He either really wants to piss you off or his ear blew out on the way over but he chooses to ignore you and enter your apartment, “You having nightmares again?”

“What? No…” you lie poorly, straightening up your back, “Just tired.”

He chuckles, “Good to know you’re still a terrible liar. Did you know you wear Doctor Who shirts when you’re feeling anxious?”

Your brows fuddle in confusion but he elaborates, “It’s probably subconscious, something you find comforting and naturally gravitate to in times of distress. It’s a normal stress response but…you’re wearing an Eleventh Doctor shirt.” My Eleventh Doctor shirt, he thinks.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you feign.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” he nods, “But you are anxious aren’t you?”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on, why are you here, really?” your eyes narrow, arms crossing defensively.

“I told you, I came to check on you.”

“You just woke up this morning and decided it was convenient for you to see me today?” Spencer opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You stare at him with tearful eyes and the emotion spills out of you before you can stop it. You speak again after a few moments, voice barely above a whisper, “You left me. Again.”

He tilts his head, “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” you grit out, “You were rooted at my bedside the entire time I was hospitalized, and the second I was discharged you were nowhere to be found. I thought, maybe with Penny’s schedule you’d come by, but then I came to find out that you didn’t even put your name down.”

“You almost died!” he retorts, “You almost died, because I made a mistake and you got hurt because of it!”

“So, that gives you the right to abandon me for the second time?”

“I didn’t…” he sighs out roughly, “I didn’t abandon you. I just, couldn’t…face you.” Face you, in pain, as a result of his actions.

“Is that what happened the first time you left?” you bite back.

His eyes steel over, “That was different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You know why I left.”

“I don’t think I do, Spencer—”

“I left because I was putting you in danger!” he yells cutting you off, “I left because loving you meant dragging you into all the messed up stuff that happens to me, stuff that’ll keep happening to me.”

Tobias. Mexico. Cat.

A single tear rolls down your face, “That’s bullshit, I’m sorry. We work the same damn job, the risks are the same if we’re together or not.”

“You don’t understand—“

“Then fucking enlighten me, Spencer.”

He stares at you, fighting an internal battle of whether he was really willing to admit his truth to you, one that he knows you deserved to know but wasn’t sure if it would put you more in harm's way.

“Cat had details about your family.”

That’s not what you were expecting to hear. Your face drops, “Wh—What?”

His eyes dart around the room nervously, “After I got out of Millburn and we went to see Cat, she was trying all these tactics to get me to break. I was doing fine, until she started talking about you. She was saying things that only you told me, stuff that’s not even on record.”

You remember that day. You were supposed to go with him and JJ to the correctional facility but ended up stuck at the BAU because your skill set was more valuable in helping Penelope locate Mr. Scratch. You remember how he came back to you that day, distant and glassed over. It was easy to chalk up his behavior following it to his recent release, but when you woke up a few weeks later to an empty bed and a throwaway note saying ‘I’m sorry.”, you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why all of a sudden you didn’t exist to him, like you didn’t matter.

“I made a choice, one that I knew would protect you.”

“That’s not a decision for you to make.” you snap.

“I had to,” he says lowly, taking a step closer to you, “If being with me puts your safety at risk…” another step, “I’d rather live in a world where you hate me and are still here…” one more step, “Than one where you loved me and died because of it.” he manages to choke out, taking one final step towards you.

It’s quiet for a couple minutes, save for the soft whistle of the breeze coming from your open window. The resolve in you has long faded, leaving behind nothing but the skin on your bones to weather the damage. It makes sense to you why he did what he did, and you don’t know if the roles were reversed would you do the same thing. But you knew that you loved him and he loved you, and that alone should have been enough.

You can’t help but let out a whine, sounding like a petulant child, “That’s not fair, Spence.”

“What’s not fair, baby?” he softly whispers.

Your whine turns into a cry, “That, all of this. The fall on your sword act in which you decide what’s best for me is to leave me stranded, thinking I did something wrong that made you stop loving me.”

He steps forward a little more, his face mere inches from your own, “You think I stopped loving you?”

“Was I supposed to think otherwise? You couldn’t even stand being in the same room as me.”

His hands raise to gently cup your face, thumbs positioned under your eyes to wipe the fallen tears. He’s missed looking into your eyes as close as he is. For a man who doesn’t believe in religion he’s pretty certain the gates of heaven lie within your irises.

“I was selfish,” he swallows, “I wanted to keep you safe but I did so in a way that I felt was most logical, which turned out to be so fucking wrong regardless since you still got hurt.”

He brings your face impossibly closer, the warmth of his breath gently hitting your face.

