#There's a reason you have a mask keep it on

[sttoru]

‘and if i only could, i’d make a deal with god, and i’d get him to swap our places. .’ — kate bush

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. gojo satoru x wife!reader. fluff to angst (no comfort). spoilers chapter 261. reader’s pregnant. major character death. mentions of blood, death. nicknames ‘pretty, sweets’. not proofread bcs i couldn't through the tears. i cried nine times writing this so.. good luck! wc: 3.6k

“he’s kicking again,” satoru chuckles excitedly. he’s been clinging onto you ever since you got back from your doctor’s appointment. your baby boy is growing up healthy and there don’t seem to be any complications.

you smile and rest back against the velvety pillows. you’re enjoying the affection you’re receiving, the kisses and nuzzles against your swollen tummy makes every bit of suffering worth it. your husband is going to be an amazing dad, that you can tell.

“hey, little guy—don’t give ya mommy a tough time,” satoru huffs and gently taps the side of your stomach that was last kicked by the unborn baby, “that’s my wife, y’know?” you giggle at the scene in front of you and close your eyes, relaxing your body.

a comfortable silence hangs in the room. satoru’s warm hands cupping and rubbing your round stomach add to the tranquil atmosphere. the weight of your husband’s head presses onto the front of your plump belly—ear pressed against the stretched skin as if expecting to hear your baby boy talk.

after a while, you open your eyes. you hear a sniff and then the usual silence follows. you look down at satoru settled between your legs, hugging your waist and resting his cheek on your tummy. he’s awfully quiet and you’re unable to see his eyes because of his bangs.

“toru, everything okay?” you carefully ask. your voice comforts him for the next couple seconds, before his muscles tense up once more. satoru tries his best to seem unaffected by the many thoughts scurrying through his head.

“mhm,” your husband nods and forces a small smile. though, he can’t keep the facade up any longer. the longer you’re pregnant, the more worried he gets about a certain something; something that’s been bothering him ever since.

it’s the reason why he doubted even having kids in the first place.

“i—well. i don’t know, sweets,” satoru sighs. a deep sigh that shatters the mask he’s had on for so long. his brows furrow and his eyes dart from one place to the other. his fingers stop their movements on your stomach. they curl around the material of your shirt instead; showing a clear sense of vulnerability.

satoru seems. . . afraid, yet also angry. perhaps at himself, perhaps at the world. you don’t utter a single word. if there’s anything you want, it’s for your husband to speak about his inner turmoil freely. you’re the only person who he can have such emotional conversations with—the only person he can be himself with.

the real gojo satoru.

not the strongest.

that’s why you’re not surprised when satoru opens his mouth to confess the inevitable to you. “i’m scared,” his voice cracks. it’s a faint change in tone, but it is noticeable to you. you’ve been his lover for long enough to notice every minuscule thing.

the white-haired man lets out another sigh. you brush his soft bangs out of his eyes and instantly notice the sudden weariness in them. normally, those beautiful blue eyes shine brightly, yet that light has now dimmed.

you pat his head and satoru immediately leans into your touch. you allow him to process his own emotions and words before speaking up.

“scared?” you ask quietly and carefully, giving your husband space to explain.

satoru nods. there are a thousand thoughts running through his mind. all those thoughts he’s tried to suppress since the day you’ve announced your pregnancy. maybe even before that—at the day of your wedding.

he’s sat down with you a few months into the marriage, to have the talk about kids. he seemed to be delighted to have children with you, however there have always been some dark and hidden thoughts lingering in the back of his mind.

the sorcerer has chosen to ignore them for the longest time. he’s been trying to convince himself that he has nothing to worry about. you’re going to be fantastic parents and your children are going to be extremely loved.

the day you surprised him with your pregnancy, was like a dream. satoru cried - which he rarely does - so it was an emotional night for both of you. neither of you could wait to meet your child—happy with whatever gender.

despite all of the optimism and enthusiasm, satoru’s struggles with his inner thoughts have not yet ended. he doesn’t want to bother you with it. you seem so content and he does not want to ruin that at all.

but even the strongest without limits has to reach a breaking point.

“yeah,” satoru speaks up, his voice hoarse. he kisses your belly button, hoping his child doesn’t pick up on his distress somehow. your husband closes his eyes as he places his forehead against your tummy, praying that the heavens above hear his pleas, “i don’t want our kid to inherit my cursed techniques. at all.”

your hand doesn’t stop stroking satoru’s hair. you don’t flinch at his words, nor do you immediately discard his worries. in all honestly, you’ve shared the same feelings before getting pregnant.

you know how satoru’s treated by the jujutsu society. it’s dehumanising how he’s seen as a weapon of some sorts. a weapon that could solve all problems—one that cannot rest until its duty is done.

you despise it. you’ve told satoru about your hatred for the toxic society, even going as far as asking him to move to a different country without telling anyone. you’re sick and tired. you can’t recall the amount of times that you’ve cried alone, in the bathroom, after you’ve seen the state your lover comes back home in.

the white-haired man always seems so tired. his eyes and head hurt because of them overusing his cursed techniques. there are even days where satoru doesn’t put his blindfold or sunglasses off at home.

and when you try to talk to him about it, satoru simply assures you that ‘he’ll be fine’. you believe him in the moment, but you don’t know for how long you’ll be able to keep that trust.

you’re letting him break, slowly yet surely, right in front of you. he’s working himself to his demise. it’s nothing out of the ordinary to not want the same for your child.

though, you’re sure that it’ll be fine even if your baby boy inherits satoru’s techniques. that’s because you two are going to protect him with all you have. no one is going to treat your child like a weapon—not while the both of you are still alive.

“i don’t want our child to take over the burden i carry,” satoru continues. his brows are furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line. he’s already thinking about all the possibilities that can follow with the birth of your son.

he can hide his child from the world, but wouldn’t that be too restrictive? he can keep an eye on him every second of the day, but wouldn’t that be overprotective?

you notice satoru’s internal state of panic increasing, so you quickly cup his face. you lean down and press a firm kiss against his lips, to which he instantly responds. his breath hitches and he sits up on the mattress, deepening the kiss as his hands hold you by the back of your head.

he needs this—you—more than anything else in the world. if it wasn’t for you, he’d have lost his sanity long ago.

you pull back after a good minute and pant. you chuckle as you notice the slight pout on satoru’s lips. he never seems satisfied with just one kiss, which is adorable. you coo and pepper his face with small pecks, “aww.”

it’s comforting to the sorcerer. he closes his eyes and his mouth forms a small smile. you’re doing an amazing job at calming him down. satoru’s muscles relax and he finds himself nestled between your legs soon enough.

you realise that he’s still somewhat afraid for the future of his child by the way he’s playing with your shirt. his head lays on your chest and his long fingers trace shapes on your exposed skin.

“i know, honey, i know,” you murmur against the top of his head. you massage satoru’s scalp gently, nearly making him purr because of how incredible that feels. you stare at the ceiling and continue your little talk.

“i’ve thought about all of it too,” your fingers find his undercut, playing with the little hairs. all you can hope for is that your partner stresses less about the outcome of your pregnancy.

if you can do one thing for him, it’d be that. reassuring him that you’ll both do your best for your child will surely put him at ease. your husband has enough to worry about anyway.

you want to share that burden. you don’t want him to carry the world on his shoulders alone—he’s got you for that now.

“but i think that our son will be fine. why? because he’s got you,” you smile and kiss satoru’s forehead. it’s his favorite type of kiss and it works wonders when you comfort him. his ocean eyes regain their sparkle, both because of your unconditional love and trust in his parenting skills, “our boy will grow up fine and protected because he’s got you as his amazing dad, yeah?”

satoru takes some time to let your words sink in. your trust in him is a beautiful thing. of course, he’ll protect his kid no matter what. both you and his kid will be safe for as long as he’s alive. you’re going to be a happy family—one that he’s always dreamed of having.

he isn’t going to raise his child to be the strongest. he isn’t going to raise his child as an heir to the throne. he isn’t going to raise his child as his legacy. he isn’t going to raise his child as a tool.

his son will have a normal childhood and he will guarantee that. satoru will give his kid what he didn’t have as a child himself;

unconditional love and support for whatever his son wishes to become.

satoru raises his head and leans in to kiss you, hugging you to himself. he adores you so much, you’re all he needs to feel like he can do anything and everything all at once.

carrying the world on his shoulders so you can live peacefully in it is all satoru does it for.

“heh, damn right. i’ll be the best husband and dad ever.”

. . .

but in the end, your dreams are just dreams, right?

an escape from reality, that’s all dreams really are. all those times you’ve sat together to pick the furniture you want to place in the nursery, to paint the room a baby blue, to buy clothes and toys, diapers and carriers, to giggle about the places you would love to visit as a family, to think about possible baby names, to joke about whether your son will say ‘dada’ or ‘mama’ first — all of it were naive, hopeful dreams.

perhaps you were too caught up in them to realise that reality will hit when least expected.

satoru and you have lived in your own bubble—your own little fantasy world where tragic fates does not exist. no one in this planet would suffer if life worked that way.

no one on this planet would have to pick up the phone and have their world shatter, their dream bubble pop. to have all hope lost in the span of a second.

grief is a scary thing. it’s devastating and it will consume you whole. you don’t realise that until you experience it firsthand. losing someone close to you will break you in half. it’s a punch to the gut.

especially if it’s your husband. someone you considered your partner—who’s promised you to be together forever. maybe those promises were also a part of your fantasy.

maybe they were also but a beautiful lie.

your footsteps feel heavy. you don’t have any energy left in you. every drop has been drained from you the moment you heard the news over the phone. your eyes and head hurt, both feeling like they’re going to burst. you don’t want to accept any of this.

the faces of the people around you are a blur. they’re all holding their head low, their hands gathered in front of them to show respect. no one speaks—all the room is filled with are your sobs. the loud cries you let out in hopes that they wake you up from this absolute nightmare.

you drag your feet to the examination table in the middle of the room. tears continue to blur your vision, though surely, you can confirm the outline of the body laying underneath the blanket.

how could you not recognise the person you thought you’d spend eternity with?

it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. . .

“satoru.” your voice is barely audible. your hands are shaking and your face is stained with endless streams of tears. you stand at the side of the table and you instantly curl your fingers around the edge.

seeing that face from up close hits different. usually, it’d have your stomach fill with a feeling of delight, yet now all you feel when looking at it is unimaginable dread.

the blood on the corners of his mouth. the blanket that’s hiding whatever is left of him from below the waist. the dull eyes that once stared at you with hope and love. those dried lips that normally shone with a layer of gloss.

god, it’s awful. you don’t want this to be true. you’re still waiting to be woken up by your husband. so he can hold you close and hug you, whisper sweet nothings and reassure you that he’d never leave you alone in a savage world like this.

your shaky fingers reach out to his right hand. his skin feels cold and his hand doesn’t hold yours back. your breath hitches and you let out a long, devastating cry. it sounds like a scream for help as your body crumbles—falling to your knees whilst you tightly grip your lover’s limp hand.

“no, god no, please!” you cover your mouth with your free hand, nearly hyperventilating from pure pain. you feel like your heart is going to give up on you. it’s breaking into a million pieces, as does your future. you can’t live without him—you can't do it.

satoru is the sole reason you’ve held out for so long. you were each other’s support system. you can’t do any of this on your own. you can’t breathe properly—your body doesn’t let you.

not until you feel a hand on your back, rubbing it gently. you can guess that it’s shoko, but you’re too distraught to even pay attention to her. you lift yourself up by holding onto the edge of the table, your legs shaking. you sniffle and sob uncontrollably.

you reach out to touch satoru’s lifeless face, as gentle as you always do. you flinch when you feel just how cold his body is—the usual warmth that would comfort you gone, nowhere to be found. you don’t get a reaction from him when you touch his cheeks.

it only serves to remind you of the tragic events that unveiled. you’re still in denial, but the moment feels real. your brain is slowly yet surely processing the information. though, you don’t want it to. you want to live in a world where you grow old with your husband.

where your child is going to grow up with a father figure at home.

“satoru, come back to me.. to us, please,” you beg and beg, hoping he smiles and sits up, telling you that it’s just one of his silly pranks again. when none of that happens, you feel yourself become more hopeless. you hunch over him and cup his face. the same face that would light up whenever you’d touch it.

you hiccup and wail, unable to breathe. you rub his cheekbones with your thumbs, settling your forehead against his. your tears fall underneath his eyes and slide down his temples, making it seem like he’s crying with you.

you wait for satoru to respond, but he doesn’t. there’s an eerie silence on his part and you’re panicking. you need him to comfort you, but he isn’t there to do that anymore. you’re left alone, all alone.

“i can’t do this without you—we can’t do this without you,” you stammer between sobs. you can’t go through life, knowing satoru isn’t going to be there for you. he isn’t going to come home anymore. he isn’t going to cuddle you to sleep anymore. he isn’t going to experience what it’s like to have a family of his own. he isn't going to be able to hold his child and to play with him.

you blame life for being unfair—always taking away the people who don’t deserve it. satoru hasn’t done anything to deserve this. he just.. existed. his fate of becoming the strongest, decided at his birth, is what has lead to his death.

you continue to sob to yourself. you refuse to acknowledge anything or anyone else in the room. you’re solely focused on your husband. or rather, what’s left of him.

remembering how excited satoru was to spend the rest of his life with you and your future children pains you all the more. he’s been stripped from a normal life. you’ve tried your hardest to give him that said normal life, yet your hopeful dreams have gotten you nowhere.

you wipe your tears away for the first time in a while. your grief is making you delusional—disoriented to the point you try to make yourself feel better. you force a smile and hold tightly onto satoru’s limp hand, trying to speak through your quiet sniffles.

