#their work is amazing and they are all so kind

[voxslays]

JUST LIKE CANDY — SQUID GAMES MEN

Summary: The squid games men with a sweet, kind, and slightly naive reader, who is just a total sweetheart throughout the games. Warnings: American!Reader mentioned in the salesman’s part.

HWANG IN-HO

❀ How did such a sweet, caring being such as yourself end up in a place like this? That was In-ho’s first thought when you ran up to him, inviting to sit with your group, which conveniently had Gi-hun already in it. You could be useful. You were so young. Your trusting and naive nature was going to get you hurt. He knew what the people in these games would do for money, so from that day forward he vowed to protect you.

❀ He cheered you on in six legged race, making sure his guards knew not to kill you just in case your team didn’t make it to the end for some reason. And in mingle, he made sure you were no more than an arms length from him at all times. He’s gotta keep you safe, doesn’t he? And in the end—during the rebellion—he refuses to let you join. In-ho can’t risk losing another person he cares about. It would destroy him. So he begs you to stay put, and you do.

❀ When he finally makes it back to his quarters and becomes the frontman again, he makes sure you’re safe. For the next three games, he wastes no time telling the guards that they should give you hints and clues on the next games. Once this is all over, you two can be together, as you should’ve been all along.

THE SALESMAN (GONG YOO)

❀ When the salesman sees you—a foreigner, likely American—sitting on a wooden bench in the park he liked to walk in during his ‘work’ hours, he couldn’t help but think of what an impeccable target you would be. A perfect contestant for the games. So, Gong-Yoo approached you, expecting the normal untrusting response. Maybe you’d be confused, speaking in English or poor Korean.

❀ But the recruiter was shocked when you waved at him politely, letting him sit beside you. Yet, the most shocking of all, your Korean was amazing for a foreigner. He didn’t even have time to offer you a card to the games before he was engaged in a polite conversation with you. Gong-Yoo didn’t even want to recruit you for the games anymore. Despite being a sadist, subjecting you to such pain and torment seemed wrong for him to do.

❀ Gong-Yoo finds you every day on the same bench, waiting for him. You two quickly become friends, and then something more. The Salesman finds himself excited for your company. So when he asks you to get dinner with him, he couldn’t be more pleased when you happily accept his offer. Another win for him.

HWANG JUN-HO

❀ When Jun-ho discovers an American officer has been transferred to his department, he finds himself slightly intrigued. When he finally meets you, he’s shocked. When he thought of an American, you were the farthest thing from it. You were a complete angel. Not like how the other detectives had described Americans as patriotic and cocky. No, you were different, and Jun-ho feels himself drawn to you.

❀ Jun-ho suggests you work on the case together. I mean, you’re new to the country, aren’t you? You might need some help navigating Seoul! What if you get lost? Jun-ho should be there to guide you for your first time. That, and he might have…maybe…wanted to get to know you better. The two of you find yourselves meeting up quite frequently. At the park, the local library, the station. Anywhere, really.

❀ When the two of you finally ‘crack the case,’ as you say back in the states, Jun-ho cant help but fawn over you like a teenage boy. The way your excitement shows through your gleaming eyes, or how you immediately go to give him a high five. Yeah, he knows you’re the one for him.

[meo-eiru]

Since I'm busy working on a valentines day drawing I thought we could do something different until I'm done with that. Trivia night! I'll be writing what's basically a compilation of fun facts we've already established or haven't learned yet. We will also learn more about their backstories.

For tonight we have Silas

Silas has a mom and dad but isn't close with neither of them

As a child he was quite needy compared to other elven kids

Elves almost never stray too far away from the elven village but Silas liked to play in the depths of the forest

He learned about humans from a story book he found while playing in the forest

He was amazed by the colorful imagery and the familial relationship depicted in the book and wanted to have the same, which kickstarted his human hyperfixation

He's currently the most knowledgeable elf in humans within the village

His house is located quite far away from the village, he can still reach there by walking but it's not somewhere where the other elves can just stumble upon

He likes sweet things like fruits or honey but dislikes the taste of meat so doesn't feed it to you much as well

He, just like the other elves, while natural with most other living things, hates all demonic creatures

He's very nice and sweet with you but wouldn't glance twice at other forest creatures and is actively hostile towards demons

Of course he would never let you see him make that kind of face

He thought of using magic to make you live as long as he does but it feels like tempering with your humanity so if you die he's planning to die with you

He's actually not that good at magic compared to other elves, he just knows the basics and relies on books for the rest

He's average height for an elf

He doesn't like leaving bite marks or hickeys on your body because it feels like dirtying your perfect form

But he really likes it when you mark his skin, whether they are hickeys or wounds

While more compassionate than other elves, Silas does have a bit of a superiority complex like them

For example, unlike other elves he does see the intelligence of humans but would still say elves are smarter

He doesn't have any ill intentions with it, to him it's just like saying a unicorn is be better than a horse

He doesn't like eating carrots because he thinks they look like elf ears

He loves learning more about you but dislikes hearing about your family

He doesn't want you to have pets, only the two of you are allowed inside his house

He does have a bathroom in his house but it's just a replica of what he saw in books and isn't actually that functional

If you want to use the bathroom for your baths instead of the river like he does, he just carries the water from the river to his house then uses magic to make it rain on you like a shower head

Even if you don't allow him inside the bathroom he still watches from the window

He has a diary where he writes everything you do in a day, from what activities you did to how many times you blink on average

If you offered to live in a human city with him he would refuse, while he likes humans you are his utmost priority and it's better for you to be inside his house away from everyone's reach

[to-be-spared]

if i focus too much on the fact that style, too, was just going through the (however unhinged) motions of his life and then kant told him hey can you take this guy out i'm trying to date his brother and style said bet and he's never had a boyfriend so arguably he has no idea what he's doing so he does the only thing he knows how to do which is: be himself.

and he meets this guy, who is rude but considerate and direct and has no time for style's antics except that he really makes time for style's antics and also he is really hot. and style is giddy about how fadel seems to respond to him because he's just being himself and i will die convinced that style has been told to fuck off more than once for being himself but fadel apparently finds that alluring.

and then he finds out he's a trained killer of all things?? but he can be soft and kind and needy and challenging and selfless and style just falls for him. both feet, head dive, who cares, his life has always been a little on the verge of insanity.

and style has never had that so he hangs on by teeth and nails because you don't really know how to pace yourself when you do something for the first time (and he's never been one to half ass anything). and the more he hangs on the more he sees fadel is asking him to hang on while telling him to let go, and style is a contratian by nature so he hangs the fuck on.

and it works. and the more he hangs on the less adrift he is.

style is all bold energy, but you have to anchor him or he'll just be aimless.

and when fadel gives him the pin he's so. privately amazed. it's a tangible sign that someone cares enough to recognize him as his own.

it's taming in the way the little prince put it. and it goes both ways. and it doesn't matter if it's at 4 pm or in 5 years (or in 3 weeks when kant and style will infiltrate the prison). style will be waiting for fadel.

as i said. if i focus too much on this. i'll have to be taken away for 5 years.

[matchingbatbites]

The woman is fucking stunning. A goddess amongst mortals, a vision sent from the heavens to bless any who may see her. Eddie could honestly go on, but she has to return her focus to the man currently standing at the counter and not the beauty that just walked through the door.

"Here's your change," she says as she passes over the few coins and receipt. "Pickup is at the end of the counter, and they'll call your name when it's ready.

The man gives Eddie his thanks before walking away, and then Aphrodite incarnate is stepping up to the counter. God, she's even more beautiful up close. The slant of her nose, the artful swoop of her chestnut hair - the twin moles on her cheek that are eerily familiar for a reason Eddie can't quite place.

"Welcome to Black Roast Café, can I have a name for your order?"

"Hi there," the woman says with a soft smile, and god, Eddie feels bad for ever making fun of Jerry Maguire. You had me at hello, indeed. "Uh, Stevie is fine."

Eddie nods and types the name into the system. "Okay, Stevie, what can I get you?"

The woman - Stevie - doesn't even look at the board before she rattles off her order. "Can I please get a large, iced caramel latte, with three shots of espresso, a pump of white chocolate, and extra whip? Oh, and a butterscotch blondie."

Eddie's brain shudders to a halt. The order is specific, unique, and it's one she's heard before, from- well if she's being honest, from the only man that's ever made Eddie question her lesbianism.

Steve had been so beautiful and so kind. He was her absolute favorite customer before he'd moved away two years ago, following his best friend when she transferred to a different university to complete her master's. Eddie had mourned just a little, had grieved the loss of sunshine he brought to her days.

Eddie's eyes snap to the two moles on the woman's cheek and everything clicks into place. "Oh shit! You're back!" she says, her filter absolutely failing her. Stevie's smile fades a bit, replaced with a tinge of nervousness as she shifts in place.

"Oh, uh, I didn't- I wasn't expecting you to-"

"Remember you?" Eddie cuts in as she finally punches the order into the register. "Honestly, your order is a hard one to forget. Clearly I was right about all that sugar going to your hips."

It's a gentle tease, one she used to make back when- before, because the order really is just so sweet. It works the way Eddie hoped it would, because Stevie just laughs softly and smooths her hands over her full, curvaceous - fuck, Eddie, head out of the gutter - her hips.

"Yeah, I could probably stand to cut back a little, huh?"

"Don't you dare," Eddie retorts, offended at just the suggestion. "If anything I encourage more, because you're- you look amazing, actually."

The woman blushes, so pink and pretty, and bites into her lower lip the way Eddie wants to. "You think so?" she asks as she hands her card over to Eddie.

"Uh, totally. Like, you were attractive before - and that's coming from a lesbian - but now you-" Eddie pauses, taking a second to run the card as she shrugs. "You're like, glowing. And it only makes you more beautiful."

There's no response from Stevie as the receipt prints, and it's not until Eddie is handing back the card that she sees the stunned look on Stevie's face, her flush even darker. Fuck, that might have been too much.

Before Eddie can apologize though, Stevie takes her receipt and blurts out "I think you're hot."

Huh?

"You do?" Eddie asks, and Stevie nods.

"I've always thought you were hot. But you have the little-" She points to where Eddie's nametag is, to the little lesbian flag sticker that she stuck on it. "The sticker, and like- My best friend, Robin? She's also a lesbian, and she's talked about how annoying it is when guys hit on her and I didn't want to be like that, so I never said anything."

God, Stevie's just as sweet as she used to be, and much more considerate than Eddie even knew. She probably wouldn't have minded getting hit on by Steve at the time, and now that Stevie is standing before her, more beautiful than she's ever been and claiming that she finds Eddie attractive? Well, there's no way Eddie can't make a move.

"How long are you in town?" Eddie asks.

"Oh, uh, we just moved back, actually. Robin finished her master's program and got a job at a local museum translating documents and artifacts."

"Okay, that's cool as hell and I definitely want to hear more about that, but first- Do you want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

The question seems to surprise Stevie, and it takes her a second to process it. "Are you sure? Even though I'm-"

"The most beautiful woman I've ever seen and way out of my league? Yeah, I'm pretty sure, sweetheart. And I'm not above begging if I have to."

Stevie blushes again and oh, Eddie is already addicted to the way it floods her cheeks, is in love with how alive, how happy she looks. "Then yeah, I'd really, really like that." She grabs a pen from the nearby cup and scribbles her number on the back of her receipt before passing it to Eddie. "Call me when you're off?" she asks, and Eddie nods, beaming.

"The moment I clock out," Eddie promises, and Stevie giggles - giggles! Stevie's name is called and Eddie is thankful that the store is practically empty, because for a second there she genuinely forgot where she was.

Stevie gives her a wink and a "Talk to you later, Eddie," and Eddie barely waits for her to leave the store before she's adding Stevie's number into her phone.

"Okay," Chrissy says as she slides up beside Eddie. "Who is she and how did you get her number so easily?"

Eddie grins as she saves the new contact under Stevie 🩷🌹😍 "That, darling Christine, is my future wife."

[gooselycharm]

severance comic process write up (unasked for)

i finished season 1 of severance jan 24 and maybe by then NL had already begun his apple tv tirades. so maybe that's why i thought of the get it twisted speech? dont remember exactly but i was like wait......... this kinda fits...... and basically the images were forming in my head and i had to get them out. this is the best kind of inspiration to have. when it feels like you are afflicted with a life-threatening disease and the only cure is to draw pictures

i decided i wanted square panels and a black and white color scheme pretty early on. i wanted the pacing to feel kind of fast, so one line per page (basically i was trying to match the monologue). black and white also made sense because 1) i didn't want this to take 2 years like my last comic 2) fits theme of the show and the monologue rapidly whipping back and forth 3) i thought maybe i'd riso print this in the beginning and 1 color would be cheapest/easiest

the sketching phase was really smooth. it was like the images were in my mind already and just needed to be brought to life. my motivation was strong as well (i thought it was really funny and if no one liked it at least i really really liked it).