“There isn’t a waking moment where I don’t love you. Even when we weren’t together, I still looked out for you and I made sure you were safe in ways I couldn’t tell you. I meant what I said. I told you I’d find you in every lifetime. I love you, in every lifetime, angel girl.”

The ache in your heart only grows with his words, reminding you that he always was and will forever be, Your Spencer.

“You can’t do that again,” you stutter out through tiny sobs, “You need to tell me what’s going on, whatever it is. We figure it out together.”

He nods softly, the hair on his forehead faintly brushing up on yours, “We figure it out together. I’m so sorry for everything, baby.” his lips press a long kiss to your forehead, “I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere.”

You rise on your toes to meet your lips with his, the missed time and unspoken words flowing silently between you both. His hands wrap gently around your waist and pull you flush to his chest, with yours entangling with the brown curls you had missed so much.

Finally back in his arms, you sigh with exhaustion and relief, “You’re here.”

“I’m here, honey.”

[idorukiss]

Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon of sorts of how I picture MC's relationship with Rafayel would devleop~ I'm not much of a writer but the brainrot is real and im working on making similar ones for the other boys too!

1,051 words || You can also read it on ao3

‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙ Xavier ・ Zayne ・ Sylus

There have been many different things in Rafayel's life that inspired him when it comes to his art, But nothing took control of his heart so intensely as much as you have. Like a whirlpool you shook him to his core from that first meeting, and all he wants to do is capture you on his canvas for eternity.

It really was quite the blessing with how willing you were to become his bodyguard- not only can he keep you within arms reach but you can also protect him from all the shady people after his life. Like killing 2 birds with one stone, except you were so much stronger and beautiful than any stone he’s ever set eyes on before

He absolutely felt like a flirt to you at the start with all of the compliments and casual physical touch between you guys, He just loved to say how amazing you are while enclosing you in a deep bear hug. It was strange at first you'd admit, but it never felt like he was trying to make any passes at you or act like he was expecting anything in return. Perhaps that's just how he acts with people he trusts?

When Rafayel isnt painting, you two spend a lot of time outside finding inspiration all around. He usually has a sketchbook with him scribbling away anytime he sees something interesting- the landscapes, pretty flowers, or even a parfait you guys got to share. You’ve seen some of these sketches as he works on them, it always amazes you how much detail he can capture with so few lines.

He never let you fully flip through the sketchbook however, claiming all sorts of reasons why, like that the drawings were scared of the sunlight or you had to go through many trials to be worthy. It was obvious how much he cherished it and you respected his wishes, though it would be nice to reminisce on some of the good times you guys had together again. Though its not like your phone wasn't filled to the brim with photos already

Late one night, you stop by his place to make sure he didn't need any motivation to finish a painting for a deadline set the next morning. You have confidence he could make it in time, he always did, but you want to help him as best as you can otherwise. When you arrive you spot a stunning completed painting and a Rafayel sleeping on the sofa below it- both stunning as they're illuminated by the moonlight.

Taking it upon yourself to clean up his supplies a little, just enough to not be a walking hazard of course, you spot his precious travel sketchbook on the floor. Surely he wouldn't mind if you took a little peak in it, you'd love to see how he finished the last landscape you guys saw before he locked himself up to work. As you flip through the pages you see so many familiar sights from your time together so far, but scattered around them filling maybe even more pages was many drawings of a person. Of you. All surrounded by hearts and little notes about things you've said.

When did he have a chance to draw all of these? Is this how you look to him?? Questions race your mind as your face flushes at the image of him intensely scribbling in the sketchbook as you dance around the beach being dumb. You decide to grab a pencil and add your attempt of a sketch of him in the back, signing it with a little heart of your own. It’s nowhere near his skill level but something that captures how you feel, and maybe he would get a chuckle out of it once he spots it.

You don’t realize when the casual acts of affection he started out with turn slightly more romantic- going from linking arms together to holding your hand, and you swear you feel him press little kisses on the top of your head every time he wraps his arms around you. But you don't hate it, in fact it makes your heart flutter every time you realize it

Rafayel often messages you at the most random times to meet him somewhere, usually it was because he found a stunning view and wanted to share the experience with you. Sometimes he would even show up at your apartment to whisk you away, and every time it filled you with joy. These dates and every moment you get to spend with him fill your heart with so much warmth.

One particularly warm night you were woken up by a call inviting you to the beach near his studio. It was worth crawling out of the bed at an ungodly hour, not only for the view but for him. While you were admiring the waves, he couldn't keep his eyes off you as a cautious pinky is hooked around yours. Two faces flush as you look at him, it lasts for only a moment before its interrupted by your watch.