“o-our boy is gonna be born soon,” you chuckle bitterly and place satoru’s hand on your belly. it’s gotten bigger over the months and you’re already eight months along. he was so close to meeting your child—so close. yet his tragic destiny did not allow him to.

you hope he’s been happy with you for as long as he lived. you hope you’ve somewhat relieved him from his misery for as long as he lived. that burden he carried, the world he carried on his shoulders. . . it doesn’t seem to want to detach from him. even after death.

you press a deep kiss against his forehead. satoru’s favorite spot to be kissed at, you remember. you wish he feels it in the afterlife; wherever he may he. as long as he’s in a better place now, one that treats him well. this current world has been too cruel on him. it doesn’t deserve to home someone like your husband.

“i wish you were here to see your son. to see our baby grow up, you'd be so proud, honey,” you kiss satoru’s forehead again. it’s all you can do stop yourself from losing it completely. you know satoru would tell you to be strong, for his sake. for your unborn son.

“i’m going to tell him all about you, ‘kay? i'm going to tell him about how awesome his dad was,” your voice breaks for the nth time. you’re still in the first stage of grief, though you try to seem strong in case satoru is watching from somewhere.

that’s what he did when he was the one going through a tough time. he’d act brave and fine, putting on a mask to make you worry less, telling you all kinds of reassuring words while he was suffering internally.

now it’s your turn to safely send his soul off to the afterlife. to let satoru pass away in peace, with him knowing that you’re going to live on for him and for your child. it’s the least you can do at the moment.

you put on a brave face, staring into his lifeless eyes, smiling through the unbearable pain. you’re sure he’s still listening to you from somewhere. satoru’s always told you that your voice is soothing, so you do your best to calm his soul and reassure him that it’s fine for him to rest.

“i’ll do my best to raise him, yeah? so you.. you just rest.”

rest was a foreign word to the sorcerer. this world didn’t give him an ounce of peace. he’d either be overworked by his family or the jujutsu society, and if it isn’t work, his inherited techniques were slowly killing his brain and body.

you’re praying that satoru has none of that in the afterlife. you’re praying that he can live a normal life, eternally. so that when you join him one day, you both won’t have to suffer nor share the burden. you can live out your dreams without anyone interrupting.

not even fate.

“you deserve to rest. you really do,” you sigh.

soon enough, you feel yourself crumble again. you burst out in tears once you realise that he’s actually never coming back to you in this life. you bury your face in the crook of his neck and sob loudly, not holding back your emotions anymore. you just can’t—you can’t act brave when your second half has been taken away from you so suddenly.

you hope that you succeeded into sending him off without any worries. you can’t help but continue rambling to yourself, “i’m going to miss you s’much. oh, my baby.”

you lift your head back and stare into satoru’s eyes once more. did he think about you when he was on his deathbed? did he see his life flash before his eyes, including his many memories with you? did he see what could have been?

it’s unfair.

you give him one last bright smile and gently close his eyelids for him, hoping his lost soul saw your face before you did so. with one last kiss on his lips, you whisper your final words;

“please wait for me on the other side, my love.”

#sttoru writes. #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #jjk angst #gojo angst #gojo satoru angst

[shaisuki]

𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦

ft. bully! gojo satoru and geto suguru

content warnings college au, heavy bullying, gaslighting, noncon, dubcon, implied sexual assault, allusions to depression/suicide, alcohol consumption, drinking, implied drugging, fatphobia, overdosing, naoya zen'in is an asshole, humiliation, threats, minor oc character. dead dove do not eat.

notes this might come as disappointing since some of you wanting revenge what this two idiots had done to reader. their are some matters that i think is too complicated and impossible so i came with this way as the breaking point where reader starts to retaliate/plan her revenge. will get to it later and to that anon, who asked for the revenge, i will get once i start to finish this one up. please read the warnings, i don't want someone bitching in the comments telling me that the contents above is uncool. it truly is not cool. that's why it have warnings. it is on a fictional context. do read the warnings before continuing. also do let me know of what you think of this chapter.

read part one, here. two here.

synopsis you let them take and take what they can from you. you were a nobody after all but everybody have their breaking point.

the world is a blur to you. colors of red and blue dances in your vision while voices whispers to you. what's happening? you can't move. it's like your body were made of lead. you can't understand what they were saying. multiple faces stares at you, are you dead? is this what you see when people surround you while they lower your casket. is it? you hope it was, cause you didn't plan on living anymore. there's nothing worth moving forward and the world around you turns black.

there's a beep and then silence. you hear before you see and when you opened your eyes, all you can see is a bright light above you. it took you minutes to adjust your vision and realize where you are. you're in a hospital. laying on a bed and you started to get irritated at your oxygen mask. you tug at it. getting frustrated why it keeps coming back at you before someone put their hand on it. completely removing it and there you breath. your sight darted to the hand who helped you until your sight travels to his arms and then to his face. a brief recognition flashes through you.

“nanami?” you call his name unsure but you know it was definitely him. it was hard to mistake him for someone. there's his blonde hair, neatly parted. his pristine beige sweater paired a dark colored trouser, not a crinkle in sight and his signature silver watch in his wrist. you met him once at the literature club and decided you were going to be there too not until it changed due to some circumstances. his lips parted but before he can speak, a cheery voice interrupted him.

“she's awake!?” said haibara, you also knew him since he and nanami were always together. seeing your confused state, his voice died down. “what happened?” you asked them and they exchanged looks before haibara answers you.

“we found you passed out in the lawn. thought you were drunk but you weren't breathing.” haibara's voice was soft while he slowly breaks down the reason why you ended up here.

a doctor comes inside to your room before haibara can finish. you took note of her pristine white coat with her surname embroidered on it. clicking her pen and whipping out her clipboard she pulled out of nowhere. you were distracted by it. the doctor's eyes is on you now and you began to frown.

the doctor coughs clearing her throat before speaking. “hello, ms. (y/n). i'm glad you're awake now.” noticing your confused expression she pauses began answering the question. “to answer your question you were unconscious for two days and is brought for possible assault. we need your con—”

“no!”

“ms. it would help for you t—”

“you heard me!? i said no!” you scream at the doctor and your tears appeared in your eyes. you didn't realize you were screaming. nanami and haibara stand there in silence but the looks on their face said otherwise. concern painted in their faces and the doctor bows before leaving. looking at the men inside in your room to call her if you need anything.

cause if they would test you, they would find the remains of their sperm inside you and then report? who will believe you? it would be buried like the case of another girls like you who were too afraid nor fight their abusers. you don't find the point of that. they would twist the words out of you. it was easy to believe than you.

you curled up in bed and did the next thing you can. cry. now, you're in here and the events before this plays in your head in repeat.

“f-fuck”

satoru curses out while suguru bites your ear. your body like jello as they spilled their load for the nth that day. both of them lowered your body after fucking your brains out. warm up, they say. you shiver as you feel their cum running down your thighs. feeling disgusted as it began to stick after being exposed to the air. you grab the wipes but suguru stopped you, grabbing it from your hands and cleaning you up. fixing your skirt in the meantime.

“worth every penny.” suguru mutters. staring at the new clothes they bought for you. a baby blue corseted puff-sleeved, square neck top matched with a black skirt that rests on your mid thigh is what they forced you to wear. it feels tight. intentionally buying it one size smaller than you usually wore and it more feel you like a stuffed sausage rather a comfortable piece of clothing. you can't say no to what they wanted. you're a bit of grateful that they allowed you to wear your white sneakers rather than those kitten heels that would put your feet in blisters.

satoru's fingers brushes through the expanse of your exposed flesh. playing with the small bow in your top. sighing, “suguru, can we have more with (y/n)-chan?” his best friend chuckles at him. “idiot, we're already running late, after that we can.” satoru pouts. “tch, party pooper.” he ignores gojo and moves his attention to you.

“smile, this is your first real party. you're going to enjoy this.” suguru lifts your chin up with his finger and you obediently nodded. “ditch and you know what will happen.” he warns.

it was a bad idea. the moment you stood in the front door. the party was already in motion. you can hear the people inside shouting profanities and booming music mixed with already drunk frat members and student bodies. this was never really your crowd and when you were shoved inside with gojo and geto you were done and you already felt like crying. you look at the duo in front of you. they were already engaged in conversation with the other people here.

“gojo, you son of a bitch. you fucking came.” a guy hollered in the side and you see more of his features as he gets nearer. a snarl in his face with multiple piercings in his ear. a hair dyed blonde with green accents.

“ah, zen’in. wouldn't missed this just i could wipe that smirk off your face.” gojo mocks him and before the guy whom gojo called zen’in darts his sight to you. he raises a brow. “you two in fat bitches now?” pointing at you with hand cupping a plastic cup. gojo scoffs. “none of your business, zen'in.” glaring at him but he can't see that gojo's looking at him with dark glasses in the way. “then you two wouldn't mind me using her.” he suggested and suguru gaze darkens at him. “fuck off, naoya.” almost growling at naoya and the latter raises his hand in mock defeat before finding shit he could entertain himself with.

suguru scowls after naoya left, he looks at you like you just turned his mood sour. “you're an embarrassment.” he says and you bit your lip. keeping the tears at bay and you don't really want to embarrass yourself more at this party. “hey, hey suguru.” gojo taps his shoulder. “let loose, don't naoya get to you.” satoru glances at you. his blue eyes peering in his glasses. “you're right.” his stare cold at you. “find a seat, (y/n). you're embarrassing us now with you around.” you nod and you find yourself in a vacant corner. near to those already wasted or just plain chilling in the couch in front of you.

what did you expect? that were all sex talk or when they're in good mood. all those praise and compliments are just enough to feel you good about yourself for a bit and then they'll come destroying it. you stare at the view through the window. the night's particularly beautiful and peaceful except the place you're in and you're already missing the comfort of your bed.

you take a sip from your cup. a girl gave it you earlier saying that it's a special concoction that's only made at this parties. unsure you took it. not wanting to show ungratefulness to someone whose only been polite to you and she seems nice. you cringe slightly at the taste and the burning of the liquid as it flows down your throat. coughing you bring down the cup, not used to drinking.

your first time being a party, your eyes wander how your peers lost their selves in the influence of alcohol. some where dancing and mingling. talking like they were friends and you caught of others taking their business upstairs. you were kind of jealous how everyone are the life of the party and you sit here in your misery. you continue to observe everyone and you caught gojo. it's impossible to miss his tall stature and his white hair standing in the crowd. a petite woman is linked to him. her thin arms are wrapped around his neck and it was clear what they were doing. there they stood in the crowd. kissing.

“satoru.” gojo was taking a swig of his drink when a girl approached him. calling his name like they were lovers but it was more like an ex-fling. never had a relationship with her. she was only a temporary fun. “ah, sar—ah, sayuri.” he almost curses at himself. sayuri playfully pouts at him and there it is, the batting of eyelashes. “that's mean, satoru. you already forgot me.” her lips puckers before placing a hand in his chest. if this was a another party of gojo and he really liked this girl. he would have taken her upstairs. he caught you in the corner. you were like a child in awe at the people in this house. gojo almost chuckles at your cute antics but suppressed it and then a cruel idea pops in his mind. “missed me?” he asks sayuri and there was no answer needed as he crashes his lips to sayuri. his sight never leaving yours and when you caught him. he watch as your eyes widens, you lower your head in embarrassment before chugging that drink in your cup in one swig. he smirks in the kiss as he watches you wiped your tears away. he always liked making you cry.

you should have ditched this stupid party, even it means getting punished by those again. you were hurt. they always like to torture you. listen as they tell you how worthless and unlovable you are while they keep girls who are clearly not you by their side. those girls were perfectly fit for them to be seen in public and you were there for them to humiliate you. with your head lowered, you stifled a sob. wiping your tears with your hands shaking. they kept flowing and you kept messily wiping them and with that you slowly made your way outside. discreetly making your way through the door and you almost laugh. you were a nobody. you're not made for pretty things and this goddamn outfit you wore only added to your misery. you never felt beautiful and it looks ugly on you. wrapped a sausage with a different and it will still look the same.

no one noticed you leaving except for suguru's watchful gaze.

suguru finds his friend making out with a girl he definitely doesn't remember. suguru slaps his back and satoru broke the kiss. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and ignores the girl he was just making out seconds ago. suguru points the door where you left earlier. you're really looking for trouble and with that they left following you.

sayuri was stunned being shoved aside again. she was angry. how the fuck did you get those two's attention especially gojo's? she's beautiful. she's thin. academically excelling and you, a fat nobody bitch easily made those two fall for you. she knows they were just playing at you and sayuri could take it but being shoved again by satoru isn't what she expected tonight. she's going to be satoru's bride. it was decided from the start and satoru knows it. their fathers friends since their college days had made a decision to marry their son and daughter before they were even born and she did everything she can just to have satoru's attention but why can't she even get to look at her without her trying. it's your fault. it's your fucking fault! you deserve to die. you're fucking stupid for accepting that drink like you're a fucking saint and now, maybe you'll rethink your choices of making those your own and satoru will only have his eyes for her and only her.

weird. why are your hands sweating? it's cold. freezing cold. you know this temperature at night is normal but why are you freezing cold. hah, your vision's starting to get funny too. where there always stars in the sky? ahh, i want to go home. i wonder if akira's still awake. i didn't told her that i was going away tonight. my eyes hurt. you were crying. this was your thoughts as you walked away.

it was to easy to catch you with their long strides. satoru grabs your flabby arm angrily. “we told you, you don't leave without us. do you really want to get punished, (y/n)-chan?” his voice snarky as he digs his nails in your arms. it hurts. it really must really hurt but you're suddenly numb to feel anything. you just stare at him in confusion and then you hear voices. they were calling them to get back.

gojo scowls at them. your knees buckled and you sat in the ground. geto tsked. “we're going back to you later.” he says and they left you there and there were loud cheers. you lay there in the ground. numb and your vision fades away.

you blinked as you stare in the nothingness. that's what you last remembered. they left you there and you hoped you died. you can't take another bullshit of what they put you through. the tears continuously flows from your eyes and your blanket is wet with tears. haibara puts a comforting hand in your shoulder and you bursted crying again. this was the real kindness you felt since the accident. they didn't blame you. they only stayed and made sure you were resting enough. stranger they maybe or an acquaintance. you would never forget this kindness from them.

days. nights. you stayed in the hospital until you were cleared. you made nothing of what happened to you. putting it in the records as an allergic reaction in which the hospital agreed. just like that even when you're in the brink of death of what happened to you. if you took the procedure for assault. they would be guilty but it was days old now and bruises are left in your skin as nothing but reminders of the humiliation of what they did to you.

for now, you're going to cry. cry until there's nothing left to cry for.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝ #chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #plus size reader #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #gojo x chubby reader #gojo x reader x geto #tw dark content #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #yandere jjk x reader #jjk x chubby reader #jjk #jjk angst

[euthymiya]

help me forget (until my only memories are you) ft. wriothesley

in which wriothesley is plagued with dreams of his past, tucked away in the quietest corner of the fortress until you find him. a thermos of tea, an ocean view, and a heartfelt conversation later, you both decide your memories only matter when they’re of each other

contains: 2.1k word count ; female reader ; established relationship ; hints at wriothesley’s backstory, including mentions of blood and murder ; nightmares and trauma (wrio) ; reverse comfort ; fluff and (cheesy) banter

“thought i’d find you here,” you say quietly as you walk up to wriothesley—it’s quiet enough that’s it’s almost as if you’re trying not to startle him.