^ my sketches. most compositions made it to final without major edits. i did cut almost all of the last 8 because i didn't feel like I needed the moment to be dragged out so much AND i was getting pretty tired by that point lol.

one page i'm glad i changed was the ms casey one. the reason i changed it at first was because i thought it was too similar to the irving/burt one. and then i ended up really liking the new composition.

as i moved to final, i had a couple of inspirations in mind. i'm a huge fan of sophia foster-dimino's work, and in particular her sex fantasy comics

^ books/zines i looked at for inspiration. second image is a spread from sex fantasy #4.

i also was inspired by jennifer xiao's comics and how chootalks and nogoodwithcat handle linework and value

i was inspired by jennifer's pop up ads comic for this page. i like the humor in her work and wanted to bring an element of that into my comic.

i love these drawings by choo that showcase these eerie tableaus of desserts/cakes/hammers/etc! i was trying to evoke the same vibe with the two "get it twisted" pages with the stack of waffles.

also, just tons and tons of references taken from the show and stock images.

i pretty much just worked for two weeks straight until i finished. what unemployment does to a motherfucker. even though it's fanart and the words aren't mine, it's a pretty personal comic. i got suddenly laid off last fall which has made me feel all sorts of feelings, and then starting up my job search this year has been grueling. it kinda blows my mind that anyone expects you to love your job. i love my cat. i love the people important to me. i love moving my body and eating good food and listening to music and being out in nature. i love the color green. i dont love my fucking JOB lmfao!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! are you freaking CRAZY???????? literally do NOT get it twisted. but also please hire me. <- this dichotomy has been making me nuts

anyway. the reception to my comic has been mind blowing. people have said some insanely nice things. i also really appreciate anyone who's read and enjoyed the comic without knowledge of severance or northernlion LMAO honestly amazed and in disbelief.... ty so much..... it really means a lot!!!!!!!!!!

okay i ran out of things to say for now byeeeeeeeeeeee

[artsywarden]

Answers 🫀

Maude Ingellvar and Emmrich Volkarin

1. Maude fell for Emmrich during that infamous lecture. She was only a student then, and of course proffessor Volkarin didn’t know she existed.

2. Emmrich noticed he was in love with Maude one day during breakfast when he was so lost in her eyes he didn’t realize he mistakenly took Lucanis’ cup of coffee (to Spite’s amusement and Lucanis’ dismay) and drank the whole thing instead of his herbal tea.

3. They start spending time together almost immediately, since Maude already has a bit of a crush on him and he’s interested in indulging her academic curiosity. In no time those study sessions mutate into cozy conversations and late night cups of tea, where they discover they enjoy each other’s company a great deal. Everyone assumes they’re sleeping together, but at first they just fall asleep together and drool over ancient textbooks.

4. They’re both mourn watchers and they’re both huge nerds, they get along famously. She’s very enthusiastic about his work and loves to hear him talk, he enjoys teaching her what he knows and listening to her opinions. she’s very smart and sees things in a way he wouldn’t have thought before, so together they make a great team.

5. They’re both proud to be mourn watchers and enjoy studying together, talking about books, rituals and spirits, theories and the fade. People around them understand half of what they say.

6. Emmrich teaches Maude about botany, she doesn’t know much about plants but finds them fascinating and loves to see his eyes shine when he explains plant stuff to her. She likes to paint and since Solas left his materials at the light house, she’s been using the music room as her studio - Emmrich is terrible at painting but amazing at the piano, so he plays for her whenever she feels like listening to some music while painting. He poses for her too 🌝

7. They’re very affectionate, specially Emmrich

8. They enjoy long strolls around the necropolis’ gardens and going to the Opera together, Maude is very excited to learn Emmrich has a private balcony of his own.

9. Maude takes Emmrich EVERYWHERE, they make everyone else feel like a third wheel. They’re constantly drawing attention to things in the surroundings, picking up interesting artifacts to study later and of course: flowers (for Maude to admire and Emmrich to study)

10. Maude calls him Emmikins 🤭 he calls her his little gerbil in private and darling, sweetheart, dearest in front of everybody else.

11. Emmrich said he loved her first, not before battle, but one day when he saw her wrapped in a blanket studying a skull ,with a flower on her hair and a cup of tea (both provided by Manfred) . I think Maude thinks she loves him first, but is afraid to say it and Emmrich beats her to it.

12. Too many inside jokes to count. Between strictly Nevarra and Mourn watch related jokes to private jokes and made up words, they look insane to everyone else when they overhear them talking.

13. By Lana del Rey- Summertime Sadness

14. Emmrich gives her a necklace, a ring and a couple of other jewelry items Maude decides to put in her dowry. He picks up flowers for her all the time and she displays them in her room. Maude gave Emmrich an enchanted ring that gets warm when she kisses the other half of the set (a charm on a chain she keeps on her at all times). She picks up herbal teas for him to try whenever she has a chance.

15. Emmrich cried a for an hour, then slapped himself, washed his face and started giving orders at everyone as if they were his students: everyone had a task, something to retrieve, something to study, cooking duty. If they were going to get Maude out, they had to be organized and focused. There was no time to mop.

16. Maude knew in her heart Emmrich wouldn’t stop until he found a way to free her, or (she worried) be trapped there with her. He wasn’t going to leave her there alone.

17. Maude loves Emmrich’s mind and his kindness, he’s cute too but she’d love him even as a Lich. Emmrich loves her spirit and her wits- it doesn’t hurt that she’s pretty.

18. I’m a sap, so of course they’ll get married, have a couple of babies (Maude wants kids and Emmrich is happy to have a family and a legacy). They’ll live in the necropolis, I think they have quarters for married watchers and their families since most watchers never leave it. Emmrich will continue teaching and researching, Maude is being trained to replace Myrna some day as keeper of the seals. They keep Hezenkoss in a pedestal at the foyer of their apartment. They get a pet field mouse who kind of adopted itself one day by entering one of Maude’s pockets.

Questions for your Rook and their partner:

Does your Rook fall for their partner at first sight? If not, what moment made your Rook realize they're in love with them?

When does the partner realize that they're in love with Rook?

How long does it take for them to officially get together? Did any of the other Lighthouse members have any suspicions beforehand?

Do your Rook and their partner share the same faction? If so, does that affect their relationship at all? If not, what is your Rook's opinion of their partner's faction? What is the partner's opinion of Rook's faction?

Do they have different cultural backgrounds (e.g. a Rook who was raised in Antiva with Harding who was raised in Ferelden)? If so, do they ever share parts of their culture with each other? If they're similar, how do they celebrate their culture together?

What is their favorite thing to do together? Do they share any hobbies? Does your Rook teach their partner their own hobbies? Does the partner teach Rook theirs?

Are they a physically affectionate couple? Are they fine displaying those affections in public or do they prefer to be in private? If they're not, how do they prefer to show their love instead?

What does their ideal date look like? Do they go on much?

Does your Rook bring them out often? How are they like on the battlefield? Do they banter much?

Do they have any nicknames for each other? Who uses terms of endearment more?

Who says "I love you" first? What is the other's reaction? Who thinks it first?

Any inside jokes?

What song(s) do you associate with them?

Does your Rook get their partner any other gifts (besides the one already in-game)? Does the partner get Rook any? Any gifts that are particularly special?

What was the partner's reaction to Rook being imprisoned in the Fade? How did they cope? How did they react upon seeing Rook again?

How did your Rook react to getting trapped in the Fade and separated from their partner?

What is your Rook's favorite thing about their partner? What is the partner's favorite thing about Rook?

When all is said and done, where would they like to retire together? Is marriage in the cards for them? Children? Pets?

[reiding-writing]

hiyaa, cold reader series is so so amazing i just read it all in one sitting again but i was wondering if you could do one where she's jealous of a woman who starts flirting with spencer on a case maybe? maybe she's pissed because it's "unprofessional" but really she's pissed because he's being flirted with

AS IT SEEMS — SPENCER REID!

a local detective seems to hang on spencer’s every word. the unprofessionalism of it all really frustrates you.

spencer x cold!reader | 3.3k | flangst | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — is this… progression?

The flashing red-and-blue lights of the local PD’s vehicles paint shifting patterns across the asphalt as the BAU team steps onto the scene.

The air is thick with the scent of damp pavement and something acrid—gunpowder, maybe, or the lingering remnants of a nearby dumpster fire.

Officers mill about with that particular brand of tension that comes from knowing the FBI has been called in, half-relieved, half-defensive.

You take it all in quickly, the details slotting into place in your mind like a well-practiced routine. The weight of your badge clipped to your belt, the holster pressing against your hip—everything is familiar, grounding. But then she appears.

Detective Elena Foster is sharp-jawed and self-assured, the kind of woman who wears authority like a second skin. Her strides are long, purposeful, the confidence in her posture making it abundantly clear that she knows exactly how competent she is.

And she’s looking at Spencer like he’s fascinating.

You stand slightly off to the side as introductions are exchanged, arms crossed over your chest, expression unreadable. You’re practiced at this—at keeping your face neutral, your tone cool, your presence sharp enough to command respect without ever needing to raise your voice.

It’s always been easy. But right now, as Foster’s hand lingers just a little too long in Spencer’s when she shakes it, something tightens in your chest.

“Dr. Reid,” she says, eyes flicking over him with open appreciation. “I read your paper on statistical anomalies in serial offender data last year—brilliant work,”

Spencer, to his credit, looks momentarily startled. “Oh—thank you,” he says, blinking. “That was actually an extension of some previous research on—”

“That’s impressive,” she interrupts, flashing him a smile. “I’d love to pick your brain about it later, if you’ve got time,”

You watch as her fingers graze his forearm in a way that is entirely unnecessary.

He doesn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with processing the compliment, his mind already spinning with whatever information he had been about to share. You, on the other hand, notice everything. The deliberate lean-in, the way her voice dips just slightly when she speaks to him, the way her eyes linger.

It’s unprofessional.

That’s what irritates you. Not the fact that her attention is singularly fixed on him, or that he’s being flirted with in the middle of a crime scene. Certainly not that she’s touching him when she doesn’t need to be.

It’s the principle of the matter. This is an active investigation, and Foster should be focused on the case, not Spencer’s academic credentials and whatever else has caught her interest.

Your jaw tightens as you glance toward Hotch, who doesn’t seem to care about the interaction as long as it doesn’t interfere with the briefing. Morgan, beside you, exhales a quiet chuckle under his breath, like he’s picked up on something amusing. You ignore it.

“I assume we have a body to look at?” you say, voice even.

Foster blinks at you, as if only just remembering your presence. You don’t react, don’t shift under her assessing gaze, don’t give her anything to work with. Eventually, she nods.

“Of course,” she says smoothly. “Right this way,”

She turns, and Spencer follows, already mid-sentence about some statistical deviation he had noticed in the case file. And you?

You stay exactly where you are for half a second longer than necessary, exhaling slowly through your nose before following after them.

—

You follow the team through the cordoned-off area, past uniformed officers and the murmuring press lingering at the edges, searching for scraps of information. The crime scene is up ahead—an abandoned warehouse, dimly lit and rank with the scent of stagnant water and decay. It should have your full attention.

But instead, you feel your focus splintering.

Just behind you, Spencer is still speaking, his voice carrying that familiar, eager cadence he gets when discussing something intellectually stimulating. “It’s interesting—well, not interesting in the traditional sense, given the context, but rather statistically significant—that the unsub’s victim selection aligns with a pattern previously seen in—”

“Oh, I love that you talk like that,” Foster’s voice is warm, teasing, admiring. “Most people dumb things down, but you don’t. That’s rare,”

You stiffen.

It’s unprofessional.

That’s what you tell yourself as you watch the way she tilts her head slightly when he speaks, as if absorbing every syllable. As if he’s the most fascinating thing in the room. She leans in a fraction closer—just enough to make it noticeable, just enough to make your stomach twist.

It’s unprofessional, you think again, but the words don’t sit quite right in your mind anymore.

Because the truth is, you shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t be noticing the way Foster looks at him. You shouldn’t be hyper-aware of the way her fingers brush the edge of his sleeve again, so light it could almost be accidental. You shouldn’t be waiting for him to pull back, to shake off the attention like he does when social interaction becomes too much.

Except he doesn’t. He just lets it happen.

And that irritates you.

So you do what you always do when something threatens to knock you off balance—you shut it down.

“Reid.”

Your voice cuts through the air, sharper than you intended. The team stops, turning toward you. Even Foster straightens slightly, blinking at the sudden shift in tone. Spencer glances over, his expression a mixture of mild confusion and concern.

You exhale, tightening your grip on the case file in your hands. “We’re here to solve a murder,” you say, your voice even but firm. “Not to make friends.”

Foster’s eyebrows lift slightly, but she doesn’t comment. Morgan, who had been watching the interaction unfold with barely concealed amusement, makes a low sound in his throat—something close to a chuckle. You ignore it.

“I wasn’t aware discussing case patterns was off-limits,” Spencer says, tilting his head. His tone is neutral, but there’s a hint of something else there.

You meet his gaze, keeping your own unreadable. “It’s not,” you say. “Just keep it relevant.”

It’s not a lie. You are focused on the case. You do want to keep things professional. That’s all this is. That’s the only reason your patience is stretched thin.

Except.

Except you can still feel the ghost of Foster’s laugh curling around Spencer’s words. Except your shoulders haven’t relaxed since the moment she touched him. Except your own thoughts are turning against you, pressing in like a vice, asking the question you really don’t want to answer—

If you’re so unaffected, why do you have to convince yourself of it?