Your face falls as you read the notification “It looks like I got a last minute mission in the morning…I guess this means I have to head back already.” As you take a heavy step to start walking away he reaches out to stop you with a pleading look on his face “Wait, don’t go yet” “Rafayel…. I’m sorry, I really am. This night- everything was wonderful, it really was” “Can’t you just stay the night?” He wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your neck “Please just stay the night, I don’t want you to leave.” Your heart flutters as you wrap your arms around him in return “Okay, I’ll stay for you my sweet painter”

He is the most clingy man you’ve ever met, constantly torn between wrapping himself around you while peppering every inch of skin with kisses and diving headfirst into hundreds of paintings with you as his muse. His studio would be covered in nothing but paintings of you if he didn't have to focus on his commissions.

He sculpted out a place in your heart that held him, and in turn you've devoted yourself to him- loving him with every fiber of your being

[crybabykiko]

Brainrot Kinktober - 10/1

nice guys finish last

Hate sex: Shigeru Yahaba x Fem!Reader

Warnings: oral sex (f. receiving), sex (protected), kinda unhealthy relationship? Lmfaoooo idk how to tag a hate fuck but that’s what it is... frat boys. frat au- frat boys always come with a warning.

Word Count: 1.7k

Brainrot Kinktober Mlist

Of all the people in your contemporary issues seminar, it was just your luck that you had to be paired with Shigeru Yahaba for your midterm project. He was the arrogant, know-it-all, frat boy type that you loathed. It wasn’t that you knew you’d get a bad grade, actually quite the opposite; you both had some of the highest marks in the class- no, it was the fact that you had to spend time with someone who had such an inflated ego, and made it a point to let everyone know that his dad was on the university board of trustees or that his fraternity won the greek wars the past 2 years in a row- Every. Time. He. Opened. His. mouth. But begrudgingly, you had to do this to pass.

After texting back and forth sporadically for a few days, you had agreed to meet and work on the paper in your dorm, as you told Yahaba there was no way in hell you were stepping foot into his frat’s house. You felt a lot better doing the assignment on your terms this way. He, however, decided to show up almost an hour late to the pre-arranged meeting time, only further fuelling your disdain.

“Sorry,” he said flatly, tossing his backpack down to the floor. “Our pledges had a mission that ran over time and as Pledge Master I-“

“I don’t care,” you cut him off. “Let’s just get this project over with, yeah?”

You both set up your laptops and sat in an uncomfortable silence. Every once in a while, one of you would mention the topic at hand for the project, discussing a detail or commenting on the formatting of the paper you had to co-author. But mostly, the air was riddled with a heaviness, a lingering tension that was as close to breaking as possible. It was about an hour and a half before he opened his mouth to actually make conversation- and of course, he chose to press the issue.

“You know… I never really knew what your whole deal was with me,” he chuckled. “You seem to be the only person on this campus that has it out for me…”

“I don’t have it out for you,” you replied. “I just simply don’t like you.” You went back to work, typing feverishly in an attempt to draw your silence back in.

“But… why?” His tone changed, almost to one of desperation. One that let you know that he wanted you to validate him. But you could never give him that satisfaction.

“Because trustfund boys like you are a waste of time, space, and energy!” You yelled. Yahaba’s eyes widened.

“Well at least I don’t think I’m better than everybody for being a loner without friends!” He yelled back.

“At least I don’t have to fucking pay for friends,” you spat. “I worked for everything I have, I worked hard to get here! You think you should just be able to get by because daddy’s money keeps the school afloat!”

Your faces were lingering mere inches from each other, anger boiling over into a sickening feeling of contempt- but also an overwhelming arousal? The feeling of those sinfully familiar butterflies welled up in your abdomen as you stared into his eyes.

It was in a fluid motion that his lips found yours, teeth feverishly tugging at your bottom lip to allow entrance to your mouth. Your head was spinning as you tried to comprehend your current position- but your senses were overriding thought. You melted into the kiss, allowing your jaw to fall open just enough for Yahaba to swipe his tongue against yours. You paused for a second, stopping to look him in the eyes again, seeing his now hooded with an entirely different story than the hateful narrative you had been writing for them the entire semester.

“If we’re going to do this,” you started, taking the time to take a deep inhale before you finished your sentence:

“If we’re going to do this, you better not fucking tell anyone- or you’re dead.”