(and yes, it’s a bit of a pointless gesture. you know he can hear your footsteps approaching him for a good distance before you even reach him, but, all things considered, you don’t think a little extra gentleness will hurt him.)

“well, looks like you found me,” he hums, legs spread out before him as he stares through the glass. he’s eyes the ocean, his pupils following the schools of fish and casts of crabs as they swim past the glass tunnel that separates you from the water.

the glass tunnel in the fortress is wriothesley’s favorite spot. for a number of reasons, really—first, the inmates aren’t allowed here without official permission, so he has the area to himself for the most part. second, there’s some sort of sign of life to witness, something breathing and moving apart from the rowdy bunch of prisoners he’s in charge of every day. and third, it’s nice to see colors, something vivid and lively outside of rusted metal and dingy lighting.

wriothesley loves this tunnel. it helps him appreciate his life, his home, when he’s especially regretful he doesn’t get to live up at the surface. that regret doesn’t come very often—he’s happy with the life he’s made for himself and the family he’s grown here, but he’s only human.

sometimes even the warden would like to know what it feels like to wake up under the sun, feeling the rays kiss the skin of his cheeks like a mother does her son, so warm and gentle and endlessly filled with love.

he supposes a mother’s love is as unreachable as the sun for him, a regretful conclusion he’s long come to since the tender age of early teen hood.

you plop down beside him, tucking yourself against his side as you hand him a small thermos, making him quirk a brow up.

“tea,” you explain, “i figured it would help.”

“aren’t you sweet?” he chuckles, unscrewing the top and pouring the warm, freshly brewed tea into the lid as he takes a slow sip. he turns, pressing the rim to your lips, letting you take your own sip before he sighs and wraps an arm around you. “did i wake you?”

“of course,” you huff theatrically, “i was so cold. do you have any idea how cold the fortress gets at night without a big, strong, muscled warden to keep you warm?”

he snorts, eyeing you with an amused glance as you bite back your own grin.

“well, my dear lady, i offer my sincerest apologies. you will never wake up cold again.” he indulges your banter with a tight grin.

wriothesley is good at that—good at pretending his feelings don’t exist, pretending he doesn’t feel them in favor of putting on a brave face. you see through the tiny cracks of his mask, though. you can see the tousled hair and bruised under eyes from his lack of sleep. you can see the sore knuckles of his hands from punching bags. you can see the distant, hazy look in his eyes as he stares off into the never ending sea ahead, not sparing you the usual soft gaze he sends your way.

wriothesley is good at pretending everything is okay. just as good as you are at knowing when it isn’t okay at all.

“i’d rather i don’t wake up alone,” you trace the scar along his chest with a finger, visible from the neckline of the tank top he wears to sleep. he doesn’t say anything, swallowing as he swirls the contents in his makeshift cup, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “wriothesley.”

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, “i figured i’d let you sleep.”

“you don’t need to apologize,” you furrow your brows, hooking a finger under his chin and gently coaxing him to turn and meet your eyes, “i’m not mad, baby. it’s okay.”

“i know,” is all he says.

“will you talk to me?” your head lays against his chest, grabbing one hand and fiddling with his fingers, lacing them with yours as you compare the size of his rough, rugged palm against yours while his other hand lifts the cup to take a long, slow sip of the tea.

it’s hot against his throat, soothing the raw, dryness that builds.

“don’t i talk to your ear off enough through the day?” he tries to tease, deflecting the topic that you try to breach. but you’re good at following just as he is at running—you bring his knuckles up to your lips as you kiss them one by one, so gentle, so feather like in touch, he can’t help but shiver.

“so you’re tired of talking to me?” you tease back, making his lips twitch fractionally.

“nah,” he breathes a small laugh, “never tired of you.”

“that’s good to know,” you exhale a relieved breath, still playful and lighthearted as you add, “i thought you were running away from me while i slept.”

“i’d have come back.” his voice is low, barely audible—you hear it anyway, feeling the rumble of his words through the vibrations in his chest. “you kick the blanket off. someone’s gotta tuck you in.”

“well you didn’t come back before i had to come find you,” you point out. “so tell me, what’s on that mind of yours? can’t be nothing if you leave me cold and alone in our bed.”

“just a silly old dream,” he shrugs off, laughing dryly as he says, “nothing a tough warden like me can’t handle.”

“oh yeah?” you press gently, leaning up to kiss his jaw with a delicate, warm press of your lips. it makes him swallow thickly, inhaling a shaky breath as he nods.

“yeah.”

“you don’t have to handle it,” you offer carefully, “not alone, at least. you know that, baby?”

“do i look that troubled?” he smiles weakly, but it drops as soon as your hand cups his cheek, pulling him to lean in until his forehead is pressed against yours and his eyes can’t leave their spot of looking directly at you.

“do you trust me?” you whisper. he nods, unable to speak. “i love you, you know.”

“i know,” he croaks. “i love you too.”

“so then talk to me.” your hand falls from his cheek to his chest, laying right on his heart while your other hand squeezes his as it keeps it in its hold.

so he does. with a shaky sigh, he tells you about them, the things he sees in his sleep.

sometimes, wriothesley has dreams. dreams of his mother brushing back his hair with her fingers as she wakes him for breakfast. dreams of his father patting his back as he throws a ball to one of his brothers. dreams of childlike, gleeful laughter ringing through his ears in a muffled, distant sound before it morphs into pained, horrified screams.

his legs carry him down the hallway of his childhood home, bare feet pounding against the hardwood until finally, he turns to corner into his living room. and there he stands—face to face with himself. one version of him in crumpled pajamas and another in oversized, scuffed up clothes like he’s drifted from street to street. he stares at himself, only he notices he looks older, more distant, more tired.

and then he notices the blood. it’s everywhere—on his hands, splattered on his face, dripped onto his clothes, pooled on the floor.

blood is everywhere. it coats the same floors he ran on, stains the same walls his height was marked against. it dirties every happy memory of this house of his, no longer a home.

w-what have you done? he asks his older self.

the boy—the one with his own face—glares down at him, so angry and betrayed, so unlike his happy self as he mutters, what had to be done.

and then he wakes up. he’s always covered in cold sweat, panting, and shuffled far, far away from your peaceful and beautiful sleeping figure. how can he wake you? how can he disrupt your pure, sweet state to wipe the blood spilt on his hands? how can he ask you to carry the heaviness of his sins when you’re so free and weightless from that darkness that plagues someone like him?

you listen as he spills his heart, quiet and unmoving against his side as your palm never leaves his chest. his eyes follow the movement of the fish outside of the glass while he speaks, and your eyes trace over the new red, angry marks on the back of his hand.

“just thought i’d come down here to clear my head,” he confesses, “you looked like you were tired.”

“i’d have woken you,” you admit, looking up at him. he meets your stare, furrowing his brows in confusion until you add, “if i had a bad dream, i mean. because you’re the only place i feel safe.”

he breathes out a soft chuckle, cheek laying on the crown of your head as he whispers, “it’s ’cause of the muscles, right? years of boxing will do that to a guy.”

“so what i’m gathering is that i have to take up boxing for you?” you grin, nudging him with your shoulder playfully as he bites his bottom lip to fight back his grin, shaking his head at your antics.

“i just don’t want to wake you every other night.”

“i want you to wake me every night if you have to,” you frown, reaching over and giving his forehead a reprimanding flick with your fingers, “it’s what i’m here for. what’s the point of being together if you’re going to be all alone, wriothesley?”

“i’m not alone,” he argues, lifting your joined hands before his warm lips press a lingering kiss to the back of an equally as warm hand. “i have you.”

you blink, staring at him blankly. “you just kissed your own hand, you fool.”

“right,” he nods, flushing a slight shade of pink before he twists his wrist to kiss the proper hand, “it was on purpose. it’s self love and all that good stuff, you know?”

“uh huh,” you lift a brow, snorting as you shake your head. he gives you a sly wink, leaning down to kiss your lips briefly as you shuffle closer against his side. “you know,” you breathe against his lips, “sometimes we dream about our pasts because our minds want to change something about them.”

“oh? i suppose i could think of a thing or two to change about mine. maybe a happy childhood. maybe the ability to trust people. that’d be nice, don’t you think?”

“i would change mine,” you admit, making him stare at you for a moment as he ponders over your words.

“would you now? and what would you change?”

“i’d meet you sooner,” you hum, “we could be like the cute stories, you know? childhood friends turned destined lovers. wouldn’t that be sweet?”

he looks at you quietly for a bit—dazed, awed, slightly bewildered. you couldn’t possibly want to know a guy like him in your youth, he thinks. how utterly foolish. but there’s no denying that unbearable, pressured clench of his heart, right where only you can reach to squeeze.

“of all stories,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “that’s what you want for yourself? childhood friends to lovers with a premeditated homicide convict that reforms a prison in his adulthood?”

“a traumatized homicide convict,” you correct, “that’s the part that gives it nuance, you know?”

“oh, you’re right,” he nods sarcastically, “how silly of me.”

“don’t laugh at me,” you huff, pouting at him as you poke his chest, “i’m serious. i’d meet you sooner if i could.”

“me too,” he murmurs, pecking your lips in a wordless apology. you accept with a soft kiss of your own in return. “i’d have met you way sooner too, sweetheart.”

“maybe you’ll dream it some day,” you wink cheekily.

“let’s hope i do,” he laughs, pulling you to sit between his legs, your back to his chest as he rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs in content. “you’re the only place too, by the way,” he adds after a few moments, breath tickling the shell of your ear as he whispers the words.

“hmm?” you tilt your head in confusion, gasping when his arms wrap tightly around you, his face burying into your neck as he presses a tickling kiss into your skin.

“where i feel safe.”

“oh,” you breathe, smiling slightly in wonder, “good. then you’ll wake me next time?”

“will it keep you warmer in this cold, unforgiving fortress of ours?”

“oh yes,” you nod, giggling lightly. “very warm.”

he smiles into your skin, replacing the vivid images of blood in his mind with the soft hues of your eyes. “then i suppose i have no choice but to wake you.”

childhood friends to lovers with wrio where reader flips neuvillette off and marches down to the fortress and drags wrio back up to the overworld by the wrist when he’s convicted bc she makes the rules around these parts

jk i love you neuvi my sweet angel dragon

#writing tag #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

[andypantsx3]

SOMETHING IN THE WATER | 6 | SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: As a future marine biologist, you’ve scored big on your final internship: a summer in the tropics, researching the waters off the coast of a lush, sunny island. But what you thought would be all beach days and piña coladas turns out to be the revelation of a lifetime when you haul in a handsome merprince, and discover not everything in these waters is quite as it seems. TAGS/WARNINGS: mermaid au, interspecies relationships, mating rituals/courting behavior, (sort of) case fic, aged up characters, eventual smut, fem pronouns/afab reader LENGTH: 3.7k of est. 27k, 6th of 8 chapters

Shouto was waiting on the shore when you returned, mismatched gaze pinned on you as you stepped out of the trees. He seemed to know from your expression that you’d found exactly what you’d been looking for.

“It is what you wanted, then,” he said.

You could feel a grimace overtake your features. “Not what I wanted, exactly, but it is what I expected to find.”

A clawed hand reached out to catch your ankle as you stepped out of the shade onto the hot sand. You could see the impression of Shouto’s tail in the sand where he’d dragged himself from the water, a thick line of disturbed beach. He peered up at you, thumb pressing into the hollow behind your ankle bone.

“They’re polluting this place and they’re trying to hide it,” you said, your mouth pulling into a thin line. “They’ve dammed off that lagoon for now but it’s not going to hold forever. And they’ve already killed off everything in it.”

Shouto’s claws rasped lightly over the skin of your ankle. “You are upset.”

You glanced down at him, finding his handsome face concerned. “I’m—angry, I guess, yeah. Especially now that I know you and your whole pod are here. It’s bad enough thinking of what this is going to do to all the local populations, but to think of you getting sick…”

Shouto’s long eyelashes fluttered as he took a slow breath. You carefully studied the sand next to him so you didn’t watch the way the muscles of his chest flexed and relaxed as he did so. “You want to protect me,” he concluded, something strange in his tone.

Your face flushed hot. “Well, yeah.”

Shouto’s expression went carefully blank, like he was trying not to look too pleased. Instead, he reached out a hand, taking yours, prying it open to reveal the sample kit containing a bleached chunk of coral you’d cut off the poisoned reef. “And you will keep the coral I gave you,” Shouto said.

You nodded, blinking in surprise. In your momentary funk you’d almost forgotten the underlying reason for your visit here—Shouto had given you something that would have taken him hours to get. Something he’d have had to pull himself through the forest on his arms alone for, something he too would have had to have waded into a poisoned reef for—and that had to mean something significant.