—

The investigation continues with the same steady pace, but your attention keeps wandering.

Every time you glance toward Spencer and Foster, you find her leaning in a little too close, her voice a little too sweet as she asks him to clarify some trivial detail. She’s careful—always careful—never quite crossing a line, but the way she speaks to him, the way she looks at him, it grates at you.

The word “unprofessional” loops endlessly in your mind, but each time you tell yourself that, something inside you pushes back.

You’re not jealous. You just want her to focus. This is a case, for God’s sake.

But the more she smiles at him, the more he just stands there, absorbed in the conversation, oblivious to the subtle dance she’s performing, the more that uncomfortable twist in your stomach tightens. Every laugh, every overly familiar gesture, stirs something inside you that you can’t quite name.

You can feel your teeth grinding as they talk, your gaze hardening on the two of them. You’re trying to focus on the case, you’re trying to ignore the nagging irritation building in your chest, but the more they interact, the more annoyed you become.

She’s practically flirting, and Spencer isn’t doing anything about it. Or, if he is noticing, he’s pretending it doesn’t bother him.

But it bothers you. Why does it bother you?

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the evidence bag in your hand, and before you know it, you’re standing too close to them, watching as Foster tries to steer Spencer away from the group to discuss something you know is irrelevant to the case.

It’s not urgent. You know it’s not urgent. But when you hear the soft cadence of her voice inviting Spencer to join her for a “quick chat” away from the others, the words explode out of you.

“Reid.” you say sharply, the sound of his name a snap. The words feel harsh even to your own ears.

Spencer’s head jerks around, blinking at you in surprise. His lips part, but you cut him off again, your voice colder than you intended. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

Foster stops mid-sentence, blinking in confusion at the sudden interruption. Her eyes flick to Spencer, and then back to you. The tension in the air thickens, but you don’t care.

You don’t care.

Except you do. And that makes it worse.

Spencer’s gaze softens as he turns back to you, the furrow in his brow deepening, something akin to concern flashing across his face. It only makes you more frustrated.

“I’m not finished yet,” Spencer protests quietly, but there’s a careful note in his voice, the kind that suggests he’s trying to be diplomatic, to avoid upsetting you.

You blink, realising you’ve taken another step too far. Your heart skips a beat at the softness in his voice, and for just a moment, you feel guilty. He’s just trying to help, trying to be professional. And yet, the only thing you can focus on is her.

You don’t let the guilt linger long. “Then stop getting distracted.” you snap, then force yourself to look away, eyes darting back to the scene as if it somehow holds your attention now. You’re already backing off, leaving the words hanging in the air.

Spencer stares at you for a beat longer than necessary, confusion and concern still flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t press it. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t question you further. Instead, he shifts back toward the group, muttering something to Morgan about a pattern in the evidence, and you hear the subtle shift in his voice—he’s letting it go.

But you don’t feel relieved.

The knot in your chest tightens again. Why did you say that? Why did you let her get to you?

You tell yourself it’s about professionalism. It’s about the case. You don’t have time for distractions, not when the clock is ticking. And you definitely don’t have time to unravel this feeling that’s spreading through you like an infection.

Spencer doesn’t argue. He doesn’t snap back at you, doesn’t give you the defensive posture that you might expect from anyone else. Instead, he does something that immediately pulls the rug out from under you.

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

For a moment, the world around you blurs, the noise of the crime scene and the murmurs of the team fading into the background. It’s just Spencer’s eyes, filled with something you can’t quite place—concern, maybe, or confusion, maybe a little of both. But it’s soft. Too soft.

Your pulse spikes, and for a split second, it feels like the floor is tipping beneath you. It’s so disarming, the quiet concern in his gaze, and it makes the frustration building inside you flare even higher.

“Are you okay?”

The question is simple, unassuming, and it cracks something inside you. It’s not a challenge, not a reprimand—it’s genuine, and that’s what makes it harder to brush off.

No. You’re not okay.

You’re furious, but you can’t explain why. You’re hurt, but you can’t pinpoint the cause. You’re jealous, and the idea of admitting that to yourself is enough to send your thoughts spiraling. And all the while, Spencer’s standing there, oblivious to the storm building inside you, just waiting for your response.

You can’t look at him anymore.

“I’m fine,” you mutter quickly, not meeting his eyes. You swallow, forcing your chest to loosen, fighting the sudden weight that presses down on your shoulders.

Your words come out stiff, rehearsed, and even to your own ears, they sound like a lie. But you say them anyway. Because it’s easier than admitting the truth.

You don’t wait for him to say anything else. You turn abruptly, your boots echoing on the concrete floor as you walk away, away from Spencer and away from the nagging feeling that he might see through you if you stay.

But you’re not running. You’re not hiding. You’re just… focused.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

As you round the corner, your mind keeps racing, fighting to keep everything in order. You tell yourself you don’t care about the detective’s attention.

You tell yourself it’s unprofessional, it’s inappropriate. And you tell yourself that you’ve seen it all before, that Spencer’s just being Spencer—oblivious to the subtle ways people gravitate toward him.

But none of that feels convincing anymore.

By the time you’ve reached the far side of the warehouse, your hands are trembling slightly. You push them into your pockets, trying to centre yourself. You feel the familiar coldness wrapping around you again, your professional mask sliding back into place like armour. It’s easier this way.

A sharp breath escapes your lips as you lean against the wall, your head pressed back, eyes closed for a moment. Focus.

You force yourself to take another breath. You’re here for the case. That’s all.

But as the minutes pass, the tight knot in your chest refuses to loosen, and all you can think about is the way Spencer’s face looked when he asked you that question. Are you okay?

And, just for a fleeting second, you wonder if he knows more than you think.

—

The rest of the case proceeds, but something has shifted.

There’s an undeniable tension now—both around you and within you. As you walk through the newest crime scene, examining evidence and speaking with witnesses, Spencer doesn’t give you the space you’d expected.

He stays close, hovering just behind you, always near enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence even when you’re too busy to glance at him.

He’s speaking to you more than usual, asking for your input first, even in situations where it’s clear he already has the answers. It’s as if he’s checking in with you constantly, gauging your reaction before making any decisions of his own.

The subtle shift doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Foster, who had been so eager to claim his attention earlier, is starting to back off, visibly frustrated by his sudden disinterest in her suggestions. She tries a few more times to pull him away for a “quick chat,” but Spencer doesn’t respond to her advances the way he did before.

Instead, he looks to you.

“Hey, I think we might need a second look at the victim’s phone records,” he says, voice casual but with an edge of expectation, like he already knows you’ll agree. “What do you think?”

You pause, the request startling you slightly. Spencer doesn’t usually ask for your opinion on the more technical aspects of a case, but you don’t have time to process it. The words come automatically.

“Yeah, definitely. It might give us a window into the unsub’s next move.”

Spencer nods in approval, his face softening slightly as he absorbs your response. But there’s something else there, something unspoken—a quiet acknowledgment.

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to stay close as the investigation progresses, as if he’s subtly keeping his distance from Foster without even addressing it.

You’re still frustrated—at him, at the detective, at yourself—but there’s a tiny, almost imperceptible shift in your chest. That small part of you that feels like you’ve been seen. That he noticed.

Every time Foster attempts to direct him away from the group, Spencer brushes her off with a polite but clear, “I’ll be right with you,” his eyes flicking to you before he moves to stand closer. You don’t say anything. You’re not sure you even want to acknowledge it. But it’s there—an undercurrent you can’t ignore.

Your mind still races with frustration. You can’t shake the gnawing feeling that something’s off, and you can’t decide if it’s the case, the detective, or yourself. But every time Spencer looks to you for direction, every time he positions himself just a little too close, your frustration starts to dull, replaced by something else.

He’s noticing you. He’s listening.

When the team breaks for a quick huddle to discuss their next steps, Spencer stands beside you. Not next to Morgan or Hotch, not pulling away to talk to Foster. He’s deliberately close, his shoulder just grazing yours as he flips through his notes.

“You alright?” he asks again, in that soft, concerned tone that makes you almost uncomfortable. It’s like he’s waiting for you to admit something, like he already knows there’s something you’re not saying.

You want to brush him off, to tell him to stop worrying about you, but the question catches you off guard. For a brief moment, the irritation—toward him, toward Foster, toward everything—subsides, and you're left with something unspoken hanging between you two.

"I’m fine," you mutter again, a little more convincingly this time, even though it’s not true. But you can’t find the words to explain it. Not when you’re still trying to convince yourself that none of this should matter.

Spencer doesn’t push. He just nods, the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before he pulls away to engage with the team, but he keeps an eye on you, always just a little more attentive than usual.

You try to shake off the feeling that this—whatever this is—matters, but it’s hard to deny. The connection between you two is there, unspoken, and for some unknown reason you’re feeling a lot more vulnerable than usual.

And that, more than anything, is what frustrates you the most.

[hrrtshape]

　loa myths. . . the evil eye.

we all know it’s the girlboss’s (you!! right there!!) favourite scapegoat, the every girl’s cosmic parking ticket. lost your airpods? evil eye. broke a nail on a fresh set? evil eye. crush left you on read? evil eye. it's the metaphysical equivalent of blaming mercury retrograde except, instead of the planets, it's allegedly powered by the scorn of envious onlookers and mediterranean aunties with olympic-level side-eye. but does it actually exist? or have we all just been psychologically waterboarded by folklore and tumblr witches with a mean streak?????

hi. i’m emma aka hrrtshape aka losing my mind, and this is my series on loa myths. let’s dissect.

if you’re even slightly invested in the law of assumption, if you’ve ever whispered "i've already gotten 100% on my maths exam" at your school's bathroom mirror like it’s conjuration, you know the doctrine : you, and you alone, script your reality. no outside forces. no vengeful spirits. no astral hitmen waiting to kneecap you for posting a thirst trap.

so tell me why the evil eye gets a free pass?

loa is built on one principle : your assumptions are reality. not your mother’s assumptions, not your hater’s assumptions, not the assumptions of some girl in your comments section who thinks you don’t deserve nice things. if someone could curse you just by glaring at your holiday pics with a heart full of malice, that would mean they have power over you. and that? that does not compute. not with neville goddard, not with logic, not with anything that doesn’t require a tinfoil hat.

"but wait," the superstitious cry, "what about all those stories? the ones where people start succeeding and suddenly, inexplicably, the universe bitch-slaps them back down?"

ok, sure. but let’s engage the last two brain cells standing : correlation is not causation. you didn’t spiral because someone hexed you. you spiralled because you expected backlash. because deep down, you still believe success comes at a cost. this isn’t the evil eye. this is self-sabotage in designer packaging. a cognitive bias with a mood ring. in other words, it's your own doing. sorry !! i say this from experience !!

and at its core, the evil eye is about envy. the idea that someone else’s jealousy is potent enough to kneecap your manifestations is, frankly, embarrassing. you’re telling me their side-eye holds more weight than your own self-concept????? that’s giving way too much credit to people who aren’t even in your tax bracket, let alone competing with the amazing-ness of your mind. if your reality is dictated by your own mind, why would anyone else’s bad vibes even make the guest list?

if the evil eye were real in the way people claim, it would mean that everyone walking around with an ounce of jealousy is armed with some kind of psychic bazooka, capable of obliterating happiness on sight. but we know that’s not how this works. you don’t see billionaires suddenly losing all their wealth because millions of people resent them. if collective envy had that much power, the entire celebrity ecosystem would collapse overnight. taylor swift would be playing gigs at a dive bar in ohio. jeff bezos would be begging on the streets. and yet, they thrive. why???? because their self-concept, delusional or otherwise, trumps the ill will of the masses.

let’s get existential. because i'm drinking champagne in paris ( power of manifestation,,,,, btw!!! ). fear of the evil eye is just another form of externalising responsibility. it’s easier to blame anonymous haters than admit that your own doubts might be the saboteur. it’s easier to believe that bad luck is some external hex than to consider that you, deep down, might not believe you deserve good things without consequence. every time you assume the evil eye is after you, you reinforce the idea that your wins are fragile, that you are teetering on the edge of ruin at all times. and if you assume that???? congratulations, you just manifested it.

so do you need to start flinging salt over your shoulder every time you post a beach pic? no. do you need to buy another etsy-certified "evil eye protection bracelet" from a girl named sagemoon333? also no. the only thing you need protection from is your own limiting beliefs. the moment you stop believing in external threats, they stop existing.

because at the end of the day, the evil eye is like a bad plot twist: dramatic, overhyped, and only real if you decide to buy in.

but hey, believe what you want. just don’t be shocked when your own assumptions make it real.

stay tuned for part two, where we tackle [ censored ]. because if i hear one more person say [ censored ]. i’m manifesting a federal ban on that phrase !!!!!

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Drives Me Crazy

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You and Spencer fall into a routine when he walks you home after every shift. Then one day, a storm makes you invite Spencer up to your place where feelings are confessed over alcohol and dim lighting.

Square Filled: habits and routines for @genprompt-bingo (dreamwidth bingo)

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

What you do is rewarding. You love coming to work knowing you get to be surrounded by such loving dogs and cats who don’t have homes. Despite what people might think about shelter animals, they’re so loving and very kind. Once in a while, you’ll get an animal who is so scared that they’ll bite and attack, but you have people here to deal with those kinds of animals.