“Scouts honor,” Yahaba replied, licking his lips and giving you a shit-eating grin. Even though you were thoroughly convinced he had never been a scout, you couldn’t be bothered to care. He kissed you once more, pushing you into the couch before starting to sloppily trail kisses down your jawline, neck, and collarbones. He placed both hands at your waist, pinning you to the surface below as he used his teeth to pull up your shirt, feathering more kisses down your torso. You watched him wistfully, mindlessly following his lead.

You began to kick off your leggings, wriggling them down your thighs while Yahaba had removed his shirt. He found his way back to your mouth, placing sloppy open-mouthed kisses to it as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your slowly dampening underwear, tossing them to the floor. He ran a finger up your now glistening slit- the sudden sensation of which earned a gasp of surprise from you. Examining his finger, he slowly licked your arousal from it.

“Delicious,” he smirked, positioning his head and body in between your legs, his own feet dangling from the couch. He looked up at you one last time.

“I hope you’re ready for this....” he teased. He wasted no time, flattening his tongue against your core. You inhaled sharply, one hand finding his hair and the other palming one of your now exposed breasts. You rolled your nipple between your fingers as he went to work, lapping at your folds with an almost sinfully slow pace.

“Fuck I need- MORE!” You could barely get the last word out when you were jolted by the feeling of suction his mouth had made on your clit. Slowly, Yahaba had slid a finger at your slit, slowly pushing it within your plush walls, several soft moans escaping your lips. He curled his finger inside of you once or twice before lazily slipping another in, making sure to keep the pressure also building around your clit, rapidly darting his tongue against it.

He released you from his mouth with a pop, fingers still pumping away. He was motivated by the moans you were so desperately holding back- he wasn’t supposed to be making you feel this good. You hated him, you hated what he stood for- why give him the satisfaction of having you come undone at his touch?

“Come on, y/n,” he coaxed. “I know you’re a raging fucking bitch- but can you sound real pretty for me? Let me hear how pretty you sound, tell me how good my fingers feel inside your pretty little hole...”

“Hmmmph~ fuck,” you whined. He quickened his pace. “It feels so- mmmm- so good.”

“Good girl.” His mouth found its way to your clit once again as he removed his fingers from your cunt, bringing them to your lips. You quickly opened your mouth for them, tasting your essence and humming as you wrapped your lips around them. Your eyes fluttered closed as you could feel the knot in your abdomen slowly starting to rip.

“I’m going to c-“ you choked out a half sentence, stopping as you felt your climax ripped away from you as Yahaba removed his mouth from the bundle of nerves, leaving your spasming pussy desperate for attention.

“No you’re not,” he growled. He tore his joggers from his body, boxers following immediately after. Spitting into his hand, he stroked his already hardened cock; looking at you lustfully. He used his free hand to reach into the pocket of his joggers, pulling out his wallet, followed by a condom.

“I’m always prepared,” he winked. As much as you wanted to smack the smug look off of his face, you knew that he would be able to scratch the growing itch you had. You just wish he wasn’t able to talk through it.

“Shut up,” you retorted. “Just fuck me before I change my mind.” You swivelled your hips in anticipation, watching him prepare himself. He lined himself up with your core, sliding himself against your opening.

“Shiiiit,” he hissed, slowly sinking into you. Your head flew back as the feeling of fullness overtook your lower half. Yahaba started moving at an even pace, snapping his hips against you with each thrust. You threw your arm around his side, coaxing him to move a little faster.

“For someone who can’t stand me, you sure are needy,” Yahaba laughed, continuing to pull himself in and out of you at a teasingly slow rate.

“I said shut up and fuck me- that’s all you need to be doing,” you commanded.

He bent down even closer to you, bucking himself into you deeply, attaching his tongue to the sweet spot just below your ear and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. He started pounding away at your pussy, satiated by the stream of curses and needy moans spilling from your lips. Your nails absentmindedly dug into his back, clawing at him to make sure you could feel every inch of him dragging through your soaking wet walls. The familiar knot in the bottom of your stomach was building itself up yet again, only made larger by Yahaba pressing his hand against your abdomen to deliver more quick and hard thrusts, hitting at just the perfect angle to cause you to snap.

“Fuckfuckfuck I’m- oh my god- I’m cumming!” You choked out as your vision went blurred. Yahaba didn’t let up, continuing to thrust as you rode out the high, your walls spasming around him. Once you went limp, he pulled out, hair still perfectly coiffed and sticking to his forehead from the sweat. He began to dress himself again as you lay sprawled on the couch, your body beginning to prickle with sensation again.

“Wait,” you paused. “You didn-”

“Nah,” he threw his shirt back on. He hadn’t finished himself. You were a little hurt- did he think you were trash?

“I wanted to prove to you that even if you hate me, I’m a pretty good guy… a good guy would never let you go unfinished.”