You doubted it was a token of friendship, as you’d first assumed. But then—what would be the cultural significance of the gift?

Shouto’s thumb petted over the hollow of your ankle bone again. “And you will wear them.”

You nodded absently, suppressing a shiver at the feeling of his touch.

“Yes, when I get back to my room I’ll scrounge up something to wear them on,” you promised.

Shouto’s expression shifted into something satisfied. “With dinner and a movie,” he said.

You stared at him. “You want—right now?”

“Right now,” he echoed, nodding seriously. His features rearranged themselves into a mask of determination.

You laughed at the expression, like a movie was some great hurdle to overcome, some life-or-death mission.

Well, you supposed a promise was a promise. And it was nearing dinner time.

Your mind instantly began to churn with plans. You’d have to dock the boat and beg off the meal with the science crew, figure out when and how to tell them about the poisoned lagoon, find a meal somewhere that Shouto could digest, meet him back at the beach, steal a wheelbarrow, and figure out how not to get caught.

“Alright, a deal’s a deal,” you decided.

An almost triumphant smile teased at the edge of Shouto’s mouth.

His hand left your ankle and he followed you back across the sand down to the water, slithering agiley like a handsome snake. He supervised you as you stuffed all your things back into your dry bag, then slipped into the water, keeping pace alongside you as you swam out to where you’d anchored the boat.

He pulled himself in after you, and boated most of the way back to the dock with you. He only slid back into the water when you shooed him off just out of sight of the port, promising to meet him back on the beach in front of the inn.

You docked the boat in town, then poked through a couple take-away food stalls for something that seemed like it wouldn’t mess with Shouto’s digestion. Stifling a wry grin, you settled on a sushi vendor, picking out a few basic rolls with local fish and a seaweed salad that you and Shouto could split.

You trekked back to the inn, stowing your food in your room, then poking your head into Yu’s room to let her know you’d finished up on the water, but weren’t feeling well and were going to sit out dinner.

Once you’d also verified Izuku was nowhere to be seen and that Inko was safely installed in the front office, you crept over to the maintenance shed. The door was unlatched—probably a product of living on such a small island with little crime—and you helped yourself to the wheelbarrow and an ancient tarp wedged underneath several old planters.

Shouto was waiting for you just off the beach, that head of red and white pair poking out of the water inquisitively as you approached. He eyed the wheelbarrow with suspicion, even as he hauled himself up on shore.

“What is that,” he asked, flatter than a question.

“Your chariot awaits, good sir,” you joked, gesturing at it.

A red eyebrow went up, Shouto’s mismatched gaze pinning on it with distrust. “I do not think I like chariots.”

You laughed. “It’s actually called a wheelbarrow—it’s used to haul heavy stuff. And you most definitely qualify as heavy stuff. I’m not strong enough to carry you all the way back to my room.”

Shouto’s eyes slid over the muscle of your arm assessingly. “Humans,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You cannot swim, fight, or lift things. It is a wonder you survive at all.”

You poked him with a sneakered toe. “Hey, I can too swim and lift things.”

Shouto’s pointed non-reply was answer enough and you huffed out a laugh.

“I will do it for you,” Shouto decided. “The swimming and fighting and lifting.”

For some reason this made you flush. “I—there will be no fighting on my watch.”

Shouto’s mouth quirked. In lieu of another answer he reached out an arm, gripping the side of the wheelbarrow. Your mouth went a little dry as you watched the muscles in his arm activate, and you just barely remembered to hold the wheelbarrow steady as he pulled himself in, biceps cording.

He was far too large for it, the bulk of his muscle and broad shoulders taking up nearly the entire thing, leaving his tail to drape out and drag along the sand. There was no way the tarp was going to cover enough of him.

“Okay, let’s wrap this around your tail, at least, in case anyone sees us,” you decided, spreading it out over his waist like a blanket. He looked a little goofy, and possibly a million percent more suspicious with the tarp dragging after him on the ground, but it was the best you were going to get, probably.

“So how long can you last out of salt water, do you know?” you asked, wheeling him around and heading up the beach. You figured it had to be a couple hours considering how long it must have taken him to reach the coral he’d given you, but you hated the thought of him getting uncomfortable.

“A long time. Close to a day I think,” he said.

“Wow, and you don’t dry out?” you asked.

He tipped his head back to look at you as you wheeled him, wet hair dripping into the wheelbarrow. “I do, but it takes some time.”

“And you’re not uncomfortable?” you grunted out the question, shoving him up the incline towards your room.

“Not for a long while,” he said.

Well that was good. You probably wouldn’t need to set him up in the tub then. It would be nice to eat your sushi somewhere other than the bathroom.

You were panting by the time you got Shouto up the hill, and it was an even larger production getting him through the door. It was only when you finally wheeled him inside, watching him peer around your room curiously, that you realized your seating options were limited. You were possessed of a single chair, currently occupied by your suitcase—and Shouto was far too large for it besides.

Something flipped in your stomach as your eyes were drawn towards your bed.

Like he could sense your sudden hesitance, Shouto turned to you, mismatched gaze pinning on you with a startling focus.

“You are nervous,” he observed.

You could feel your face heat. “Well I don’t exactly wheel mermen back to my room every day of the week.”

Shouto’s mouth pulled like he did not like the image of that. He grasped the sides of the wheelbarrow with clawed fingers, hefting himself out and slithering to your floor. You stared at the sight of him perched there on the rug, eyebrows lifting when he reached out a hand and drew your sitting chair towards him.

Instead of climbing in, however, he flipped open the top of your suitcase, peering in curiously.

You watched him flip a book over then ease it aside, rifling through your bag of clean socks and shorts. You sputtered when Shouto’s long fingers unearthed a bra, his head tilting.

“Nosy!” you squeaked, darting forward to throw your suitcase shut again. You didn’t know why you were so embarrassed, but you desperately hoped merpeople did not know the difference between swimwear and underthings.

Shouto’s frown was almost too cute to be borne. He looked up at you, his hand going to your ankle, as it always did.

“You do not have anything to bind the coral with,” he said, sounding a little pouty again.

Oh. So that’s what he’d been looking for.

You nudged his other hand aside, unzipping the pocket where you’d stored a few pieces of jewelry. You hadn’t brought many on the assumption that you’d mostly be working, but you’d brought enough to be useful. Shouto watched with some interest as you unclipped the chain of a necklace, sliding off the charm and storing it in your bag again.

His eyes followed you as you stepped away to your nightstand, where you’d stowed the coral he’d brought you. Immediately, you realized there was a problem.

“Uh, we might have to wait a couple more days until I can find a way to put a hole in these,” you said, gesturing with the pieces.

Shouto’s heavy tail made a scraping sound as he dragged himself across the carpet to you again. You plopped down on the edge of the bed so as not to tower over him, holding out the coral to him. Shouto angled his claws carefully away from your palm as he took a shard in his long fingers, the bleached white of it standing out starkly against the crimson of his coloring there.

Shouto’s handsome face stilled in careful concentration as he angled his pinky claw carefully, so that just the point of it pressed to a corner of the piece. You watched in fascination as he pressed down, and his claw bore right through—piercing it shockingly easily.

Your stomach flipped, and you recalled the first time you’d seen Shouto—how deadly those claws had seemed. Weeks into your friendship, you’d realized you’d been so focused on his most human of qualities—his beautiful face, inadvertently funny manner, his sweet thoughtfulness. But here was a reminder that he was also something far more than a man—possibly one of the most dangerous things in these waters.

Your heart beat a little faster as Shouto did the same to the next piece of coral, and you looped the necklace chain through them. There was a sort of dark, satisfied look in Shouto’s eye as you clasped it around your neck. A clawed finger gently touched your sternum, lifting the coral for Shouto’s inspection.

“Good,” he rumbled, looking pleased. His finger was warm against your skin, and you wondered if he could feel how quickly your heart was beating against it.

For some reason you felt your face warm. You stilled under Shouto’s touch until he let the coral drop back against your skin, seeming gratified.

Clearing your throat, you quickly rose from the bed, gesturing Shouto onto it.

“I’ll, um, grab our food,” you told him, hoping you sounded normal. “And get my laptop to pick out the movie. Just, uh, make yourself comfortable.”

You pointedly did not watch as Shouto levered himself up on the strength of those arms, instead unearthing the sushi from your room’s miniscule fridge, along with two bottles of water. You piled it all on your laptop like a tray, then turned back to Shouto.

He was far too large for your bed, laid out across it like a sunbathing model. His tail was far too long, draping off the end in a sweeping fan of scarlet and white. Your eyes traced the line of his tail back up the bed, up to where the scales freckled into the taught muscle of Shouto’s abdomen, fair skin all but glowing in the fading summer daylight, the shadows swirling and pooling in the divots of the muscle like water.

You flushed again at the sight of all of that laid out in your bed, waiting for you. You reminded yourself that he did not have the cultural context you did for sharing a bed, and that you were just splitting food. And he was another species, besides, no matter how human his upper half looked.

You very deliberately did not think about the fact that his sister had a human husband.

Shouto wriggled back against the headboard as you approached, and you clambered in next to him, careful not to brush his arm as you did. You set the sushi between you like a shield, then flipped open your laptop, wondering what kind of movie a merman might like.

“Um, got any requests?” you asked him.

Shouto’s mismatched eyes pinned on you. “I want to watch whatever you want to watch.”

Well that was no help. You wracked your brain for options, blinking when you remembered you’d told Shouto that he’d probably find human movies about merpeople funny. An idea formed.

Shouto watched with interest as your fingers clacked across the keys, alternately watching the movement of them and the windows that appeared across the screen. The island wi-fi was slow, and it took a few painful minutes, but eventually you ended up with a title screen queued up: The Little Mermaid.

You looked at Shouto for approval, only to find his eyes searching over the screen, as if for some clue of what was to come. Oh—that was right—he might have been able to speak to you, but chances were probably slim he could read any human languages.

“It’s an animated film about, uh, this mermaid who strikes a deal to be human and live on land,” you explained. “She, um, falls in love with a prince and they, uh, sort of fight to be together.”

Shouto’s mismatched eyes picked over you speculatively. “A human fights? I thought you were not capable.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well he mostly steers a boat around. But he does help try to defeat a sea witch.”

Shouto eyed you. “There is no such thing.”

A startled laugh burst out of you at the look of suspicion on his face. It was patently ridiculous that a merman was propped up in your bed telling you what was and wasn’t real.

“It’s fiction,” you told him. “People also think merpeople aren’t real, as you well know.”

Shouto looked doubtful, but you pressed play on your laptop anyway. You deposited his sushi in his lap, then hesitated over whether to hand him chopsticks too. As you watched him draw one long claw across the plastic cover, slicing it open instead of just uncapping it, you decided no. He most definitely would not be needing a pair of chopsticks.

Shouto seemed to like his plain rolls, all of the ingredients except the rice ocean-based. You watched his handsome nose flare suspiciously at your own rolls when you opened your container, shooting a look of obvious distaste at the spicy mayo drizzled over the top of one.

You had to hide another smile, strangely charmed by everything about him.

Shouto also was quickly absorbed by the movie, and did not notice when you plucked his empty container from his lap. He seemed to find it equal parts amusing and ridiculous. It was only when Ariel and Prince Eric almost kissed in the boat that you felt Shouto’s eyes on you. You stared resolutely ahead, pretending not to notice, your skin prickling.

He was distracted again by the rest of the film, even leaning forward with interest during the climax. But his eyes wandered your way again when Ariel and Eric finally kissed, and you looked up reflexively, face heating when his was closer than you had expected.

“Uhhh,” you said, stupidly. “Did you… like it?”

“Yes,” Shouto replied. Outside, the sun was sinking, and it cast Shouto’s face in an orange glow, the blue light of your laptop refracting strangely off his eyes.

Your breath quickened, for some unfathomable reason.

You jumped when warm fingers met the skin of your sternum again, and you heard the chips of coral click as they were lifted. Shouto’s eyes dipped to them, then back up to your face, dragging over it slowly.

“You said there were no other mating rituals, correct?” Shouto said.

You startled under his touch, brain functions freezing up at the mention of mating. What—mating rituals? And what did he mean other?

“Mating rituals?” you echoed, trying to keep your voice from coming out strangled.

Shouto nodded. “You said jewelry is often given. And dinner and a movie. But I believe you said there were no other common practices across cultures.”

You blinked, mind whirring with the implication that Shouto thought dinner and a movie was a mating ritual and yet had engaged in such a thing with you. And as for jewelry… you felt one of Shouto’s claws drag delicately over the skin just under your neck as he thumbed across the pieces of coral.

A sudden suspicion formed in your brain, illuminating your synapses like a light had just been snapped on. A million other things Shouto had said about fighting and hunting and protection suddenly felt like they made a terrible sort of sense to you. You stared back at Shouto, mouth dropping open.

No. There was no way.

“Shouto,” you said, your voice shooting embarrassingly high. It was ridiculous to even ask the question, and yet… “Are you—did you ask for dinner and a movie as a date?”

Shouto inclined his head. His hair had mostly dried, and it looked soft and silky in the orange light from the sun. You fought down the sudden urge to reach out and touch it.

“Dates are mating practices, are they not?” he murmured.

A hand pressed down next to your hip, titling you a little towards him with the dip of the mattress. Your heart beat fluttered, the skin at your hip prickling.

“But you—but there’s—but we didn’t—but you—” you fumbled, blinking flusteredly. The air in your room suddenly felt about a million degrees warmer, almost suffocatingly hot. Shouto tilted his head, then pressed the backs of his fingers to your cheek, as if testing your temperature.

“Are you well?” he asked.

Were you well. Were you well?

A literal fairytale creature, a prince of fairytale creatures, was sitting in your bed, having all but just admitted to engaging in mating rituals with you, and here he was asking if you were well!

You made a noise somewhere between the moo of a cow and a goose honk, and Shouto’s fingers shifted against your skin.

“How is it that you conclude the mating ritual?” he asked, watching you carefully. “If it is successful and my suit is accepted?”