Not you. You only deal with the ones who love to play fetch and tug-a-war. The ones that love belly scratches and cuddles. Right now, you’re giving one of the new recruits a bath in the back. He’s a shaggy-haired dog who seems to think that bath time is playtime. To keep you safe, you have to hook their collar to the back wall so that they don’t jump out, but that doesn’t seem to stop this dog from trying.

“Pip, what are you doing? Come on, stay still,” you say to the dog as if he could respond to you.

You grab the shampoo and squirt it all over his back. You have brush gloves on so that you can scrub and rub at the same time, so that’s what you try to do. As soon as you touch his back, he jerks and barks happily. He thinks you want to play which brings a smile to your face.

“Pip, I have to get you clean. Then, we can play. I promise.”

He calms down enough to let you lather him up with soap, but he’s not so calm when the water comes out. You try to spray him down as much as you can but he starts to shake the suds off. Soap goes everywhere, and you squeal when it splashes all over you.

“Y/N?” You look back at your coworker. “There’s a Spencer Reid to see you.”

Shit, is it that time already? You look at the clock and confirm that indeed, it’s time to go home.

“Can you finish up here? I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Sure.”

“Bye, Pip. See you tomorrow, big guy.” He barks out a goodbye and shakes for your coworker. “Good luck!”

You head to the locker room and change out of your soaked clothes to change into your normal ones. It’s always a good idea to wear some kind of scrubs here due to the shit, piss, and other fluids you get on your job. All of them come from animals. You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder before going to the lobby. Spencer waits there patiently, scrolling on his phone to pass the time.

“Spencer, hi,” you grin.

“Y/N,” he smiles. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” You two leave the shelter and start the walk to your apartment. “How was work? Tell me about your day.”

“I can’t give too much away about the unsub we’re trying to find. It’s still an open investigation.”

“Tell me something else, then. How is the team doing?”

“JJ is pregnant again.”

“That’s awesome! Good for her!”

“Yeah, she’s happy. Tell me about your day. I want to hear everything,” he smiles.

“Well, three new dogs came in today. One of them, poor baby, was so scared. We had to give her to the guy who deals with aggressive dogs. I know she’ll be a sweetheart in no time. Two got adopted today, which is amazing. I tried giving Pip a bath, but he thought it was playtime. I think I still have soap in my hair,” you chuckle. “I had a good time.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”

The walk to your apartment isn’t long, so you’re there before you know it. You stop outside the steps leading to your building and turn to Spencer.

“Thank you for walking me again.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Do you have any doubt?”

“No, I don’t,” you smile. “Goodnight, Spencer.”

Spencer waits for you to head inside your apartment building before heading to his own. The first time you met Spencer was when you were on the bus heading to work. You were late and didn't want to walk that day so you thought the bus would be faster. Spencer decided to take the same bus that morning, and the only open seat was next to him.

Due to traffic, you two were able to have a bit more time to chat. By the time you got to your work, you realized how much fun it was talking to Spencer. Luck would have it that the next day, he was taking the bus again. It turns out he took it in hopes that you would take it, and you took it in hopes that he would take it.

You don’t own a car so when he found out you were walking home every day after work, he decided that would be the day he would walk with you. He’s seen too much shit to let you walk home alone, especially after it got dark.

It’s become your routine now.

The next day when you get off work, Spencer is waiting in the lobby scrolling on his phone to pass the time. This time, he has a coffee in hand for you. It’s the end of the day, but you’ll never turn down a coffee.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you grin and take the coffee from him.

“It’s decaf so you won’t be up all night.”

“Smart,” you chuckle. “How was your day?”

“Still the same. Garcia came to me and told me she was looking to get a dog. Instead of going to the pet store, I told her about the loving dogs you have here.”

You gasp happily and grab his arm. “That’s so much better. We have such loving dogs here that are just looking for a home.”

“She’ll be by this weekend.”

“Awesome! I’ll take such good care of her.” You lean up and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for recommending me.” You stop outside your apartment building. “Give her my number, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Spencer.”

Well after you’re already in your building, Spencer is still standing outside of it. He touches the spot where you kissed his cheek, unable to ignore how tingly it made him. He smiles and heads back to his place with you on his mind the entire time.

Like Spencer said, Penelope walks into your job on Saturday morning, eager to look at what you have available.

“Are you Y/N?” she asks when you greet her.

“Yes. You must be Penelope. Spencer’s told me so much about you.”

“And he won’t shut up about you.” You blush. “Don’t look so bashful. That boy is head over heels for you.”

“No, he’s not. He’s just being nice. He’s a friend.”

“Not from where I stand,” she grins. “So, I hear you have some dogs for me to look at?”

“Yes, right this way.”

Spencer didn’t let up. He is always there when you get off work whether it’s day or night, cloudy, windy, cold, or hot. Storm season is upon Virginia, so the rain comes before you’re prepared for it. It’s so strong that you can hear the water pelt the roof of the shelter. Now is when you regret not having a car.

You grab your things and walk to the lobby, not expecting Spencer to be there. It’s pouring rain outside and he’s still waiting for you as if that’s supposed to deter him. He smiles widely when he sees you, and he holds up the closed umbrella.

“Is that going to fit both of us?”

“I’ll make it work.”

You two don’t talk much on the way home because all you’re focused on it trying to keep the rain off you. Spencer keeps the umbrella mostly on you so he’s drenched by the time you reach your apartment.

“I don’t want you catching a cold. Come inside, please. Wait until the rain stops.”

“I’m okay. My apartment isn’t far from here.”

You reach out and grab his elbow. “Come on. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Spencer has never seen the inside of your place since meeting you, so he’s kind of nervous for himself. He’s not very good when it comes to romance or women. In fact, he’s quite awkward at it. He doesn’t expect anything from you except maybe a towel to dry off, but you have other plans for him.

“Wait right here,” you say before disappearing into your bedroom. You return with a shirt and sweats. “These were my brothers. Change out of your clothes. I’ll wash them.”

“Um…”

“What? The bathroom is next to my bedroom. You’re going to catch a cold. You do so much for me. Let me do this for you.”

“Okay,” he nods.

He takes the clothes and heads to the bathroom. He leaves ten minutes later with his wet clothes in hand. You, having changed when he was, take both yours and his clothes to the washer. After putting a light load on, you join Spencer in the living room.

“Would you like something to drink? I have wine if you want to share it with me.”

Alcohol is bad. He doesn’t want you to feel like he’s taking advantage of you, but he’s also not objecting to it. He’d never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. One glass wouldn’t be so bad, right?

“Sure. One glass won’t hurt.”

You open a brand new bottle of wine and pour two glasses, bringing them to him in the living room. The storm outside doesn't look like it’s getting any better. It might go on all night. It’s a good thing you have a guest room. You turn the lamp on, giving a dim glow around you two. It’s all very romantic.

“You know, you don’t have to walk me home every day, right?”

Spencer shrugs and takes a small sip of wine. “I want to.”

“Why?”

Whether Spencer notices or not, he scoots closer to you so that his knee touches yours. “I work with murderers and bad people. I know how much can change in a matter of seconds. I don’t want anything happening to you. I might be lanky but I know how to fight.”

You rest your arm across the back of the couch, your fingers barely brushing against his shoulder. “You’re not lanky. You’re pretty.”

He laughs. “Thank you. You’re pretty, too.” He sets his glass of wine on the coffee table and seemingly sits closer to you. You pretend not to notice but you do. “Plus, the idea of something happening to you drives me crazy. The thought of not hearing about your day drives me crazy. The idea of someone else walking you home drives me crazy.”

“What?” you whisper.

Spencer looks at your lips which look so kissable in the dim lighting. They always look kissable but he has the courage now. Maybe it was the one sip of wine had or maybe he’s done pretending like there isn’t something between you two.

“I’m gonna kiss you now to show you just how crazy you drive me.”

He leans in closer but you don’t move an inch. You could stop him but you’ve been thinking about kissing him since you two met. His lips touch yours, a test kiss. A soft and tender kiss to test the waters. When you show no sign of rejecting him, he slides his hand in your hair and presses his lips harder against yours.

You open your mouth to him and he slides his tongue in. For someone who is awkward with romance, he sure does know how to kiss. Even after the rain stops and his clothes are dried, he doesn't leave. In fact, he doesn’t leave until the very next morning.

x

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[redqube]

honestly, same it helped me so much in a lot of hard times of my life, of course i'm grateful and happy with many other things in my life.

But AO3, was always a huge comfort and inspiration for me, when things gets rough or I just wanna be in a good mood, the fantastic works of many writters from fandoms of all kind, always puts a smile on my face.

I'm really grateful of AO3, and the many other writters who took the time to write many amazing storys.

not even joking or exaggerating in any way when I say fanfics and archive of our own have been the only things keeping me going and healing me in a way therapy or antidepressant can’t. like what makes my life worth living is looking forward to reading that new chapter of my favorite fic and seeing what happens next, what stops me from giving it all up is browsing through the tags and finding all these beautiful fics about my blorbos. and what brings me joy is being able write and share my love for my blorbos with my readers on archive of our own. like… I honestly don’t know what would’ve happened to me or where I would’ve been with all these life challenges without ao3 and I’m just so glad it exists. the place is literally my safe haven and my getaway and sometimes I don’t think we appreciate it enough.

archive of our own I love you so much. thank you for saving my life and keeping me alive.

[hunieday]

9th Anniversary story - Chapter 1 : Invitation to Celebration

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - (to be continued)

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

Yotsuba Tamaki: One, two, three, four!

Izumi Iori: Ow, ow ow ow…! You’re pushing me from behind too harshly.

Nanase Riku: What are you guys doing?

Yotsuba Tamaki: Helping him go flat on the ground from the waist up.

Nanase Riku: Oh, stretching. Iori, want me to give you a hand too?

Izumi Iori: You must be joking. I’ll pass.

Nanase Riku: Hey, even I can push a little!

Nikaido Yamato: You youngsters have so much energy. Maybe I should join in on the stretching too.

Rokuya Nagi: I’ll help you! One, two, three, exhale~!

Nikaido Yamato: Phew…

Izumi Mitsuki: Good job, everyone. Stretching feels great when you do it right!

Osaka Sougo: Oh, Mitsuki-san, are those new sneakers?

Izumi Mitsuki: Oh, you noticed? Pretty cool, right? They’re the new Nana Sports sneakers!

Nanase Riku: I like that brand too! Not only are they a sports brand but they also have “Nana” in the name!

Rokuya Nagi: I also have a towel from them. The design is Simple and Cute… So Kawaii !

(t/n: Nagi says the italicized words in katakana, including kawaii…yes…)

Izumi Mitsuki: Nana Sports stuff is cute, right? Iori, do you remember?

Izumi Iori: Remember what?

Izumi Mitsuki: The matching sneakers our late grandpa gave us! It’s been around 9 years already, right?

Izumi Mitsuki: He bought us matching sneakers from Nana Sports when the store first opened. That was his last Christmas present to us.

Izumi Iori: …Ah… That’s right. I remember.

Nikaido Yamato: Your grandpa’s last gift, huh…

Rokuya Nagi: OH… What a heartwarming story.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Do you still wear them?

Izumi Iori: Of course not. How old do you think I was?

Izumi Iori: However…they’re quite nostalgic. Those sneakers bring back a lot of memories.

Izumi Mitsuki: Haha, right? Maybe even some awkward memories for you, Iori.

Izumi Iori: …Well…

Nanase Riku: Huh? What kind of awkward memories?

Izumi Iori: …

Nanase Riku: Huh?! It’s that bad?!

Izumi Iori: Of course it is?! Nii-san called them awkward and I nodded. I wouldn’t lie about something like this.

Nanase Riku: …Sorry… I guess it really was awkward…

Izumi Iori: Stop bringing it up…

Nikaido Yamato: …Huh? Seriously? Was it that awkward?

Izumi Mitsuki: Eh, not that much? It’s all completely in the past for me though.

(Door opens)

Takanashi Tsumugi: Great work, everyone!

Nanase Riku: Manager!

Rokuya Nagi: Manager! Thank you for your hard work!

Oogami Banri: Thank you. We’re here to tell you all about a new job offer.

Izumi Mitsuki: A new job!

Yotsuba Tamaki: What is it? I’m excited!

Takanashi Tsumugi: It’s a sports variety show. Here are the details!

Nanase Riku: A sports variety show?

Takanashi Tsumugi: Yes! It’s a project sponsored by the sports brand Nana Sports.

Izumi Iori: Nana Sports…

Izumi Mitsuki: What a coincidence! We were just talking about their new sneakers that I just bought!

Takanashi Tsumugi: Is that so? That’s perfect! I’m aware you regularly use Nana Sports products, correct?

Rokuya Nagi: Yes ! The quality is amazing, and not just that, but the designs are cute and flashy too!

Yotsuba Tamaki: A lot of kids at school use their stuff too!

Osaka Sougo: Working on a project with a sponsor we actually love is exciting.

Nikaido Yamato: That’s right! So, what exactly will we be doing?

Takanashi Tsumugi: The event is called “9th Anniversary Nana Sports Presents ★ Idol Grand Sports Festival!!”