The hurt you had felt turned into the contempt you knew instinctively.

“Fuck you,” you huffed, pulling your t-shirt back over your own head.

“You just did,” he smirked.

Our taglist is closed now, but here are those who are on it! (if your tag is in bold, pls check ur privacy settings to make sure we can tag you!)

@riniwrits @definitelythotful @shrimpypenis @nonexistent-social-life @crushingonsuga @revolutionary-chocolate-cake @right-shoe-jpg @sugawara-sweetheart @nxynxy @aoba-baby @arianna20 @scorpiosanssexy @ceo-of-daichi @dinosaurtsukki @turquoiselace @nonamemaximum @omibaby @chokemelevi @bokuakadaily @haikyuuangst @cutie-aesthetic-palace @whet-ones-write @superdepressedhoe @iwachanswh0re @crushzone @kiseox @mysticalroadnightempath @toobsessedsstuff @trouvelle @kodzu-ken @elianetsantana @sonyaroses-blog @tsukkisbitch

[paper-pixies]

Pestering you with ask game questions teehee! 

8 for Mata-Shali, 32 for Ahad, 22 for Remy, and maybe a 23 for Opal if we’re feeling a little silly 

Thank you for the ask game questions teehee! Deepest apologies that they took so long to be answered

8. A song that fits them, and do you think they would enjoy it? [Mata-shali]

Okay so I’ll admit that not once but twice did I read this question, listen to the entirety of my Mata-shali playlist, and then get distracted and forget to actually come back and answer it. It’s hard to pick just one since her playlist is one of the longest character playlists I’ve made (lots of brainrot for this girlie), but I think two that fit her experiences the best are Dig the Crazy - Faith Marie and In The Next Life - Kim Petras. As for whether or not Mata-shali would like them… she probably wouldn’t care much either way. She tends towards either very discordant “music” or folk dance music, and I doubt she’d really pay attention to either song enough to draw any sort of connection between herself and them.

32. Pet peeves? What's the one (or more) thing(s) that someone could do to instantly piss them off? [Ahad]

The real question is what doesn’t piss off Ahad honestly. He’s the grumpiest person you’ll ever meet in your life, so just about anything will get a glare or an annoyed sigh from him, but there are definitely some things that will instantly get under his skin. Any attempt to lecture him about his drinking or cut him off for the night will instantly have him pissed at you. Alcohol is the only semi-comfort this man has left and you better pray some other god helps you if you try and take it away from him. Another huge pet peeve is just. Any sort of PDA. Maybe a bit ironic given his history as a deity of love, but in recent years he’s come to absolutely despise seeing happy couples flaunting their relationships. He is… still extremely bitter after his own failed relationship.

22. Any embarrassing tattoo/scar stories? [Remy]

Every scar story is an embarrassing scar story for Remy! Or, they would be if he ever got embarrassed about them. They’re certainly always from some stupid stunt he pulled or fight he accidentally got into, but easily his dumbest scar is his missing finger on his right hand. I mean, in fairness to him the mafia that he was a part of is known for being extremely unforgiving of mistakes. And it’s really not his fault that the caravan of goods he was supposed to help protect was outnumbered and stopped by city guards on the way to one of the mafia safehouses. And sure, maybe Remy was supposed to pretend to be the only one who knew about the drugs and take the fall for it but he forgot and instead almost ratted out the leader of the caravan, so after they finally managed to escape the guards he ended up losing a finger as punishment. But easily the worst part is that it’s only after they had chopped off his finger that he realized they were a literal mafia group and he was a part of it. 

23. The story they'd only tell when drunk off their ass? [Opal]

Opal would rather pick fights than swap stories while extremely drunk, but he’s definitely got some good ones if you can get him to focus enough to tell them!

Definitely one of the sillier (and more embarrassing) ones would be the time Opal [extremely drunk at the time] got extremely jealous and challenged Ace [also extremely drunk] to a fight for Jabari’s affection. Except Ace is too drunk to get through a proper incantation to cast anything more than a cantrip and Opal doesn’t have his arcane focus on him, so the two spend several minutes unsuccessfully “fighting” (aka insulting each other and making an occasional grab) before Ace finally manages to get one of his fire-based spells off at the exact same time that Opal decides the only valid weapon nearby is a rather large bottle of alcohol. Long story short, Ace lights the bottle as it’s being thrown at them, which sprays flaming alcohol all over the place and nearly burns the entire tavern down. Jabari ends up dragging them both out after apologizing profusely to the owner for the idiocy of her two companions, both of whom have already been dating her for several months and had absolutely no need to compete in the first place.