His suit. His suit! Like he was courting you!

Dear god what had you been getting yourself into. And why did every single inch of your skin feel like it was on fire, especially when Shouto leaned closer?

“When they—in the movie when they pressed their mouths together,” you stammered. “You must know it from your sister having a human husband—it’s called kissing.”

Shouto’s fingers moved across your skin, until he was cupping your face in one large palm. Your breath froze entirely in your lungs. This close, his face was somehow even more perfect, and you were entirely robbed of higher brain function, gawking at him like he was an animal in a zoo.

Shouto was near enough that you could feel the exhalation of his next words on your mouth. “I would like do it, this kissing,” he said, tone slow and rolling. “That is if you accept me. If you acknowledge we are mates.”

You couldn’t really think past the feeling of his hand on your face, the way his claws rasped so sweetly over the skin behind your ear. He was so warm and so close and so stupidly, mind-numbingly handsome, and the low, gentle way he spoke to you sounded like the sea, a rumble of waves you wanted to sink beneath.

You opened your mouth to ask him to repeat the question, as your processing power was suddenly at zero percent.

But then Shouto shifted on the bed, the weight of his hand tipping you even further towards him. You felt yourself losing a little balance, falling, a hand pressing against his naked chest to catch yourself—

—And then Shouto’s mouth caught yours, and you forgot to feel anything else at all.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #andie's writing

[letsnotperceive]

Simon Riley and Intimacy

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18+/MDNI ✧.* GNReader ✧.* (2,040wc)

“This has left him with the ultimate juxtaposition; the innate desire to not allow close proximity to the remaining soft, vulnerable parts of his soul, and yet the desire to claw his fingers into those he cares about to shield them from the very heat that’s ruined him.”

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Simon Riley would have never considered himself a caring person, would never bother to bat an eye at someone else’s dilemmas in most scenarios. His mind is a worn and withered place in which he has created an apathetic mask over his thoughts. One that mirrors the very bit of fabric that covers the marred surface of his face—haphazardly stitched, rough around the edges. If you tried to take it apart and understand its inner workings, it would unravel in your hands in a way that would leave you wondering how it was staying together in the first place.

 

This is, seemingly, a coping mechanism developed over years of being hardened by the lengths to which he's been dragged through hell and back. The flames have hardened his exterior and charred his heart in a way that's somehow left it both cauterized yet raw. Sifting through all the soot will display that something is still pounding against his ribcage, still defining that he’s not completely a ghost.

 

 

This has left him with the ultimate juxtaposition; the innate desire to not allow close proximity to the remaining soft, vulnerable parts of his soul, and yet the desire to claw his fingers into those he cares about to shield them from the very heat that’s ruined him. 

 

He's not a saccharine lover, not able to produce a syrupy, sweet display of flowery love language. But you have managed to turn him into a man whose shell has been slowly eroded over time while he has come to concede that not everyone needs to be held at arm's length. There are things worth stowing in his heart despite the vulnerability of letting something reside in such a resting place. But it’s like constantly having a hovering finger over the trigger of a firearm; one wrong move can shatter you. In a way, he doesn't trust himself to keep you whole in the palm of his hand. 

 

Not that there is a sadistic streak that would ever flare in his brain around you; oh no, rather, he'd assume any pain in the universe if it meant you didn't have to harbor it. Even when things have been accumulating, weighing on his broad shoulders that are used to bearing guns and injured teammates and the burdens of a world that has beaten him down with a cruelty that would make the devil wince, he would carry your burdens too. You fuel that singed heart in his chest that would otherwise want to tenaciously depend on spite and adrenaline.

 

Perhaps that's the reason Simon keeps you so carefully concealed from the life he lives when the mask is pulled over his face. From the person that he becomes when his identity is stripped and replaced with Ghost. Of course, there would be no conceivable way for him to never indulge you in a sparing sample of the nature of his career when it houses so much of his attention and livelihood. But he prefers to keep as much as he can from tainting you. From turning your mind into the same somber chamber that his has become to house what he’s witnessed, what he’s done.

 

The feeling of relief as he steps over the threshold of the building that houses you is like a breath of air after being submerged underwater for far too long. He doesn’t care where he could end up; no place satisfies his desire for home like wherever it is that you happen to be. There’s a pair of fluffy house slippers near the door; he kicks his boots off beside them. An odd little pair of soft and welcoming ones next to his own, tired and worn. The mask is long gone by now, discarded before he even reached the driveway—here he’s never anyone but Simon to you. 

 

It’s late, far too late; he doesn’t even bother taking the time to check the clock. He knows you are going to be awake regardless, up waiting to catch a glimpse of him, and he will give you your scolding for it in the morning. For now, he makes his way down the hall, hand wrapping around the doorknob to a bedroom that lately houses two. A split second of hesitation runs over him, just enough for that sinking sensation to crawl back up through his mind. That feeling that maybe he shouldn’t, that he should go sink into the couch and keep his filthy, wretched hands that just spent so many lives away from you.

 

His presence and uncertainty must both be palpable to you, even from behind the door, because he hears a soft call of his name. No, you need him; you need him just as much as he needs you. The weight of the past few weeks can reside with Ghost for now, so he can just be Simon. He turns the knob and opens the door with an echoing creak, swearing under his breath and making a mental note of his new project for the morning involving a bottle of WD-40. Damned this house seems to be, even with an angel waiting just a few steps away. 

 

You can barely hear his footsteps across the hardwood, but the bed frame creaks and the mattress dips under his weight. He manages to settle down between the valley of your legs, his large hands pawing at the plush of your thighs to make room for his frame. You scoff lightly at the way he's grumbling due to the sheer inconvenience it causes him when wasting those precious milliseconds getting into a proper position—though there’s no real heat or annoyance behind the action, because you know he’s just grouchy by nature. He’s been waiting to indulge in your sweetness for far too long now, with an ache so strong it makes his teeth hurt. Like the overgrown, frustrated mutt he is, he sinks them into your skin to soothe the sensation. 

 

“Simon!” You yelp, a sharp little cry that’s mostly born from shock. 

 

“Hmph,” he grunts in return, ever so eloquently. 

 

“Scared of’a nip now, are we darlin’?” 

 

Though it’s enough to make him feel a bit of shame for hurting his sweet thing. He presses his slightly chapped lips against the ruddy imprint his teeth left behind, a wordless apology you will never hear. He doesn’t like wasting time and is impatient to a fault if he doesn’t have an explicit command to hold out any longer. Before there is time to scold him—if you could even find the words to do so—he’s got his fingers curled around the elastic waistband of your sleep shorts and is tearing them away as if they were a personal offense. 

 

Trying to keep him away from his love, that slip of fabric, ain’t it? He hears the satisfying snap of the stitching coming undone down the leg as he rips, chuckling as they get tossed to the side haphazardly.

 

That’ll teach ‘em.

 

You seem to have found your voice then, just in time to defend the pair of pajamas. They were nice and new-

 

(“Sorry, doll. Ya’ know I’ll getcha new ones.") 

 

Gentle simply isn’t the name of his game. Though he can try, and try he might when he’s so afraid of crushing your lively little soul in his calloused, bloodstained hand. It just doesn’t come to him naturally, the way he tends to want to grab your hips and hold you flush to him. But at this moment, he dips his head down until his forehead meets the smooth span of your abdomen, resting there for a moment. Simon’s breathing tickles against your skin, a slow and steady pattern that’s a far cry from all the adrenaline that’s been pumping through him. Your hands gain purchase within the locks of his cropped hair that you can catch between your fingers. His voice is rumbly, a deep growl from low in his throat.

 

“Missed ya’.”

 

It’s about as close to singing praises from the heavens as he can offer you, and you greedily drink in every last minimal word he gets out. If he had the capability of belief, he’d be thanking any higher power out there that he’s returned home to what must be the only blessing he was ever offered. Your hands want to wander, want to run down his chest, then lower, and lower—

 

But he stops you with a silent shake of his head before your desires are executed.

 

“Just you tonight, luv.”

 

You know better than to question it—the way he may give but then pull back with intimacy. Some nights he can relish the way you roll those hips on top of him, low moans permitted to spill from his mouth and a tight grip on the back of his oversized t-shirt you tend to be wearing. Others end in a lit cigarette and an hour alone on the porch, scarred figure illuminated by the flame as he tries to wave off your concern. Lost in his mind due to the unwilling thoughts that want to follow any bit of bliss he tries to chase. It’s easier to let him slip and slink through your fingers as he pleases, letting him warm up to you like a feral creature who’s slowly been domesticated. 

 

Delicate, delicate, delicate. He tries to run his thumbs in gentle circles over your body while fighting the urge to press down just hard enough that it will make little purple marks bloom like flowers against your skin, to prove that blood still runs warm through your veins. He doesn’t do it; you deserve to be treated delicately. It earns you a kiss for every intrusive thought he has over the matter, and he’s rewarded in turn with every breathy noise you make from them. 

 

Simon is a man who’s been starved, has been depleted of his life source up until now. The way he ravishes you seems to fit the gnawing hunger he feels accordingly. His actions are desperate and unrefined following the very first taste of your sweetness on his lips. He licks a stripe against you to hear the way you squeal and see how your legs will twitch and shake for him. 

 

“Pretty, pretty,“ he murmurs, not afraid to speak with his mouth full of his favorite meal. What a gift to be engulfed by your beauty when he spends so much time involved in all that’s corrupted and vile. 

 

“And it’s just f’me?”

 

All of you, that’s what’s for him. Every square inch of your very being, and then whatever else he can find to clutch onto, too. If you give it to him, he’ll slowly return such an offering, piece by piece of the inner workings of such a complicated and complex mind, fragments of that hidden heart being unearthed.

 

“Yes!” You sob, a choked noise that’s reflective of how long he’s situated himself in this very position, never feeling that he’s had his fill. “Yes, yes, yes-!” 

 

Wave after wave after wave of pleasure, he will give it all to you if you ask. He cramps a few of his thick, calloused fingers inside your warmth, crooking them with expertise gained from attentiveness to what’s *just for him*. He croons as you spill once more, not letting any of your nectar go to waste with a low chuckle at your overstimulated gasps. 

 

There isn’t anything he wants in return as you pant for breath and flush ruddy with exertion—or so he claims. But you know him better than that, guiding his head to lie against your chest. The quick beats of your heart lull him to concede, and the way your hands soothe over his shoulder blades and tattooed bicep certainly doesn’t deter him either. He wants a hand through his hair and your nails lightly raking against his back and you certainly know how to deliver. Making sure to take caution over the raised scar tissue of his marred skin. Those get traced delicately, as if you are connecting stars to create new constellations.

 

“Bath?” You mumble, the word feeling heavy on your tongue as exhaustion dares to finally try and seep into your bones.

 

And, well, he wouldn’t say no to that, either. 

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Thanks for all the support on my first post! Still learning how to format and improve. TBH I only write when I’m not feeling well or sleep deprived or intoxicated so hopefully this is decent enough lol

Also this was my first attempt w/ writing anything x reader or gender neutral specific so if I did anything wrong plz lmk. Okay thanks byeee

#call of duty #cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon riley x you

[marragurl]

We’ve all basically agreed that Aventurine’s boss form is a transformation, like there’s no other explanation for how our short king suddenly gains height (other than his heels of course)

BUT

Unlike fellow magical girl Childe Ajax Tartaglia, we never actually saw Aventurine’s transformation!

(WE WERE FUCKING ROBBED, YOU KNOW IT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE MOST DRAMATIC ASS TRANSFORMATION SEQUENCE, I WILL NOT BACK DOWN FROM THE AVENTURINE LIKES MAGICAL GIRLS HEADCANON)

So until they actually show us the damn thing, or give us a different Stoneheart’s transformation, I’m gonna have some fun and headcanon that no actually, it’s not a transformation. To keep up his dramatics and acts, my boy instead just lugs around a whole-ass costume to change into whenever he needs to do a quick boss fight.

(Ratio constantly nags him about why he always has so much luggage, it’s because of this. He needs all 152 costume pieces and those things take up space Ratio, let a man express himself, damn. A whole suitcase is dedicated to just the shoes since his heels hide extra stilts in them to give him the height advantage. Ratio is always silently judging him whenever he changes, but in the sense that he can’t believe that this is the love of his life and of course he’ll help zip up the back, stop whining Aventurine)

I’m just imagining him making that dramatic announcement to the Astral Express all “come and find me” and then quickly rushing to get into the outfit and make sure his hair and accessories are all in place before they show up. The whole reason he was giving that dramatic speech in 2.1 was because the crew arrived too early and he was rushing to get into those ridiculous boots of his and he needed to buy time fast. Ratio was in the back operating an out of sight crane to constantly keep Aventurine floating in the air.

So following that train of thought, headcanon that all Stoneheart boss forms are just the Stoneheart’s being dramatic as fuck for the aesthetic OR if it turns out that no one else has a cool boss form, then Aventurine is the only one who does this whole thing because he’s a dramatic king.

(HOYO better actually show us the magical girl transformation, THERE HAS TO BE A MAGICAL TRANSFORMATION, HOYO PLEASE I NEED MAGICAL GIRL AVENTURINE THAT’S ALL I’M ASKING PLEASE)

YOU CANNOT LOOK AT THIS AND NOT VIVIDLY IMAGINE HIM SWIPING HIS HAND ACROSS HIS FACE WHILE HIS MASK FORMS THAT IS SUCH A CLASSIC MAGICAL GIRL TRANSFORMATION MOVE PLEASE

#honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #I’ll toss in ratio too bc I’m a sucker for Ratio constantly going along with Aventurine’s plans #ratio hsr #ratio honkai star rail #ratiorine #aventio #MAGICAL GIRL AVENTURINE #I NEED TO WRITE OUT MY MAGICAL GIRL LOVER AVENTURINE HEADCANON #PLZ HOYO I NEED AVEN TO FULLY EMBRACE IT #LET HIM TWIRL AS HE MAGICS INTO THOSE GODDAMN BOSS BOOTS #LET HIM FLOAT AND FLY AROUND ON SCREEN WITH SPARKLY BACKGROUND AND CONSTANT SOUND EFFECTS

[wayward-imp]

I feel like Zoro's three sword style and facility with counting would be a very transferrable skillset when it comes to making socks.