IDOLiSH7: Idol Grand Sports Festival!?

Oogami Banri: Yup. And in addition to IDOLiSH7, TRIGGER, Re:vale, and ŹOOḼ will all be participating in this event.

Rokuya Nagi: Wow! Exciting! We’re idols so we’re always physically active, but…

Izumi Mitsuki: I wonder which group will be the strongest when it comes to an event like this?

Nikaido Yamato: Re:vale has the very athletic Momo-san, but his partner? not so much.

Osaka Sougo: I think TRIGGER might be the best overall. They’re all pretty good at sports.

Nanase Riku: I get that! Tenn-nii is really athletic!

Yotsuba Tamaki: ŹOOḼ’s got some pretty athletic ones too, no?

Rokuya Nagi: Yes! Their performers especially have excellent body control.

Izumi Mitsuki: IDOLiSH7 will be fine too! Leave it to me!

Rokuya Nagi: Oh! Mitsuki, we’ll be counting on you!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Me too! I’m good at PE!

Osaka Sougo: Tamaki-kun is good at physical activities.

Nanase Riku: I’m looking forward to seeing everyone in action! I’m not super confident in my performance though…

Nikaido Yamato: Don’t sweat it. Mitsu and Tama will do their best to cover for you.

Izumi Mitsuki: You better do your best too. You’re not completely out of shape either, old man.

Izumi Iori: Nikaido-san doesn’t seem to get tired, even during the second half of our concerts.

Nikaido Yamato: That’s because I feel bad for myself, so I pace myself carefully. Just like you do. (1)

Izumi Iori: Excuse me?

Nikaido Yamato: I heard from Tama that you’re fast.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Yeah yeah! Iorin’s super fast!

Nanase Riku: That’s amazing, Iori!

Izumi Iori: Yotsuba-san is faster than me.

Izumi Mitsuki: There you go again…

Nanase Riku: So between Iori, Mitsuki, and Tamaki, who’s the fastest?

Yotsuba Tamaki: Me!

Izumi Iori: Probably Nii-san.

Izumi Mitsuki: It’s most likely Iori, right?

Nikaido Yamato: Well, I don’t care as long as one of you wins. Just team up and take down TRIGGER, Re:vale, and ŹOOḼ.

Oogami Banri: Actually, you’re not participating as your groups. The four groups will be split into two mixed teams, Red and White.

Nanase Riku: So, that means we’ll be competing as allies and foes?

Takanashi Tsumugi: Yes. We'll conduct a physical fitness test and divide the teams to ensure a balanced team distribution.

Osaka Sougo: A physical fitness test, huh. I feel like I’m back in school.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Sou-chan, were you good at sports?

Osaka Sougo: I wasn’t bad, but not as good as Tamaki-kun.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Sounds like we’re gonna be enemies then.

Osaka Sougo: That’s true, we're a duo after all… If I were producing the show I might want MEZZO" to be in separate teams.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Is that so?

Osaka Sougo: Yeah… I hope I’ll be able to read the room and get results that ensure we end up in different teams…

Yotsuba Tamaki: How about you read the room here and maybe say “I’ll feel lonely if we’re not on the same team” or something…

Osaka Sougo: W-well that goes without saying!

Nanase Riku: I’m gonna read the room and hope I end up on the same team as someone from TRIGGER!

Izumi Iori: Yeah yeah, how about praying you don’t come last in the physical test first?

Nanase Riku: I’ll be fine!

Izumi Iori: How come?

Nanase Riku: Because Yuki-san will be there.

Izumi Iori: You’re being incredibly rude to a senior who’s been taking care of us.

Rokuya Nagi: If they’re gonna divide us based on physical power, Mitsuki and Tamaki would end up in different teams.

Nikaido Yamato: They’re our top two athletes after all.

Izumi Mitsuki: Heh heh! I won’t lose!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Me neither!

Nanase Riku: Ahaha! You’re not even rivals yet.

Rokuya Nagi: I’m feeling quite listless. Would we even be able to team up with non-IDOLiSH7 members for a sports event no less?

Nikaido Yamato: Now that you mention it… Sports are extremely difficult team activities, aren’t they?

Takanashi Tsumugi: Don’t worry, that has also been taken into consideration!

Takanashi Tsumugi: After the physical fitness test and once the teams are divided, they have planned a *whisper* secret event to strengthen the teams’ bonds! (2)

Nikaido Yamato: Wow! That is SO reassuring!

Nikaido Yamato: …is what you wanted me to say? Well I actually feel the opposite right now. What is that *whisper* secret…

Takanashi Tsumugi: Sorry… It’s a *whisper* secret event to strengthen your bond…

Nanase Riku: I’ll do my best! I’ll keep your *whisper* secret. LOL!

Izumi Mitsuki: Don’t you think saying “LOL” out loud is a bit weird?

Rokuya Nagi: A bond-building event LMAO

Izumi Mitsuki: How about you don’t say “LMAO” out loud.

Rokuya Nagi: Do you believe my current speech would be more suitable for your expectations? (3)

Nikaido Yamato: This is a total mess.

Takanashi Tsumugi: Please do your best! I believe you’ll form wonderful teams!

Rokuya Nagi: Yes ! Let’s live up to Manager’s expectations. I’ll do my best in the fitness test!

Nanase Riku: Yeah! Let’s give it our all! I’ve got to work on my fitness too!

Izumi Iori: Don’t push yourself too hard, Nanase-san.

Nanase Riku: I’ll be fine if I’m careful.

Izumi Iori: Don’t overdo it. Your overprotective guardian from that other group will make a fuss.

Nanase Riku: …

Nanase Riku: A sports festival with Tenn-nii, huh…

Anesagi Kaoru: You guys, you got a job offer for a sports variety event hosted by Nana Sports!

Anesagi Kaoru: The project is called "9th Anniversary Nana Sports Presents ★ Idol Grand Sports Festival!!"

Yaotome Gaku: A sports variety event. This is gonna be fun.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: The usual four groups will be participating! I’m sure you’re gonna enjoy the activities!

Kujo Tenn: So we’ll be split into teams based on the physical fitness test results instead of competing as our groups?

Yaotome Gaku: Then we might end up being enemies. If that’s true then I won’t take it easy on you two.

Kujo Tenn: Of course. Get ready, both of you.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: I’ll give it my best shot. But I feel conflicted about competing against the two of you…

Yaotome Gaku: What are you talking about? Sports are your thing, Ryuu. You should be all fired up.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: That’s true, but…

Yaotome Gaku: I’m not gonna let you take me down easily, Ryuu. I’m going all-in to win. Though maybe…maybe… just a little…

Yaotome Gaku: Maybe I do wanna lose to you. Out of curiosity.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: What do you mean?

Kujo Tenn: I get it.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: You get it?

Kujo Tenn: I want you to beat me up.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: I’m not gonna beat you up!?

Yaotome Gaku: I want you to go at it without showing mercy and completely obliterate me.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: I’m not gonna obliterate you!! And I will show mercy… What’s going on with you two!?

Kujo Tenn: You know. Just a bit of curiosity.

Yaotome Gaku: You get it.

Kujo Tenn: Yeah.

Yaotome Gaku: Yeah.

Anesagi Kaoru: It’s rare for you two to be in sync. I mean I get it, but still.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: A-Anyways, I’ll do my best. I’m good at sports after all!

Yaotome Gaku: Yeah! We’re counting on you, Ryuu!

Kujo Tenn: Do your best and have fun.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Got it. I’m gonna go all out and make a huge impact in the sports festival!

Yaotome Gaku: Yeah! I can’t wait!

Kujo Tenn: I’m already getting excited.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Whether we’re gonna be enemies or allies, we gotta go all out!

TRIGGER: Yeah!

To be continued...

Yamato here is implying that Iori ‘paces’ himself, AKA crafts his image carefully and knows how to manage it so as to not break that illusion of perfection.

I am actually not sure if they’re whispering here, the original text is in between brackets, and since this is an actual conversation and not a rabbitchat I chose to interpret this as a whisper, so there’s a possibility this gets changed once the story gets voiced.

This entire bit was complicated to translate in English, so here’s how it went in Japanese: Riku thinks Tsumugi’s just randomly throwing the word “secret” around so he says it himself out of context. And THEN adds (笑) (slang term for LOL) which makes the sentence even more confusing. Mitsuki points it out, and then Nagi joins in by adding (草) (another slang for LOL, so I went with LMAO to differentiate) to the end of his sentence. Mitsu gets annoyed and calls him out on it, so Nagi retaliates by abruptly switching to very formal japanese. Basically he went from saying LMAO out loud to. That. Again this story is currently not voiced but it’s also safe to assume he’s gonna drop his accent and talk in proper Japanese too (LOL)(save me)

[takuma-talkz]

Please please PLEASE I need the smuttiest fic with daisuke stat!! I've pretty much read all the daisuke content I could find and omg I need MORE!!!!

it can be headcanons or a one shot. literally anything I just need it to be smut pretty please 🥺

Preferably afab reader but im absolutely okay with gn reader ofc!

He's just so adorable I fiend for daisuke content

sincerely, 🌺anon

My Girl is Filthy!

AKA Daisuke founding out that his girlfriend is a tumblr writer <3

requested: Smut

Reader: Female

A/N: I saw this request yesterday before I went to bed but I was eepy :( / wrote this while listening to Chase Atlantic.

IF YOU REQUESTED SOMETHING FROM ME, IM WORKING AS FAST AS I CAN🎀

Daisuke returned just a few months ago from his stupid internship in space.

You were his amazing girlfriend, who waited for him this whole time.

Daisuke loved and respect you so much. His mom and dad loved you too.

To everyone, you were the most sweet, loyal and innocent girl ever.

just don’t let them see your phone. Specially that little dark purple app called Tumblr.

on tumblr, you were known as Cinna_Rites You were known for your oneshots about your boyfriend under the alias, DJ.

but you just don’t write any kind of onshots. You were the most filithest, arousing content around.

You always touch yourself to the content you write, imagining it was your boyfriend actually doing those nasty things to you. But you’re too shy.

even when Daisuke returned home from space. you were ready for your first time having sex with him but you just couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to fuck you.

Currently you were showering while your boyfriend was setting up for movie night. Daisuke had the snacks, the sodas and the blankets all ready. He paused when he saw your phone vibrating on the coffee table. He’s conflicted about looking at your phone without you around. He feels like he’s invading your privacy.

but he remembers countless of times where you expressed it was okay for him to touch your phone.

Daisuke and you have the same password for your phones. He unlocks your phone and sees…

99+ notifications from Tumblr?!

why were you on tumblr?

tumblr doesn’t exactly have the most safe-for-work reputation. He opens the app and now sees why you’re on this app.

Now, he knew you were good at writing but the nasty shit you have been writing on this app was something else.

He closes the app and turns around to put it back on the table. He’ll just act cool and ask you later about it. Just as he looks up, he meets wide, embarrassed eyes.

“Daisuke, I-i can explain!” You try to excuse yourself from the embarrassment.

He waves his hands in defense. “No, baby! Relax, it’s okay! I shouldn’t have been peeking in the first place!”

The entire time. Daisuke sat an uncomfortable distance away from you. You hated it. You pause the movie to face him.

“Daisuke, please don’t shy away from me.” You played with your hands in your lap.

he cups your face. “Baby, I’m sorry. It’s just, I-uh”

he cleared his throat. “I’m not gonna lie. I wasn’t expecting you to match my freak like that.”

you giggled. No matter how embarrassed you were he proceeded to make you laugh.

“You had been gone and I wanted you to be my first time. This was the best way I could vent my urges properly.” You explained and told him everything about how you felt about his internship.

“I’m sorry you felt that way, baby.” Daisuke pulls you close. “Trust me, I’m never doing any of my mom’s suggestions ever again!”

his hand slipped under your shirt. “Do you still feel that way? Do you still want your first time to be me?”

“Oh, baby —fuck.” Daisuke groans, head falling back against the couch.

currently, you are between his legs. Lapping at the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around it slowly. You were being careful, remembering back to the tutorial video you watched.

Breathe through your nose, cover your teeth and use your tongue.

You felt your panties dampen. You tap his thigh to get him to spread out a little more. He gives you more room to work, and you take in more of his cock. Bobbing your head along his length, he huffs and groans fighting the urge to thrust his hips into your warm mouth.

You put his hand on your head, urging him to use your mouth to pleasure himself.

“You sure?” Daisuke held back a whimper.

You moan on him, giving him a thumbs up.

He smiles, pushing down on your head just a little to fit some more inches in your mouth. He moans louder, guiding your head to the way that makes him feel good.

“Pop off, baby. I don’t wanna cum yet. I wanna try eating you out.”

You took a deep breath, after releasing Daisuke’s cock.

“It tastes funny.” You giggled, as he laid you against the couch.

Your panties were gone and your legs were on either side of his shoulders. He kissed your clit softly and you moaned softly.

“Daisuke—! Ah, too much—!” You whimper, trying to push his head away.

He sucked at your clit, releasing it just to flick it again with his tongue. His fingers pump in and out of you. Daisuke moaned into your pussy, he’s in love with the taste of you.