So now I headcanon that whenever he's got downtime not training or napping or bickering with Sanji, Zoro settles in to make socks for the crew.

The first pair he ever makes is actually for Nami. They are a little too big in that way that is actually perfectly slouchy and comfortable, and she secretly adores them and wears them on chilly nights while map making.

...I think he probably learned knitting from Perona, actually? So maybe he has socks for the whole crew when he gets back to Sabaody. Except Luffy, and Frankie, who obviously wouldn't wear them. And Brook, whose sizing he couldn't figure out (what would you even measure??). Those three get scarves.

He honestly tried to still make socks for Chopper, but... Well. There were obvious challenges to making socks for something furry and with hooves. He wound up making leg warmers. They have little snowflakes on them.

Usopp's socks are basic, with a bold horizontal stripe pattern in goldenrod yellow, reminiscent of the color of Sogeking's mask. Perona INSISTS on making some cute little felted sheep bobbles to go with them because the socks are Not Cute, but Zoro is too embarrassed to attach them. They become a bag charm. Zoro specifically tells him it's from Perona and smirks when he goes pale.

Robin's socks are better fitted, and slightly more elegant than Nami's, since he started on them so much later in his learning process. They have a whimsical floral motif, and are made from a yarn Perona picked out for her. It is quite possibly the softest thing Zoro has ever touched, and the socks feel like clouds when they're finished.

The real challenge turns out to be making socks for the cook. Sanji is fussy about his clothes, and Zoro knows how hard he is on his feet. He ends up making a very basic pair of suit socks in a deep, rich blue so dark it's nearly black... It takes him three times as long to make them as any other pair he's made, because he keeps starting over.

In fact, he's still working on them on the boat back to Sabaody. He finishes just in time, and Perona steals them away and wraps them up like everyone else's gifts before he can start over again. The first time Zoro sees Sanji light his own foot on fire, he winces and reconsiders whether he should even give them to him. But in the end he does anyway.

(Of course he also made socks for Perona and Mihawk. You think Perona taught him to knit for no reason? Hers are THIGH HIGHS, for fuck's sake! They took FOREVER.)

#roronoa zoro #one piece #Crew shenanigans #Zoro knits #headcanon #Knitting needles are kinda like tiny swords #zosan #Sock Lore #Sabaody arc #time skip

[poppitron360]

Ok so in another post I talked about all the reasons why Valzhang is better than Caleo, and I wanted to do one on Valgrace as well (lmk if this should become a series).

Bear in mind I am only on HoH- I haven’t read all of the Caleo bits yet, but I know she ain’t gonna treat him right.

I was originally SUPER sceptical about Valgrace (“I ship them platonically” “Jason is the Token Straight Friend”) and while I don’t think it was ever cannon I 100% THINK IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN.

Seriously, my eyes have been opened to Valgrace, to the point where the fanfic I’m writing about them currently clocks in at around 5,934 words.

I am OBSESSED. It is a PROBLEM.

And some of the fanarts/fanfics of them are SO CUTE I COULD DIE- it was hard NOT to ship them after reading some of y’all’s stuff. Keep up the good work.

Anyway buckle up ‘cause I’m ‘bouta write a whole dam essay on this.

1. The whole appeal of Jason Grace’s character is that he sees through your insecurities and lifts you up because he is too pure for this world. So narratively speaking, why is he with the most stable character? Yeah, Piper’s got issues, but compared to the others? She’s doing pretty well for herself. I mean, her parents are ALIVE!! Wouldn’t it just make more sense, narratively speaking, to put Jason with the MOST insecure character??? He can support Leo, help him in his arc, and it would give Jason a time to shine by highlighting his best qualities.

2. Throughout most of the books, Jason is the ONLY ONE who actually consistently sees through Leo’s mask. Everyone else’s POV of Leo is “Haha Leo said something funny and goofy and we’re all trying to be serious here, Leo. Gods, he’s soooo annoying!”, whereas Jason’s POV is like “Jason could see that Leo was desperately trying to keep it together for the good of the group, and he thought that was noble and brave and good and kind and awesome.” Like I said above, he’s able to lift Leo up because he sees him, and knows him. Something Calypso never did. There are several interactions, during TLH particularly, where Jason is just like “Hey, Leo? You are great. You are awesome. You have saved our lives multiple times. Whatever just went wrong, it wasn’t your fault. Stop beating yourself up about everything. You are a valued and respected member of this team. I love and appreciate you.” And Leo still puts up those walls with the jokes and the sarcastic remarks, and Jason is nothing but patient with him. Calypso was never like that.

3. I can’t find the line in the book, but there’s a bit in HoH where Jason’s worrying about the “To Storm or Fire, the World must fall” line in the prophecy, and he says words to the effect of “I like living, but I’d rather I die than Leo, anyway horses-” and seriously?? Rick missed a trick by not making them a couple. There is WAY more potential for angst if there’s that romantic feeling involved, knowing one of them is going to die, and both being willing to sacrifice themselves for one another like this is “Merchant of Venice” or something (I will explain the obscure Shakespeare reference in the comments). Calypso would never give up her LIFE for Leo, and Leo would only give up his because she’s hot.

4. Okay, most of this is copy-pasted from my post about Valzhang, but it still applies, and it applies to them maybe more so. They get so much more time together to establish a meaningful relationship. Their arc carries over all five books, and we get to form connections as a reader to them both, so the payoff is a lot more satisfying. Unlike Calypso, Jason is his own character separately, and not just an add-on to Leo’s arc. Their friendship is a key focus in their chapters, and a key point in their character development, as Jason is the first person Leo ever opens up to about his mom. When Calypso showed up, Leo had already gone through that journey of letting down those walls, so it was a lot less meaningful. They had little to no time to develop a relationship, and we never get a chance to care about Calypso as a person. She’s just kind of a plot point for Leo/Percy’s own development, and never her own character.

5. What separates Leo and Calypso from the other relationships in the series is that they were not written for each other. Frank and Hazel? Written for each other. Jason and Piper? Written for each other. Percy and Annabeth? FUCKING WRITTEN TO BE TOGETHER FOREVER. Cal was brought in during BoTL to cockblock Percabeth, and then Rick realised Leo “needed” a girlfriend, so picked her. But you know what two characters were written to be best friends right from the get-go? Like literally it’s established in the first couple pages of the first book? Jason and Leo. Much like how Valzhang were always meant to be rivals, Jason and Leo were always meant to be best friends.

6. Like I said in the last post, Leo doesn’t NEED a girlfriend. He can heal his trauma with friends and found family, learning to love and accept himself, learning that he doesn’t actually need the attention of a hot girl to be valid. Jason is the best person to help him on that journey, seeing as how his character thrives in uplifting others. The only person who ever loved Leo unconditionally died when he was eight. His blood relatives abandoned him, and he clearly wasn’t treated very well in the foster homes. He constantly feels like he has to work to prove he’s earned his place among the Seven because for him, family has never been a guarantee. Jason cares for Leo even when he’s fucked up, even when he’s a crying mess on the floor, even when he feels most like he doesn’t deserve to be cared for. Leo thinks he needs the attention of a hot girl to give him validation. What he really needs is to find a place among his brethren- and Jason offers him that place.

So, kids, that was it for today’s edition of “Why Literally Any Ship Is Better Than Caleo”. Tune in next time for our fav ✨trauma twinsies✨ Valdangelo!

#percy jackson #pjo fandom #percy jackson fandom #pjo #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa tsats #pjo hoo #valgrace #caleo #anti caleo #leo x jason #jason x leo #leo valdez pjo #leovaldez #pjo leo #leo pjo #all da ladies luv leo #leo valdez #pjo jason #jason grace pjo #jason pjo #jason grace #pjo jason grace #pjo calypso #calypso pjo #calypso #valzhang #riordan universe #riordanverse

[causenessus]

new grounds

part 0.15. EPILOGUE

PLAYING IN THE CAFE . . . roi by videoclub

she splits away from keiji as soon as their within the doors. he navigates through the crowds to find their seats while she makes her way towards yachi. despite the crowds of people she’s pushing through, she knows where she’s going–or more like she’ll know it when she sees it.

all she’s looking for is a tall stand with the sign “NEW GROUNDS” above it. if they were lucky, there should be a stand next to them with the sign “ONIGIRI MIYA.” whenever possible, the two franchises tried their best to place their stands next to each other. it was a cute little thing they did; both were stands that were in close relations with many of Japan’s volleyball teams. after yachi and her had taken over new grounds, they had even organized a few crossovers with onirigi miya to advertise upcoming volleyball matches. it sounded like a weird combination–coffee and onigiri–but people fell for it left and right nonetheless, and who was she to critique the tastes of others?

she catches sight of both signs at once and quietly squeals to herself, happy with how perfectly everything has gone so far. she squeezes through a few more groups of people to the side of the coffee stand, waving to osamu at the oinigiri stand whose noticed her arrival. he smiles and waves back, looking as nonchalant as usual.

she laughs at the difference between the two stands; both have long lines but while osamu is working by himself at a calm, manageable pace, yachi is running around everywhere, panicked, slamming down orders and yelling names. she gives the blonde a pat on the shoulder, letting her know that she’s arrived to help before she ties up her hair.

yachi begins to take another order while she prepares herself for the task at hand. she notes where everything is; the coffee, the hot water next to it, the fridge beneath the machines, the coffee cup lids that are for some reason in the farthest corner away from the actual coffee cups–she memorizes it all as best as she can.

her back is towards the register and line, keeping herself focused on whatever order will be next.

“can i just get a cup of cold milk, please?” she hears a customer ask and is already kicking open the fridge door.

“got it, y/n?” yachi asks as she cashes out the customer.

“yep,” she replies quickly, smiling to herself. the universe couldn’t have given her any more signs that today is the perfect day to it. how ironic was it that the first order she prepared today was a cup of milk?

she snaps the lid onto the cold clear cup before handing it to the awaiting customer. “here’s your order, sir,” she says with a smile, looking up at him for the first time just as he grabs it from her, brushing his hand over her own.

at first her pulse quickens, worried he’s a creepy stranger but then she recognizes him. he’s tried his best to disguise himself with a baseball cap, sunglasses, and face mask but he’s never been great at disguises. she could still recognize him even if his back was turned to her.

“tobio!” her face lights up with a smile as he removes his glasses and pulls down his mask, revealing a smile of his own.

“hi,” he greets, as simple as always. 

she can’t help herself and grabs his shirt, pulling him close to place a kiss on his cheek, “good luck today, love.” then she gives him a grin, “if you win, i have a surprise for you.” the small box in her pocket seems to get heavier at its mention.

“oh?” he raises his brows with a sly smile, “just like old times?”

“just like old times,” she agrees.

he reaches a hand up to caress the side of her face, “well good, ‘cause i have a surprise for you too if we win.”

her eyes widen with excitement at his words, “what? what is it? you have to tell me!”

he presses a kiss to her lips with a small laugh, “you’ll just have to wait and find out, love.”

“i love you guys and i’m sorry to interrupt but you are holding up the entire line,” yachi says, no remorse in her voice. they pull away immediately, the moment immediately cut short and a blush dusting both of their faces.

yachi’s been at this for too long, and y/n can’t blame her for being fed up with them.

“i have to pick up some onigiri for hinata, i’ll see you afterwards,” he gives her one last smile, “make sure you cheer for us.”

“of course,” she waves him off before looking at the long list of orders yachi has for her to complete. she’s dreading it, but it’s what she signed up for, and she knows it’ll all be worth it in the end. she has the entire day to look forward to, including a proposal.

prev. | m.list

extras <3

y/n and yachi now co-own new grounds, tobio had to quit but keiji still works there as a manager (who actually shows up <3)

y/n and keiji still stick together, applying to work on shows together and were just coming from doing a matinee to tobio's game

guys i tried really hard to understand how tournaments work but i could not for the life of me comprehend it </3

tobio ended up buying onigiri for everyone bc he texted the gc asking if anyone else wanted anything and got a chorus of "yes pls"s

osamu always gives yn a free onigiri box to give to keiji <3

onirigi miya and new grounds started to get close because they both were franchises invited to set up stands at stadiums and the owners found they had a lot in common <3

after the game y/n burst out of her seat and started running to get onto the court (she'd gotten permission thanks to bokuto talking to the higher ups)

which was also a funny moment because the vball team was talking and bokuto was suddenly shot up saying "oh i need to go talk to the stadium managers" and kageyama was like, "i do too...🤨"

once the game had ended and the teams had congratulated each other, tobio was looking for y/n which he's become a pro at and literally panicked when he couldn't find her

then she was right in front of him and she got down on one knee and the entire crowd cheered while tobio froze

hinata came running out with tobio's ring box and he got down on one knee and they both started laughing-crying

thank you all for reading!!! i had so much fun with this smau i hope u guys did too <3

taglist: @ncitygreen @lvrlamp @cherrypieyourface @mimi3lover @lees-chaotic-brain @frootloopscos @0moonii @cr4yolaas @eggyrocks @pinkiscool @httpakkeiji @localgaytrainwreck @lunaviee @kitty-m30w @lixie-phoria @aliruuiz @corvid007 @iluv-ace @yvjitadori @k8nicole @ryeyeyer @thechaosoflonging @kettlepop @r0seandth0rns @rinheartshyunlix @lucky-chars @par4disee @vixx-11 @luvkvni @does-directions @whykirbo @reminiscentyearn @mylahrins

#kageyama tobio #tobio kageyama #kageyama x reader #kageyama smau #haiykuu smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader

[oliversrarebooks]

Brainwashing Chair CYOA - Get the mask off your face

Masterlist

tw: pet whump, drugging, conditioning, captivity, discussion of brain surgery

Fighting the effects of the drug trying to turn your mind to sleepy mush, you try to rally yourself. If you want any chance of resisting this, you're going to have to get the mask off of your face as soon as possible. The sedatives are already sinking into your brain and making you feel so docile and sleepy and euphoric, and if it goes on for much longer, you're not going to have any ability to fight.

Your arms and legs are firmly strapped in, but not your head. Holding your breath as much as possible and rubbing the back of your head against the back of the chair, you can feel the strap holding the mask on shift upwards. You turn your head and push the mask against your shoulder, hoping to dislodge it. After a few moments of uncomfortable wriggling fueled by one last reserve of adrenaline, you manage to break the mask's seal around your face, pushing it away from your mouth and nose and onto your cheek.

You gasp for fresh, clean air, and your head starts to clear. There's still sedative gas pumping in from the mask stuck to your face, but you're getting a much smaller dose of it now. Your fear returns as you wake up. You knew that pet processing was unethical -- the entire reason you undertook this mission -- but you weren't expecting to be drugged and brainwashed the moment you arrived. And it very nearly might have worked, if you weren't struggling so hard, or if the workers were more attentive.

Even with your regained faculties, the straps holding your arms and legs to the chair are too strong to budge. You manage to nudge the headphones off and they drop in your lap. You know very well that you've only bought a short period of freedom.

There's nothing to do now but keep yourself awake and think about your situation. You hope at least that the footage and information will be useful to your journalist group. It's undeniable proof that the pet processing facilities use unethical methods to train unwilling pets. If you have to sacrifice your mind and your identity for this information, you can only hope that it makes a difference.

The door opens and the lights flick on, the man from earlier entering the room. You shake yourself, not sure when you zoned out or for how long. He scowls at you.

"I thought you promised you'd be obedient, and here you are with the mask and headphones off," he says.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble," you say. "I was sitting here quietly…"

He puts both hands on your bound wrists and leans in close to your face. "You think you're clever for this, don't you?" he says in a firm, intimidating voice. "Cleverness is not a trait that we desire in pets. Keep it up, and you'll be scheduled for a procedure that removes your cleverness permanently."

"What kind of procedure is that?" you say, blood running cold with fear.

"Brain surgery. I don't know what it is exactly they do, because I'm no surgeon myself, but I do see the pets go in there kicking and screaming and come out docile and compliant, with big dumb smiles on their faces. So you'd better not push your luck."

"Y-yeah." Pet liberation organizations have long suspected the use of neurosurgery in pet processing, based on scars sometimes found on pets, but the processing facilities had always denied it. They had the evidence recorded now -- at least you hope.

"I'm telling you this because we don't have time on the schedule for redoing your conditioning right now, so I have to take you to the dorms. But I'm putting this down as another strike against you, so you're on thin ice. Don't give me trouble unless you want to see the inside of an operating room, okay?"

With the leg restraints still in place, he undoes your hand restraints and easily cuffs your hands together. He keeps a firm grip on the cuffs as he removes the leg restraints and pulls you up. You still feel groggy and dizzy from the amount of sedative you absorbed, but you're mostly okay.

"Follow me. We're just going to the dorms," he says, pulling on the cuffs. "You know that resisting like this is just going to make it worse for you, right? You've already signed up to be a pet, and it'll go a lot easier and faster if you just cooperate."

#whump #whump writing #brainwashing #brainwashing chair cyoa #whump cyoa #drugging #conditioning #pet whump

[foxaftershocks]

Not sure if you're still taking prompts but if you are may I politely request what lars would do for your anniversary in the ghost boy series 👀 (your writing is so good btw 💕)

Such a polite request gets a polite bit of writing. (I don't think it's that polite but I think it's fun).

“What’s this?”

A box was sitting on your desk, a red rose laying across the white surface. It had appeared in the short time it had taken for you to go get another cup of coffee, caffeine necessary to get through the rest of your work. Lars was sitting in your chair, looking a touch smug at your surprise.

“Something I hope you’re going to wear tonight,” he replied.

“Is this lingerie, ghost boy?” you asked, stepping between his parted legs, “are you hoping to get lucky tonight?”

You loved flustering him. He did not disappoint. Twinkling eyes above pink cheeks, lips pulling up in a self conscious smile, he was a picture you could stare at forever.

“It’s a dress,” he replied, “a nice one.”

One of your hands gently curled around the nape of his neck, enjoying the way his chin had to tip up to look at you. Playing with his hair, a rumble went through his chest, almost like a pur. One thing you’d learnt about Lars Pinfield in the last year was that he loved having his hair played with. His hand landed on your waist, thumb running in a comforting circle.

“Are we going out tonight?” you asked.

“I’m not ruining the surprise,” he said, blinking his eyes open.

His face was so soft, expression full of love. It was a new one, one you were still growing used to. He usually kept it behind a mask, not wanting to let the others see it. It was a privilege to see him so open, so vulnerable.

“Alright, I’ll wear your dress, ghost boy,” you said, leaning down to give him a chaste kiss, “keep your secrets. Mystery is sexy.”

“You already find me sexy,” he said.

“I dunno.” You squinted down at him, “you’re kind of a nerd.”

He pinched your hip and you laughed, leaning down to kiss him again.

“Alright, I think you’re the sexiest man alive,” you said, “even more than George Clooney.”

“I knew it.”

The flush of pride on his cheeks had you pressing a kiss to his cheek. There was something about him that brought out a soft side to you, playful and joyful and all you wanted was to drown in him.

“I’ll meet you at home,” he said, rising from your chair.

The brush of lips against your temple was his parting goodbye and you glowed as you sat at your desk. Raising the rose to your nose, you inhaled the sweet scent. At times, Lars could surprise you with how romantic he could be.

Watching the clock tick down, it didn’t matter how much caffeine you consumed, there was no getting through all your work. Stupid nerd with his ability to distract you with his mystery. You were spending too much time thinking about him, wondering what he had planned.

The moment the clock ticked over to five you were out of your chair, collecting your stuff and making your way out of the lab. You didn’t see Lars at his usual station, only making the gnawing need to know growing larger.

He wasn’t in the apartment when you got there. You checked every room to make sure. There was no hint of what was to come or what he had planned. There was nothing to point you in the right direction. All you could do was slip into the dress he’d bought you.

Red silk brushed your skin, clinging to your curves in a way that made you feel breathless. Turning in the mirror, looking at the way your body looked, it made you smile wide. You loved it. You felt beautiful.

Sitting in front of the mirror, you did your best to do makeup that matched, a cat eye and a red lip. It had been a while since you’d had reason to wear such a look. You had to hope it was appropriate for whatever he had planned. If only he’d told you.

You pulled out the door, expecting to wait for him to return him. You weren’t expecting for your tiny living room to be strung in fairy lights, a small table covered in a white tablecloth in the centre of the room drawing your attention. Your breath caught, heart fluttering.

“Wait, no, hang on.”

Lars slid into view, raising a hand to cover your eyes before you could look at him properly. You laughed, letting him blind you to whatever he was doing. He let out a huff and you were sure he was looking perfectly annoyed at you.

“You weren’t meant to be ready yet,” he said.

“Sorry,” you laughed, “I didn’t even know you were home.”

“Good. It was meant to be a surprise,” he said.

“Can I look yet, ghost boy?” you asked, raising one hand to curl your fingers around his wrist.

“No,” he snapped, “back in the bedroom until I call for you.”

“So demanding,” you sighed but you smiled up at where you knew his face was to ease the sting.

“I just need another twenty minutes,” he said.

His lips pressed to yours, fleeting, there and then gone again before you were pushed back a step into the bedroom again. The door slammed closed, leaving you alone once again, staring at a closed door.

With a roll of your eyes you took a seat on the side of the bed. Straining your ears, you couldn’t hear him, not even a small sound. You eased your heels off, an idea coming to you. On tiptoes, you crept towards the door, pressing your ear to it, trying to hear him. You gave it a few minutes before you eased the door open, just a crack, peeking out.

The lights were twinkling and something smelled delicious. Pushing the door open more, you stepped out again, keeping as quiet as possible. Lars was in the kitchen, his back to you, not even humming under his breath like he usually would. He was in what looked like a suit, an apron over the top protecting him from whatever her was making. You crept towards him on silent feet.

Slipping your arms around his waist you felt him stiffen. You pressed your face between his shoulder blades, tightening your arms.

“You’re meant to be in the bedroom,” he said.

“While I do enjoy being in there, I prefer when you’re in there with me, ghost boy,” you replied, trying to diffuse any anger before it could build.

“I’m trying to surprise you,” he grumbled, sounding frustrated.

“I appreciate the attempt but you saw me looking all sexy in this dress you bought me and didn’t even seem to notice,” you said, chiding him.

He gently pried your arms from around him, turning to look at you. His gaze swept over your body, lingering in an appreciative way.

“You’re beautiful, darling,” he said, “you’re so beautiful.”

“There ya go,” you said, pushing up onto your toes to kiss him.

His arm curled around your waist, holding you against him and you were sure he was done being annoyed by you. At least for the night. You drew back, lowering back to your feet, his arm still around you.

“You’re looking pretty handsome yourself there, ghost boy,” you said.

You loved the way his cheeks always seemed to flush when you openly admired him.

“I’m trying to cook you dinner,” he said, head dipping towards you.

“I’m not stopping you.” You stepped back from him, “I’ll just be over here watching you.”

“You’ll… why?” he asked.

“You’re pretty sexy when you cook,” you replied, pushing yourself up onto the counter.

He paused for a moment before a smug look settled on his face. He turned back to the stove and you let yourself admire him. Some days you were shocked you’d gotten so lucky to get someone like him in your life. Even if the beginning was a bit rocky.

He looked over your shoulder, catching you watching him. You smiled, realising you could see your lipstick smudged over his lips. You crooked a finger at him, tempting him closer. He stepped towards you, eyes sweeping over you again and you could feel yourself heat under his gaze.

“Such a mess,” you said, thumb swiping over his bottom lip.

He caught it between his teeth, pressing down for just a moment.

“Careful,” you warned, “you keep on like that and we’ll never make it to dinner.”

“But I have such a nice evening planned for you,” he said.

“Then stop being so irresistible.”

He chuckled, drawing back from you to finish up his work. You grinned to yourself, watching him with an appreciative eye. Sometimes you felt like a teenager, not able to get enough of him. He caught your eye when he glanced back.

“Stop it,” he said.

“Stop what?” you asked.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said.

“Can’t I admire my handsome boyfriend?” you asked.

“Not if you want to eat tonight,” he replied.

“Maybe I want dessert before dinner,” you said, shooting him a wink.

“Stop it,” he said again.

You laughed, and he softened, turning back to the stove. You slipped from the counter, coming to stand beside him, not able to stop yourself from being close to him. You constantly fell into his gravity, like magnets you were drawn to him.

“I thought I gave you instructions,” he said.

“When have I ever done what you tell me, ghost boy?” you replied.

“You seem to enjoy following my instructions when I’m making you orgasm over and over again,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Well, that’s different,” you said, “I get something out of that.”

“You’ll get something out of this if you’ll just give me a minute,” he grumbled.

You caught his chin, pulling him down until you could press a kiss to his cheek. With your thumb you wiped away the smudged red lipstick you’d left behind. His smile was beleaguered, like he was putting up with your antics but you could see the naughty twinkle in his eye.

You slipped away from him again, giving him the space he needed to finish up with dinner. It only took him another minutes before he was plating up. You watched him walk past with both plates, your favourite meal floating past. You followed, not even thinking about it, mouth watering.

He held your chair out for you, ever the gentleman, before he poured you both a glass of wine. Taking his own seat across from you, he hit a button on a remote, soft classical music playing through the tiny apartment. He raised his glass to you and you followed suit.

“What are we toasting to?” you asked.

“To the best year of my life, and to the love of my life,” he said.

You weren’t used to him being so sincere.

“Are you getting all sentimental on me, ghost boy?” you asked.

“Yes,” he replied, “I believe I am.”

“I love you.”

It was clear he would never grow tired of you saying it. The smile on his face was bright and you could feel yourself falling for him even more. Your foot brushed his leg under the table and you felt him lean into the touch.

“To us,” you said.

“To us,” he repeated, clinking his glass against yours.

You took a sip, gazing at him, feeling sentimental yourself. You still couldn’t get over how lucky you were that he chose you and continued to choose you every single day.

“Go on, dig in,” he said, nodding towards the food.

Your first bite brought a moan to your lips. Lars had obviously kept just how good of a cook he was from you. There was a brightness in his eyes, one that promised you that wouldn’t be the only time you moaned that night.

“Sweetheart, this is amazing,” you said.

“Thank you,” he said.

He always reacted in the sweetest way when you complimented him. You made a mental note to give him more. The way he reacted made you want to do nothing but shower him in them. Perhaps he hadn’t heard enough of them in the past.

“Maybe you should do more of the cooking from now on,” you teased.

“I don’t know about that,” he said but he softened before your very eyes, “I still think you’re better in the kitchen than I am.”

“We could do it together,” you suggested, brushing your foot against his leg again.

“I’d like that,” he said, voice soft, smile softer.

You settled into silence for a while, enjoying the meal. He was watching you, a candle lit on the table between the two of you, another single rose in a glass vase in the middle of the table. You reached over, taking his hand, pulling it up to kiss his fingertips. You could watch the way he melted from your actions. He might not say it, but he absolutely responded so positively to physical affection, even if he wasn’t always the best at initiating it.

“You slipped out of work before I left today,” you said, “usually I have to drag you out of there.”

“I had some things to buy,” he said.

“You didn’t want to go out?” You were curious about it, why he’d opted for a home cooked meal over taking you somewhere.

“I wanted you all to myself,” he replied, “did I choose wrong?”

The way his eyebrows drew together made your heart fill with fondness, the worry so apparent. You pressed another kiss to him hand.

“This is perfect,” you said.

“Really?” He really wanted to know.