“Fuck, baby—so fuckin’ good.” He reaches up to pull at your nipple. You convulsed and clench around his fingers, pulling at his hair.

Daisuke pulls back. “I want more so bad but I want you cumming on my cock more.”

You both share a passionate kiss before he lines up his cock with your entrance.

“Wait, can I choose the position?” You asked timid, scared he might say no.

“Of course.” He smiles, watching as you get up and turn around. Bending over the couch’s arm to support your weight with your ass facing him.

“From behind?”

“yeah, it what I mostly write about.” Your embarrassment grew.

He chuckles and kiss the back of your head. He spent a few good minutes stuffing his cock into you. He groans, fully bottoming out inside of you.

“Oh Dai, please move—please!” You grind back against Daisuke, he puts a hand on the back of your neck and the other went to hold down your wrist.

Daisuke thrusts at a steady pace inside of you. He moans at the feeling of moving along your walls.

With his hand on the back of your neck, it was hard for you to moan properly. Broken gasps and moans escaped you, you throw your hips back against him.

“Dai—ah! I can’t take! Can’t take it—! It’s too much!”

“You’re so strong, baby. You can—fuck—take it, I know you can.” Daisuke adjusted his leg to thrust faster. He leaned over your figure.

“Was this one of the situations you wrote about?” Daisuke chuckles.

He drags you more on the couch, and places both on the back of your head and pushes your head into the couch. Hips driving into your ass faster now.

You scream but it’s muffled. You swing your arms back to push his hips away, but it doesn’t to anything to deter him.

The ever building coil your stomach snaps unexceptedly. You squirted all over his dick and he groaned loudly.

He pulls out and cums on your ass. He pulls you against his chest and kisses your temple.

“I love you so much, babygirl. Thank you for letting me be your first time.” He nuzzles into your neck.

You chuckle lightly. “Love you too, Dai.”

[ofbatsandballads]

Yay! I’m so glad you take requests. Feel free to decide if you want to write this or not, it’s fine either way :)

So, I was thinking about Jason dating civilian!reader, and her coming home all disheveled and horrified. Since she knows about him being Red Hood, she can confide in him. She had just killed someone for the first time, whether it was an accident, self defense or whatever, you decide.

I was just wondering how Jason would handle this situation since usually he’s the one doing the killing.

Thank you <3

oh, this is amazing food for thought. I actually think he’d be the very best person to come to in such a situation because he has experience with killing. who’s gonna understand you better than him? literally nobody. had something similar to this in my drafts but now my mind is whirling in a whole host of directions. excellent prompt, nonnie!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include graphic depictions of violence and killing (in self defense), attempted and failed sexual assault, the aftermath of both events (reader’s in shock), hurt/comfort. this one’s got heavier subject matter so please do mind the warnings, folks. i did way too much research of the Gotham Knights map for this, but it’s my favorite depiction of the city so so be it. also reader and Jason live in the Belfry bc i said so (personal hc that i may or may not elaborate on some time). and one last thing! the romanized Arabic at the end is “حياتي ” which translates to “my life”. I love the idea that Jason picked up Arabic terms of endearment from Talia calling Bruce just about every one she could.

Jason wakes up to soft afternoon sunlight shining on his face. He grumbles out a gravelly hum and scrunches up his face in protest against being awakened when he was sleeping so nicely. He reaches out to find the comforting warmth of his beloved beside him, to pull you in and bury his face into your hair so he can hide from the morning for a bit longer.

All he finds are cold sheets and an empty pillow.

He bolts upright. Something’s wrong. You never, never wake up before him. He doesn’t even register the way that the sudden abundance of light stings his eyes. He takes stock of his surroundings, his training executing on autopilot. The open layout of the Belfry lets him get his bearings in seconds. He doesn’t see you anywhere from the bird’s eye view of your loft bedroom. There’s no smell of food in the kitchen nor any mess that would indicate you’d been working in there. The living room space, fully visible below, is empty too. The only enclosed space in your home, the bathroom that’s just around the corner from your bedroom, is dead quiet. No running water, no sweet singing, no familiar coughing from swallowed toothpaste. And without so much as leaving your bed, Jason’s already come to a conclusion that sends his heart pounding and dries his throat. You’re not here.

He’s up and grabbing the 9mm taped under your bedside table in the span of a few breaths. He moves through your home methodically, like he’s clearing one of Gotham’s criminal hideouts. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing’s been disturbed. He’s not surprised by this—barring Wayne Manor, the Belfry is the most secure building in Gotham. That’s precisely why Jason had moved you both here once you decided to live together. He checks the coffee table and sees that your phone and wallet are gone. A different type of fear takes over now. One that makes his heart ache. What if you’ve finally had enough, finally seen that he’s not good enough for you, not worth sticking around for? It makes him sick. He swallows hard and tries to clear the blistering thought from his head. No, that’s not you. You’re not cruel. You’re kind and gentle and loving. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. And you wouldn’t hurt him.

The sight of gears turning in his periphery catches his attention. He sees the cables pulling and the security panel go green, and he’s running to the elevator doors damn near ready to pry them open. He hastily tucks the 9mm into the waistband of his pajama pants, easily within reach if he needs it. Relief floods him when the huge metal doors grind open and he sees your pretty face on the other side. Then his heart drops when he realizes that that pretty face is scraped and splattered with blood.

Your hair is tangled and wet, dripping dirty water down your neck and staining the bright red of his your favorite hoodie. Your hands, which shake as they reach blindly towards him, are stained crimson and battered too. But it’s your eyes that haunt him. You look broken.

“Jay,” you croak out, unable to summon anything but a plea for the one person who can keep you safe.

The tears fall from your eyes at the same time that you collapse into Jason’s arms. He drags you inside and locks down the Belfry. Jason wants to panic but feels a strange sense of calm about himself. As loathe as he’d be to admit it, he finds himself falling into Bruce’s habit of assessment and action.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, voice steady and assured.

You don’t even hear him. You’re digging your hands into his shirt, clinging on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. He may very well be. He feels you going rigid and cold and he knows he has to get you stable before you descend further into shock.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, adding on and enunciating your name for emphasis.

That sparks some semblance of lucidity. Jason hasn’t called you by your name in months, much preferring you be his baby or his sweetheart or his doll, or simply his. If it jars you back to reality, so be it.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” he demands gently.

It all pours out of you like a flood.

You’d woken up early by chance this afternoon. Normally you’d just close your eyes and snuggle closer to Jason to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but you wanted to do something nice for him. So you’d gotten up and gone to Lemay’s Flower Emporium in Gotham Heights. You’d bought him the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, so big that you had to hold on to it with both arms. The taxi ride from the Heights back to Coventry Station went fine. You were almost home. So close that you could see the clock tower where your heart was sleeping peacefully.

Then you stopped at Commerce Avenue Station. You just wanted to get him some pastries from the little bakery tucked away on 3rd Street that you both love. It was a decent walk; you knew that. You also knew that Jason wouldn’t want you to go out of your way by yourself. But it was morning and you were a grown woman and you could handle yourself, right? Well, that’s what you thought until a pair of hands clamped down on your shoulders and yanked you violently into a side alley.

Jason had prepared you for something like this. You’d spent countless evenings with him teaching you self defense techniques in the training area of your home. None of it mattered because the man that had you by the shoulders slammed you so hard into the brick wall that all your thoughts went hazy. Before you could regain your footing, you were shoved to the ground. The bitter sting of your palms scraping open pierced through the fog, as did the crushing weight of the vile man on top of you. Fear shot through you as the man started tugging at his belt and you realized that this wasn’t intended to be a mugging. You tried to scream but a grimy hand clamped over your mouth, hitting your head against the ground and soaking your hair in dirty rain water and blood.

Your eyes darted around in search of someone—anyone. But no one was coming. You felt fingernails scratch against your stomach as clammy hands curled into the waistband of your sweatpants and suddenly you saw your savior. A brick from the damaged alleyway laid within reach. You didn’t even think when you grabbed it, when you swung it as hard as you could into the side of the man’s head. The corner hit his temple and he crumbled to the side. You rose to your knees and hit the man again. And again. All you could remember were Jason’s firm instructions: if someone makes it a choice of you or them, you make sure that it’s you no matter what it takes.

“I don’t r-remember anything else,” you sob into his chest. “There was so much blood, Jason. And his head—oh, God.”

Jason shushes you gently. He holds you tight in his arms like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even slightly, you’ll fade away on him.

“Don’t think about it, baby. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

“I killed someone, Jason. I killed someone.”

You look at him wide eyed—afraid, horrified, guilty. No. Jason won’t have that. You will not feel guilty over some lowlife scumbag who wanted to hurt you, who probably would have killed you. Jason can’t even stomach the thought. He wants to put a bullet into whatever’s left of that predator’s head. No, the only shame in you killing that man is that you got to him before Jason could.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, repeats your name again for emphasis. “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.”

“Someone’s dead because of me, Jay,” you argue, gripping him tighter as your panic rises.

“Baby, do you know how many people are dead because of me?” he asks. “Far, far more than I’d ever want you to know. Do you think I’m a monster, honey? That I did something wrong?”

He knows it’s an apples to oranges comparison. But you’ve used this same tactic on him so many times that he also knows it’s effective. Every time he demeans himself for something, you ask if he’d treat you the way he treats himself for the same thing. The answer is always no.

“No!” you reply emphatically. “You protect people. You do it to keep people safe.”

“You did it to keep yourself safe.”

“But—”

“No buts. Or ifs. No ands, either, just in case you get any ideas,” he says lightly, brushing a speck of blood off your cheekbone.

You smile at his stupid little comment and he feels the tension in his body release just slightly. As long as there’s light back in your eyes for even a moment, he knows that you’ll be okay. He picks you up, lets you cling your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest as he carries you to the bathroom upstairs. He runs you a bath and, after asking repeatedly if you were okay with it, undresses you and washes the blood and grime from your body. He wraps you in a big fluffy towel, dries and brushes your hair, and tends to your injuries before he bundles you up in his comfiest hoodie and pajama pants. He soothes you when your tears make their return and never leaves your line of sight because he knows he makes you feel safe.

The thought gnaws at him throughout the day. It outright scalds him as he lies in bed with you after deciding to skip patrol. He’s failed you. Failed to protect you, failed to ensure nothing harms a hair on your head. He’s failed at taking care of you, the one thing that matters more to him than anything else. He’s seconds away from spiraling into self hatred when your sweet voice comes calling, soft and pleading.

“Jay…please stay with me,” you say softly.

Your eyes are clear and focused again. You squeeze his waist tight where your arms are wrapped around him, like you’re physically trying to anchor him in place in your bed. The look on your face says that you know exactly where his mind was headed. You see right through him. It makes him feel more vulnerable than anything else, and it surprises him how much he loves the feeling. And Jason, as always and for eternity, can’t bring himself to deny you. So he pulls himself together and shoves all his self loathing down. He can deal with it later—you need him more right now.

“I’m right here, hayati. Not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”

He kisses you gently and feels some of that self hatred wash away when you chase after him for more goodnight kisses. He feels it dissipate even more when you fall asleep in his arms with a soft smile on your face. It’s all but forgotten as he drifts off too, safe in the knowledge that you’re here with him, that he can feel your heart beating pressed tight against his own.

[rnm-magic-space-xsd]

1. JujuBear reminds me of a Black Panther

2. I’d go to a crocheting class in order to crochet him cat-paw gloves, a cat beanie and fluff up the cat ears of the beanie with our precious Elizabeth’s shedded snow white fur 💗 (She’s a persian cat and is JujuBear’s most precious pet). I’d also gift him a heartfelt hand written love letter 🥰

3. My main hobby is singing and Juju is also a talented and gifted singer! We could sing together ! He also learned how to play the violin and piano from a young age. I love the moments when we can cherish and enjoy our quality time together 😊. I’m the hopeless romantic one and before meeting me Jumin was more closed off and distrustful of people and doubtful of the existence of real love..but my heart softened his and brought him out of his shell. It made him open up to love with me and he became more romantic and passionate with me!

4. JujuBear likes cooking for us from time to time, on his days off or if we’re celebrating our anniversaries or dates together. The chore he dislikes is handling the laundry machine and dryer. He is quite clumsy and inept with electric machines. (It’s cute 🌸).

5. Nope 😂. Both JujuBear and I are hopeless at driving. JujuBear has a personal driver though, so. We usually ride with Mr.Kim (the personal drivers’ name) in the back of the fancy car, the divider opaque black screen giving us both the privacy we sometimes wish to relish with one another 😚. Passionate, whimsical, freeing, heartwarming, slightly frisky and very sweet 🐰💐🍬🐈‍⬛

6. The ringtone : Beyonce’s ‘I am on to see my husband’ and notification sound of JujuBear saying ‘Shh, it’s a secret’ 🤫🔐😌💌😽or ‘Merry Christmas’ 🎄🌟💗🎁

7. Usually no. Juju is usually quite mature and non-sensitive to outsiders’ opinions so he doesn’t bother giving them the time of day or any type of attention. But when it comes to people criticizing me (his wifey), his family or the RFA (the charity association we both work at together, us and his closest friends. The only ones he feels he can truly trust and be real with.) ; he gets quietly yet fiercely mad and makes sure to scare them with lawsuits for defamation and that gets them to take it down or delete their ‘trash talk’ back into their dirty pants. If they haven’t learned their lesson? Boom! They become 15,000-20,000$ poorer by the end of the lawsuit. Hahh, how nice it is to teach bastards some humility and kindness.

8. Juju, before meeting me, didn’t believe in love nor in soulmates. Since he was just a kid his father changed wives and girlfriends countless times and was always blind to the fact that most if not all of them were only interested in his wealth..

it rattled Juju’s faith in people. Made him fear trusting others due to the foolish and deluded blindness his father developed towards peoples’ characters. But by distancing himself from the possibility of getting used, betrayed, hurt and abandoned; he was also distancing himself from meeting the right people..

Those who would support and cherish him. Those who would make the effort to understand him and accept him and help him grow to the amazing, romantic, balanced, emotionally mature man he is meant to be!

After we fell for each other he warmed and softened up, got him to shyly entertain the notion of ‘Soulmates’. But he cherishes me dearly and deeply.

Juju believes that we create our own destinies.

I on the other hand had always believed in soulmates. I do believe that we create our own destinies too but sometimes life brings us the people who are meant for us and it’s such a blessing!

And as we create our own destinies ; we might trip and make mistakes trusting the wrong people. That, depending on your attitude and the supportive, cherished loved ones around you; could become a blessing in disguise. Handmade by you, your loved ones’ soul alchemy of the tragic and painful situation.

Filling and glueing the broken pieces with gold lacquer, just like the Japanese belief. Turning your heart into an even brighter, stronger, wiser and uniquely made masterpiece.

But those events and situations ; whether with the right or the wrong, we can always learn if we’re wise enough to see and understand the reason and meaning behind them.

I wish Juju’s father was wiser and more ‘sober’ when observing and seeing the peoples’ inner characters and not being extremely foolish and lenient because of their external beauty..I wish Juju’s father was kinder, wiser, more considerate and responsible towards Juju. He would’ve really appreciated having a more emotionally open and warm father back then. One who would’ve appreciated being, understanding and supporting his son.

Aaaaaa Imm rambling too much 😣..

10. Cuddling and spooning in bed on a lazy weekend morning and just, enjoying our heavenly and honey sweet tasting time together 🥹😍🥰

11. Bunny and Wolf Ship Dynamic

12. Royal Purple or maybe Lavender/Amethyst Purple

14. Bunny? Maybe Kitten, Lioness cub or Black Panther cub? One of those xp - or maybe a baby sheep!

15. Juju would secretly plan a weekend (Thursday to Sunday) romantic trip together to Japan! To a Japanese Couple Onsen Inn where we could have intimate bonding time together ☺️💓💐♨️ .. Relaxation time in the hot baths with shy excitement and thrill of sharing space together while being physically exposed…Oh, the blushes! Flusteredness! Awkwardness! Sweetness and biting sensual desires filling our burning bodies and hearts…aaaa, just. Utter bliss 🥹🥲😇😌😈💗💞💘💖.

We’d shyly hug and cuddle, wearing only our swimsuits. Then he’d hold me close from behind, embracing me ; hands wrapped around my waist..I’d blush all rosey and he’d feel thrilled at my reactions to his advances but wouldn’t show it (in order to not be caught intentionally teasing me). He’d plant numerous kisses upon the curve of my neck and then bite it and oh my goddddhhh that’d feel soouuuu heavenlyyy. I’d instantly turn into a puddle of honey goo or a raspberry jelly, melting by his loving touch like, aaa !!!

“J-! Juju!! Stop! If you continue flustering me like this I might faint! You know I have low blood pressure! My heart can’t take so much excitement at once!”

“Hahah, sorry love. You’re just too cute I couldn’t help it.” Juju chuckled before reaching his arms under my knees and back.

“Now, my lovely white-winged angel; I’ll carry you to our normal bath, shower you with cooler temperatures and shampoo your soft brown hair.” As Juju spoke, he carried his lovebird to said destination, as if Shiri (my name coughcough) weighed as light as a feather.

“Spoil you rotten like I love to and feed you chocolate cubes and banana milk so my dear sweets won’t pass out~<3 what do you say?”

“Awwhh, hehe. My head is dizzy but gosh, I feel so blessed to have you Juju. Yea, I feel like I need the spoiling tonight. But is that okay? I want to make you happy too, HanniBear..”

“Hum for me then, I love listening to your singing voice. Your voice reminds me of fairy laughter and wind chimes. It’s soothing and playful, light and bright, soft and sweet. It heals my heart to be washed by the sound of your loving and gentle voice.” Juju then turned on the bathing water, making sure the temperature was just right.

“Hum and sing I will then ☺️.”

“Honey, honey, how you thrill me

Ah-ha, honey, honey

Honey, honey, nearly kills me

Ah-ha, honey, honey

I'd heard about you before

I wanted to know some more

And now I know what they mean

You’re a love machine

Oh, you make me dizzy~!”

JujuBear smiled to himself, pleased at how the love of his life treasures him and expresses her heart to him so candidly and sweetly.

“The way that y—hgh…” Juju, having savored Shiri’s sweet voice that leaves him buzzed and drunk with softness and love, got Shiri sighing in comfort and relief at the comforting touch of her beloved hubbys’ hands massaging her shampoo lathered hair. Hahhh, such a blessing

16. “Love of my life, Light of My Soul! My White-Winged Beloved Wifey!” in his smitten head and “Love/Sweetheart/Princess/Angel/Wifey” in public because my hubby is not ashamed to be lovey-dovey with me. In fact he actually loves being a little possessive with me. Being publicly affectionate with me means others will understand that I’m his, that I’m a taken lady 💍💗😊

17. Juju loves spending our time together cuddling! Hugging while we’re cooking, sitting on his lap as he works in his home office (though he usually works at his office building, away from home.), snuggling on the couch or bed as we’re watching a movie or even without a movie. Just enjoying our time together; talking, praising, opening up, whispering loving words, teasing and tickling, dad puns and laughing till we cry or lose our breaths. Just, being together 💗😊.

18. The deep trust and sweet heartfelt kindness he shows to only me. Showing me the sides he doesn’t show to anyone else.

19. My mesmerizing smile that blooms like a flower and has the glow of an angel’s healing halo.

20. Kind, romantic, optimistic, resilient, childlike, emotionally intelligent, gentle, sweet, wise, supportive !

23. Baby Pink or Purplish Glittery Pink

F/O Ask Game!!

A list of questions to answer about your f/o!! You guys can just go down the list and answer them all (I'd love to see it!!!) in a reblog, orrr you can reblog and have others ask you these questions in your inbox! Have fun!! PR.OSHI.P, NOT FOR YOU!

What animal does your f/o remind you of?

If you got your f/o a gift, what would you get them? 

What is your favorite hobby to think about doing with your f/o?

What chores would your f/o do around the house? Are there any they REALLY dislike?

Would you trust your f/o to drive a car?

What kind of ringtone or notification sound would you have for your f/o?

Would your f/o fight someone online? 

Does your f/o believe in soulmates?

How would you introduce your f/o to your friends? How do you think that would go? 

What's the first scenario that comes to your head when you think of being with your f/o?

What dynamic would you use to describe you and your f/o? 

What color do you associate with your f/o? 

How would your f/o introduce you to those they care about? How do you think that would go?

What animal do you remind your f/o of?

What would your f/o get you for Valentine's day, if anything? 

What does your f/o call you in their head? What do they call you aloud/to others?

What does your f/o like doing with you the most? 

How does your f/o show their love best? 

What's your f/o's favorite feature of yours?

What're your f/o's favorite personality traits of yours?

If your f/o drew you, how would you describe the art piece?

Does your f/o share food with you?

What color would your f/o associate you with?

What?? Who's tagging their friends again?- not me... I just really wanna see yalls answers. Formal invitation lest you become worried I don't wanna see it. @jpeg-indulgence @starshakez @moxanji-real @frankys-wife @katsenbergs-soulmate @katanahusband @fl0ralsxgar @one-winged-dreams AND LITERALLY ANYONE WHO SEES THIS.

[moon-ttokki-x]

Your fic about safe is so amazing I'm inlove with it?? Could you do a similar one but with daddy issues like you're dating Han or Chris (idm which you pick) and you sometimes worry he'll leave you + Ur own issues, tw? Bipolar and depression? Whatever makes you comfortable to do at least

aha thank you so much ! i just titled this one 'depressed reader' but all of the main details are in the descriptions below >< also i couldn't decide between writing chan or han so i just kind of wrote both lol . . . hopefully this one brings you some comfort too, anon <3

hold me - bang chan x depressed!reader

pairing: bang chan x depressed!reader

summary: watching chan with one of his members makes everything you've felt lately rise to the surface.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort at the end, depression, hinting to bipolar disorder, heavy descriptions of relationship issues (i made it sort of vague so it applies to a lot of scenarios), descriptions of ed, deprecating and negative thoughts, breakdowns, attachment issues, chan is the sweetest most understanding person in the whole world, jisung is mentioned multiple times in this fic

a/n: sending love to all my readers ! you are all soso appreciated <3. divider from @ianrkives

You hesitantly open the door to the studio after knocking twice. When there's no reply, you quickly step inside and blink. The room is pretty much dark, the only source of light coming from a dim standing lamp in the corner.

Chan is seated at his desk, hunched over the soundboard, with a pair of headphones clasping either side of his head. You can barely see him in the dark, only his face, hands, and the column of his throat visible out of the baggy black clothes he always likes to wear.

He doesn't look up as you enter and then quietly shut the door, too focused on the wavy, lilting lines and sequences of the song production software in front of him. You sigh softly and walk up to him, coming from the side so you don't startle him. Placing your bag down on the small table before the sofa, you place a couple of hesitant fingers on the arm of his chair.

"Channie?" You say quietly.

He's still squinting at the screen, somehow so focused he doesn't even see you right next to him. Or maybe it's the light from the screen; when you stare at a device for so long in the dark, it gets difficult to see anything else.

But he suddenly seems to sense your movement, and he must have realised it was you, because he wraps an arm around your waist and gently pulls you closer.

"Hi, baby," he murmurs, not taking his eyes off the screen. His gaze is focused and almost intense as he scrutinizes every soundbar and beat of the music. You bite your lip.

You begin to worry a little then; have you disturbed him from his work? Maybe you shouldn't have come, or at least sent him a text telling him you were coming to the company studio. Maybe he would be more comfortable if you just left him alone.

Before your thoughts can descend on your head like a static black cloud, Chan finally slips off his headphones, leaning back in his chair with a heavy exhale. His arm is still around your waist and so he tugs you with him a little bit, eyes roaming over your face as he stretches.

"Sorry," he says, sighing contentedly as his back pops a little. "Got so caught up, didn't realise I'd be here so late."

"It's okay," you say quietly. "I figured."

Chan catches the hint of sadness creeping into your tone and he pulls you onto his lap, coiling strong arms around your torso. His unruly, ruffled curls tickle the naps of your neck and you squirm, letting out an involuntary giggle. Though the sound is happy, it immediately fills you with a creeping feeling of disgust, and you reproachfully close your mouth.

Chan doesn't seem to notice; he seems rather content to just keep you on his lap. He's absentmindedly singing something, and you stand up off of his lap suddenly, brushing yourself off. For some unknown reason, you begin to feel a bit embarrassed, like you used to feel around Chan when you didn't know him too well.

The man in question sits up a little straighter in his chair, smiling at you. "How was your day, baby?"

"Good," you say a little curtly. You're not sure where the tone is coming from, and you shove the feeling down before you can say something in a way you'd regret.

Chan hums thoughtfully and pokes you lightly in the stomach. "Just good, hmm? Usually I'd get a lot more than that... are you okay?"

"Yes," you say quietly, even though you feel anything but. You're grateful for the darkness then, because it means Chan can't see the tears beginning to prickly hotly at the corners of your eyes. You keep your voice strong and fight the urge to sniffle so as not to alert him. "Just had a long day. You?"

Saying those sentences almost makes you break.

Chan can never know what it's like; how it feels to be brushed off and ignored and attacked by someone who is supposed to love you. To feel like you don't really matter, or that your thoughts and ideas and dreams are just that; useless, empty words inside your head. And to be constantly reminded of how little your worth is, to the point where you're not sure what love is, or what it looks like.

Chan will never understand; he had a completely normal childhood, with a completely normal family and upbringing, and he's normal. Normal in the way that he has people to turn to, people who love and support him, and he's normal in the way that he doesn't scrutinize his own actions every single second of every single day.

And he will never know what it's like to be struggling with something to the point where it all just builds up inside your head like a messy pile of bricks. Where it all weighs down heavy on your mood and sends clouds of dust into the air, distorting and warping your emotions.

So far you've been able to control your mood swings around him; you'd succeeded in making Chan think that you're a person who likes to sleep a lot. In reality you just lie down and keep your eyes and mouth shut so you don't end up acting hypomanic or have outbursts at him. At least it's working; you would much rather keep it all inside than bare the most vulnerable parts of yourself to someone who might decide to turn away and leave you because of it.

You've learnt that keeping those thoughts and emotions inside is better, because then at least people stay. For some time, anyway. Lately you've been feeling like you're biding your time, waiting until the day where Chan finds out everything and decides to do what's best for himself.

When he decides to leave you.

"...And then Han decided he was going to try and do his makeup himself all of a sudden, and of course it was a whole mess. I had to clean sparkly highlighter out of his mouth. I mean, how does that even happen?"

You blink. Chan has been talking this whole time while you've been zoned out of your mind, pitifully burying yourself in your struggles. You climb out of the pit but for a moment and nod along, though he still can't see you because of the dark. You hope that he's just been talking about Han the whole time and not anything else, because if you missed something, Chan will definitely know something's wrong. You inwardly curse yourself for making a habit out of replying to every event and topic that comes out of Chan's mouth.

"Does he not know you guys have perfectly good stylists for that?" You murmur, carding a hand through his fluffy hair.

He sighs exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "Apparently not."

You feel the slightest hint of mirth warming your heart as you notice the tips of Chan's rough, calloused fingers covered in the faintest hint of sparkles. But it quickly disappears, replaced by a cold, dead numbness that seems to encapsulate your whole being. Like icy water.

"Anyways," Chan stretches again, standing up. "How come you're here and not at home?"

Slightly taken aback at the blunt statement, you stutter a little. Chan's eyes go wide and he shakes his hands frantically in front of himself. "N-not like that! I'm glad you're here, it's just that it's really late and I thought you would be asleep by now..."

You blink at him, and then at the clock. He has a point; the white LEDs on the display read 1:43 am. Normally you'd be passed out in bed at this time.

"Couldn't sleep," you say. "I missed you."

And it's true. You did miss him. But suddenly you're looking straight through Chan to someone else and saying that last sentence to him instead. You clench your fists.

"Aww," Chan whines cutely, pulling you into a hug. "My baby. I missed you too. This new song track is killing me."

You pull back from the hug and kiss him on the cheek, partly because kissing Chan makes him go all red, and if you let him hug you any longer, you'll probably break down.

Chan does go red and you poke him lightly in the side, teasing gently. He chuckles and jerks away as you walk to the low table and pick up a bag. "I brought food."

"Oh, you're the best," Chan dives for the bag and eagerly digs through, clumsily kissing your cheek as he pulls the lid off one of the takeout containers. He sits down on the couch before pulling out a pair of chopsticks from the bag and heaping a mouthful of the food. He groans loudly. "This is so good."

"Tastes better after work, doesn't it?" You sit down next to him and lean back, looking at the ceiling. You cross your arms over your stomach to keep it quiet.

Chan nods eagerly and holds out his chopsticks. "Say ahh, Y/n."

You shake your head ruefully but Chan insists, moving closer. Relenting, you open your mouth and feel the warmth of the food against your tongue. It tastes so good, and for a second, you think about asking for more, but you realise that Chan needs it more. After all, he's been working all night.

Besides, if you ask for more of his food, he might think you're being greedy and look at you that certain way that someone else does.

In disgust.

You know in your heart that Chan would never do these sorts of things, but the doubt nags consistently at your consciousness, tugging your mood one way and then your emotions the next. The constant change between feelings is almost giving you whiplash and you exhale, closing your eyes and leaning back into the couch.

"Baby?"

"Mm," you say without opening your eyes.

"Is everything okay?" You hear him setting down his chopsticks, feel the tiny thud through the table as he sets the already-empty container down gently. Your heart drops to your stomach.

Keep it together. He doesn't know anything.

You sigh and sit up, your heartstrings twinging. "Just a lot to think about lately. Why?"

Chan nods, leaning back into the couch next to you. "It's just that you've been really quiet lately. I was wondering if something was going on..."

He ends his reply on a sort of question, like he's expecting you to open up to him about everything at once. You almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it. How could he possibly expect you to do something like that? And so easily too...

You inwardly scoff. Nice try. You're not getting anything out of me, Chan. Better you don't know anyway. I know you'll change your mind about me.

But your heart takes control of your mouth, and maybe it's the constant sense of longing you seem to have around Chan, but you want to open up to him. Tell him everything, about your terrible past and terrible experiences, and all you are because of it. And a sudden, lingering sense of hope makes you believe that even after you tell him all of it, he'll stay.

Even if it's just for a moment.

"I, um.. I just had an argument with someone," you say vaguely. And it's not entirely the truth. But it's not exactly a lie either. The words shouted at you earlier flash through your mind, white and hot and painful. Like a fresh cut, a harsh, swift slice too deep and sudden to process. Where, for a moment, there's nothing, until the blood starts filling the white gap and then spilling over, like a gruesome parody of tears.

Chan turns to face you on the couch. "Argument? About what?"

You shift a little uncomfortably. Now you have to tell him. "About- just whatever."

"It's not whatever, Y/n," he says firmly. "Not if it's making you this upset."

And maybe it's the sudden realisation that Chan is so normal, with his normal family and mind and life that you feel a raging pang of jealousy fill you up from your toes to your head. You huff and turn away.

"It's nothing," you grit your teeth, fighting not to spit venom.

Stop it, Y/n. It's not his fault.

Chan blinks in surprise at your slightly harsh response but doesn't push you any further. You don't look at him, but you hear him sigh and get up to toss the empty takeout container in the trash. Your heart sinks and you wait for him to turn around and chide you for being so rude and stubborn. After all, he was just trying to help.

But he doesn't. He sits back down on the couch, and looks up at the ceiling, so that you two are lying next to each other in the exact same position. He doesn't talk, either.

You both sit in deafening silence.

You're grateful when the door opens with a haphazard bang and Han walks in, clad in an oversized grey hoodie and sweats. He's clutching a notebook in his hands, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose. You know the story Chan told earlier was true because you can see smears of sparkly highlighter high on his cheekbones. He doesn't seem to be aware of the time, nor the dark state of the room, or the fact that you're so tense your shoulders feel like concrete.

You're grateful for the interruption until he walks over to Chan and promptly sits in his lap. Han murmurs a few lyrics to him, who seems unfazed by the sudden action, and questions about what he thinks could be changed with the song words. Chan replies quietly and his gaze flicks to you in the dimness of the room, but you just shrug, saying you don't mind.

But sitting there, watching Han sit so quietly and comfortably in Chan's lap makes your heart pang for some reason. He wasn't afraid, didn't ask if it was okay, just sat right down and made himself comfortable. Because you know for a fact Chan lets him do this.

And maybe it's the way Chan strokes an absentminded finger down Han's shoulder, or the way he speaks so softly, or the way it's so reminiscent of someone taking care of their child, but you find your eyes brimming with hot tears by the time Han gets up and leaves.

Chan turns to you, about to say something about the lyrics of the new track, but he stops short. A look of worry comes over his expression.

He scoots closer, placing a warm hand on your arm. "Baby? Are you okay?"

All you can do is shake your head, your eyes scrunching up as you fall into his arms. Chan holds you close, one hand cradling your head against his chest like you're the most precious thing in the whole world. Little do you know, to him, you are.

You sob. The reality of everything comes crashes down on you and all you can do is wail and hiccup into Chan's warm, solid chest. You expect him to push you away by the time the tears have soaked through his shirt, but he doesn't. He holds you close and rocks you gently, shushing you and cooing as he wipes hot, sticky streaks off your cheekbones.

You can't help but cry harder. Your eyes almost sting from how hard you've scrunched them up, and your hands ball in the back of Chan's hoodie like it's a lifeline. And it is. You feel that if you let go, you might fall and never return.

"I'm here," you hear Chan whispering through the mess. "I'm here."

Again and again he says it, and every time he does, your tears flow a little slower, and he keeps saying it until your breakdown has reduced itself to a fit of hiccups and messy sniffles. Still he doesn't push you away, or snap at you to get over it, or that your tears mean nothing. He just sits and holds you.

When you finally look up, Chan is smiling gently, reassuringly, though a little sadly. He sees the look in your eyes and knows you don't want to talk about it, so he sits and rocks you softly on his lap. You squeeze your eyes shut and heave in a rocky breath.

Please just keep holding me, you beg him silently. Just for a while.

And he does. And he doesn't let go, not even when you whimper into his shoulder and soak the juncture of his neck with your misery. He kisses the salty wetness away and strokes the pads of his fingers across your face, where the skin is red and sticky.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," you cry. "I can't get it all out of my head, and- it's too much, and I can't-"

"Shh, baby. I've got you, okay? Just breathe for me."

You heave in a few breaths and continue clinging to him. He feels so warm and safe. All you want is to be surrounded by him, to breathe him in, have him tell you that he loves you.

He must have read your mind, because he leans close to your ear and whispers firmly.

"I'm not leaving you, yeah? I'm gonna stay right here, hold you til you're better. You mean the world to me, hmm? Do you know that?"

You shake your head sadly.

"Now you do. I'm not going anywhere," he says with such conviction that you almost begin to believe it. He wraps his arms closer around you and kisses your forehead, whispering fiercely.

"I promise."

a/n: masterlist

[celuere]

For our dear girl Mavuika.. Fucking pregnant!Fem!Reader, or with a breeding of kink? Story is up to you, you have great imagination, you'll do a perfect job, so I trust you :3

you have no idea what a soft spot i have for tender pregnant sex anon… and with mavuika wokeksnekwnewi I KNOW SHE‘D BE SO GENTLE WITH YOU, HOLDING AND CARESSING YOUR BABY BELLY AND ALL DAT OH IM SO SICK. also this turned out shorter than expected but i still hope you like it wkrbnwnrdnke

cw: pregnant sex, mavuika is SO soft for her wife ngh, mavuika has a dick here because anon and i said so!

„shhhh… relax…“, mavuika cooed as she slowly slid you drenched panties down your legs before putting them away besides her. as if she was carefully unwrapping a birthday present. a pillow placed underneath your waist to prevent you from lying flat on your back, when you happened to be six months into your pregnancy, some things have to be handled differently after all. but the tenderness she handled you with caused your heart to race nonetheless.

„is it really okay for you…?“

„of course it is… my wife has needs that have to be fulfilled… what kind of spouse were i if i just ignored these?“, she gently squeezed the plush of your thighs before pushing them apart and you didn‘t miss out on glimmer of lust blitzing up in her eyes which she quickly blinked away.

your heart threatened to beat out of your chest as your swollen belly hindered your view on her boner when she started shedding out of her clothes.

„y-you know you don‘t have to for my sake…“

„but i want to, darling. my pregnant wife wishes for some relief, then that‘s exactly what i‘m gonna do.“, her tone was firm, she wanted this just as much as you did. keeping your legs gently parted for as she leaned forward until you felt the tip of her pressing against your needy pussy and you more or less swallowed her first two inches up accident. pregnancy did some wonders to you. but maybe it was just the fact that you watched her working out for a good three hours in front of your shared house, pretending to be awfully invested in a pregnancy guide.

the sudden intrusion caused your hand to find its way into her neck, a soft whimper escaping your lips. goodness, you almost forgot what it felt like and for the first time in months mavuika felt like she was loosing control over herself. hand coming up to get a gentle hold of your baby bulge, „my star… y-you feel so unbelievably amazing… c-can i-“

„mhm- p-please…“, urging her to push deeper into you by trying to scoot closer to her. she almost melted at the sight of her pregnant wife begging for her. immediately making sure to add inch by inch and you were so incredibly welcoming to her, so wet and ready for her and yet you were clenching around her so tightly. she might as well got accepted into heaven itself.

„atta girl… i‘m not going anywhere…“, goodness you‘re gonna come alone from her sultry tone if she continued talking to you like this.

no words needed to be spoken, your wife knew exactly what needed to be done.

she started moving slowly at first, dragging her cock out before pushing her hips back forward. your moans were practically all over the place. she was soft, so incredibly tender with you as she watched you melt over her gentle pace.

„look at you, sweetie… does it feel good enough for you…? you seem to enjoy it a lot…“, your wife reached a hand over to gently cup your cheek, stroking with her thumb over your cheekbone as she stared down at her whole world.

she never knew that she‘d one day be granted with a family of her own. that the 500 years of waiting will be paying her back in the form of a… baby. but mavuika was never one to complain. ever.

„f-feels amazing…“, you grabbed onto her other hand resting on your belly almost instinctively, interlacing your fingers, giving her a tight squeeze as if she were to slip out of your touch at any given moment. you couldn‘t handle it. her dick gently pumping in and out of you, the love in her eyes, the feeling of your wedding ring against her own. the fact that she is the mother of your child.

your orgasm was soft, so incredibly intense but you didn’t start shaking when you creamed over her in a soft moan. eyes squeezing shut before she bottomed out in a low moan and then her cum painted your insides.

it felt different than before, not in a bad way. a bit more… heavy, if that makes any sense.

„o-oh archons…. y-you’re perfect… you are so perfect, sweetheart…“, praises over praises spilling over her lips as she made sure to let you both calm down first. bending down to pepper soft kithes over your face, a strong hand running over the lower side of your swollen belly, she couldn’t keep them to herself nowadays. her hands always find their way to your baby bump, no matter where or when.

„e-exaggerating as always… n-now let me get on top…“, you patted her toned shoulders in order to signal her to get off of you.

„darling… don‘t you think you are getting a bit ahead of yourself…? you shouldn’t overdo it-”

„mavuika, let me get on top.“

and you always had the last word.