“I don’t have to beat the other women away from you if I have you locked up in my tower,” you said, offering him a half smile.

He ducked his head. He still didn’t seem to quite understand the effect he had on the internet, the clamouring from people to see him on the socials. You’d tried to explain that he was the handsome face the women wanted to see and he always brushed it off that it was about the science. You kind of loved that he was so oblivious to his own deliciousness. He was all yours, and while sometimes you had to deal with other women wanting him, you’d never noticed his eye straying for even a moment.

“Besides, if we’re here we can do this,” he said, recovering himself.

He stood, offering you one hand. You took it, letting him pull you to his feet. He placed your hand on his shoulder, taking the other in a gentle hold. His arm curled around your waist and he slowly swayed to the music playing. You felt yourself melting. He’d never been this romantic with you. Your hand slid along his shoulder to curl around the back of his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I really do love you, darling,” he said.

“I know you do, ghost boy,” you said, “and I love you too.”

“Thank god for that,” he sighed.

You laughed, pressing your face to his shoulder. He held you closer, still swaying, lips brushing against your temple. He hummed along, the vibrations in his chest buzzing against you. Listening to him, you realised you’d never been so comfortable with another person. You could have stayed there forever and been happy.

“You’ve done amazingly tonight,” you said, muffled against his suit jacket.

“I was worried you wouldn’t like it,” he said.

“You could have planned a night at the most boring lecture on microbes and I would have enjoyed it if you were there,” you said, “but this is definitely better. Don’t take me to a boring lecture on microbes.”

“Not even if they’re ghost microbes?” he asked.

“Oh god, you want to take me to a boring lecture on ghost microbes,” you groaned, burying your face against his chest.

“I suppose I could see if Phoebe wanted to go,” he mused.

“You’re awful,” you laughed, hitting his chest, “take Phoebe. Then come home and tell me all about it. I’d much rather listen to you than some stuffy old professor.”

“Whatever you want, darling,” he said, lips pressing to your temple again.

“Now, do you want your present?” you asked.

“You got me something?” He brightened again.

“Kind of. You’ll reap the benefits of it,” you said.

His eyes dragged down your body, obvious intrigue in his eyes. You grinned, pushing up onto your toes to kiss him again. You weren’t sure you’d ever stop kissing him if you had your way.

“I have one last surprise for you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Lars,” you sighed, but a happy sigh, “you’re spoiling me.”

“I am,” he confirmed, rummaging for something hidden amongst the couch cushions.

“I don’t deserve this,” you said.

“You don’t even know what it is,” he replied.

“I meant all of it.”

He turned, holding out a box to you. You reached for it, unsure what was hidden inside, but like a kid one Christmas, anticipation was building. Opening it, you felt your breath catch. A diamond stared up at you, encased in a small circle of rose gold, hanging from a chain. It was like a star, caught in the palm of your hand.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“You remember that meteorite that we followed a few months ago?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, “I got some pretty cool content from it. People loved seeing you in the field, ghost boy.” “Hush.” He lent down, kissing you to shut you up. It was successful.

After you’d forgotten what you’d been saying he drew back, smirking down at you as if he knew exactly how much you wanted him. He definitely did. You didn’t keep it a secret how hot you found him.

“After we brought that meteorite back to the lab to analyse, I found this diamond embedded in it. It’s from space and and I thought it was perfect for you because you are the guiding star of my life, and shine so bright,” he said, gently taking the necklace from the box in your hand.

His fingers brushed the skin of your throat, securing the diamond around your neck. You touched it, featherlight, finding it nestled between your collarbones. He traced the chain and you shivered, looking up into his eyes, head bowed towards you.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” you asked, feeling breathless.

“Probably were a saint in another life,” he replied, “or maybe you saw how brilliant I was and told the entire world until I stopped being an idiot and saw I wasn’t the only brilliant one in the lab.” “Probably that second one,” you said, wrinkling your nose at him.

“I’m just trying to show you how special you are,” he said, going back to being serious, “do you know how special you are?”

“I’m beginning to realise it,” you replied.

“Happy anniversary, darling,” he whispered.

“Happy anniversary, ghost boy,” you replied.

You sealed the moment with a kiss.

#lars pinfield #lars pinfield imagine #lars pinfield x reader #request #anon

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Every Inch of You

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: reader is fighting demons (insecurities), very specific descrpitions of body image related insecurities- like the reader is literally picking herself apart in a mirror, hella praise, body worship, fingering, edging, multiple orgasms, creampie, cockwarming, pseudo voyeurism/exhibitionism (he fucks her in front of a mirror idk) I think that's everything

Genre: starts off pretty angsty, we transition to smut and end with fluff!

Summary: Insecurities can be quite rough on you but your boyfriend has no intentions of letting you go through it alone

***

You frown at your reflection as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Today has been a rough day. Nothing in particular happened. You went to work, you ran some errands, you did normal daily things, but for some reason you've been in such a weird mood and now you're stuck in a vortex, picking apart yourself apart in the fucking mirror. You really ought to go to the gym more often, or- stop snacking at night, have your pores always been so noticeable? Since when do you have so many stretch marks? You can't see your toes over your stomach- god that's embarrassing. You let out a long sigh as you bite back the tears stinging the back of your eyes. You hate this. It doesn't usually get this bad and the worst part is you know it's not real, you know you're not some hideous monster but it doesn't stop that nasty voice in your head from warping your perception some days and when that happens nothing you say to yourself changes it. But man does it suck, because most of the time you have all the confidence in the world, you've worked very hard on it. Days like this make it feel like you're still some lost little kid desperate to find your place in the world with no sense of self. You should just walk away. If you can't see yourself, you can't pick your appearance apart. But your feet feel glued to the floor, as if they can't remember how to move, as if it's the most impossible task you've ever been given.

"Alright that's enough. You'll lose your mind standing here." You tell yourself, shaking your head in hopes of getting out of this dreary mood. You finally step away from the mirror and head to your closet to put on some clothes post shower. You throw on a hoodie and some shorts and leave your room.

"Babe?!" You hear as you walk down the hall. Sounds like your boyfriend's back.

"Hey love, welcome home." You meet him by the door and he kisses you on the cheek.

"Hope you haven't made dinner yet beautiful because I brought take out." Luke tells you holding up the bag with an excited grin.

"Take out's good. You wanna shower first or dive straight in?" You ask him.

"Would you mind terribly if I showered first?"

"Not at all. Go ahead." You take the food from him and nod your head towards the bathroom.

"I'll be quick!" He kisses you once more and jogs down the hall. You set the food on the living room table and watch TV while waiting for Luke. You hope you're able to keep it together for the few hours you'll be spending with Luke before bed. Considering its a weekday, you don't have to keep the mask up for that long. True to his word, Luke is quick to return, maybe 15 minutes pass by the time he plops down next to you on the couch. "Alright! Let's eat!" He announces, opening the takeout bag. He hands you your food before digging into his own.

"How was work today?" You ask him.

"Fine, tedious. Was mostly doing paperwork today." He shrugs. "How was your day cupcake?"

"Work was work and then I ran some errands. No fun stories here unfortunately. How's everyone?"

"Well, Spencer was giving a guest lecture today so he wasn't around since we didn't have an actual case. Garcia was telling me about some woman that seems to have his attention at the uni though."

"Is Pen keeping tabs on Spencer at the college? He'll literally hate that when he finds out." You frown.

"That's what I told her but you know how she can be. Especially with how sometimes things- go wrong when we meet new people."

"I mean if she's just a coworker, Penelope's getting ahead of herself don't you think? He probably hasn't even made a move on her." You say.

"He hasn't. You're right but it's not like she can be stopped." Luke chuckles.

"Yeah I guess so." You hum.

"Alright, what's wrong, princess?" Luke frowns.

"What do you mean?"

"You've barely touched your food. Did you think I wasn't gonna notice you've only been picking at it? Do you not like it? Do you want to eat something else?"

"No it, it's fine, I just- I'm honestly not all that hungry I guess." You sigh.

"What do you mean you're not all that hungry? What've you eaten today?"

"A bagel for breakfast and a salad for lunch." You shrug. Luke checks the clock in your living room.

"Lunch was 8 hours ago, all you had was a bowl of rabbit food and you expect me to accept that you don't want to eat your favorite food? Come on, spill it baby what's going on with you?"

"Nothing's going on. I dunno I just- feel weird." You mutter, avoiding his gaze. Dating a profiler is so irritating sometimes, can't he just ignore your body language for once?

"Weird how?"

"We don't, have to do this. It's not a big deal babe." You mumble.

"You're not eating y/n it is absolutely a big deal."

"Luke-" you sigh.

"Don't 'Luke' me, what's going on?" He frowns.

"I'd really rather not discuss anything there's no need, seriously."

"Baby, don't shut me out. You can't shut me out. We're in this together, always. You've gotta tell me what's going on in your head." He caresses your cheek gently. You sigh, unable to justify holding out on him when he speaks so softly, with such care.

"I've just been having a bad mental day. Nothing's happened, but I, just feel uncomfortable in my body, and it's hard to deal with let alone talk about." You say, tears burning behind your eyes again.

"Baby," he says, concern contorting his features.

"It's fine, I'll get over it. Today's just been a rough one. It happens. Sometimes my insecurities flare up out of nowhere but that's life, I don't want you to worry." You shake your head.

"Do you know me at all princess?"

"What?"

"My baby, my darling, the love of my life, my reason for being, is stuck in her own head hating her body, the body I live to worship, the body I can't get enough of and you want me to simply 'not worry about it'? That ain't happening." He stands up.

"Luke." You grumble as he grabs your hands.

"No no no no, no complaining, up you go." He pulls you off the couch and lifts you into his arms.

"Ah! Luke what are you doing?" You ask, throwing your hands around his neck as he princess carries you down the hall.

"Well if that nasty little voice in your head wants to lie to you, I'll simply have to remind you myself of all the reasons ever inch of you is perfect." He says matter-of-factly.

"I do not like the sound of that." You tell him.

"And I don't like the sound of you feeling uncomfortable with yourself." Luke shrugs.

"Well that's not-" You stop yourself with a sigh, not even sure what your comeback would be. In your bedroom, Luke carefully lowers you to the ground in front of the mirror with your back facing him.

"I want to help you to see yourself the way that I do." He says softly. He kisses your neck lightly and gently lifts your gaze to meet his in the reflection. "Ask me how I see you." His fingers brush against your thighs as he speaks.

"How do you see me?" You whisper hesitantly. You're not sure you even want to know, but his lips against your throat and his hands on your skin are rather persuasive.

"You, mi amor, are the sun at the center of my universe, if ever I was asked to describe perfection I would simply describe you." Luke slides his hands up under your hoodie caressing your skin.

"Luke." Your brow furrows. This can't possibly be sexy for him, he's only touching your stomach to comfort you, he'd probably prefer it if-

"Relax baby." Luke whispers. You didn't even realize you'd sucked your stomach in against his touch unconsciously, as if you could hide from him your size. You slowly untense your muscles, cringing at the way you fill his large hands. "I'm going to take this off of you, is that alright baby?" He asks.

"Well," can you really handle looking at yourself again?

"You can say no if you want princess, but I need you to stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere." You say.

"Physically maybe, but I can see your mind wandering off." He kisses your temple. "Don't go."

"You can take it off." You whisper. Luke tugs the hoodie over your head not a moment later, tossing it somewhere in the room, out of sight. He lets out a sigh as his eyes trail over your body through the reflection. You can still feel the heat of his gaze in the mirror and weirdly enough it feels undeserved. He looks at you like that all the time but, tonight you just can't understand what would make him look at you with such want.

"God, you're gorgeous." He sighs placing his hands on your hips again. Luke places kisses on your shoulder. "Your skin is so soft, I can never get enough of touching you, kissing you, holding you." He says. He slides his hands up your sides to cup your breasts. "So perfect, I love the weight of your tits in my hands." His thumbs stroke over your nipples and the light stimulation makes your breath catch in your throat. He twists and tugs at your nipples, enjoying the little whimpers you let out. "You make the prettiest noises when I touch you baby."

"Luke-" you whine, your head lolling against his shoulder.

"Uh uh, head up princess, you've gotta watch. Watch me touch you, worship you, and watch how your body reacts to me, see for yourself how captivating you look." Luke gently shrugs his shoulder to push your head forward. You force your eyes to focus back on your reflections in the mirror, the sight of his hands kneading your breasts with rough fingers toying with your nipples to create hardened peaks only serves to make you squirm more against him. He keeps at it until your breathing is heavy, then one hand slides down, pausing to rub your tummy, "You may not believe me but this, I love this. Growing up it meant you were eating well, taken care of. And I like to think I take good care of you. I want it to show." He says kissing your neck. "Plus it's excellent for cuddles." He winks with a smile that makes you giggle. "I like that sound even more than your little whimpers, but I'm about to get a lot more of those." Luke's hand continues down, pushing your shorts down enough for you to kick them off. His hand caresses your thigh.

"You're teasing." You pout.

"You look cute when you pout." He chuckles. "But I'll be nice." His voice drops as he slips two fingers between your folds. You arch you back against his touch as his digits toy with your cunt. Luke knows your body maybe better than you do and his hand makes quick work of bringing you to the edge. Your head tips back again, instinctively and his movements slow when he catches it. The sudden change drags your gaze to his in the mirror, a silent question in your eyes when you whine. "If you want to cum pretty girl you have to watch yourself do it."

"But-"

"No buts, keep your eyes open and on the mirror." He says stroking you faster now that your attention is back on your reflection. Again when you feel your orgasm creeping up your spine your head drifts back and again Luke slows his hand almost to a stop.

"No!" You cry out as your release slips away.

"I already told you princess, your eyes have to stay on your reflection." He says waiting for your breathing to calm slightly before his fingers work you again. This time, you manage to keep your head forward, but your eyes still slide closed from the pleasure. Unfortunately for you your boyfriend is very observant and closed eyes still break the rule, so his fingers slow again.

"Fffffffffffffuck me." You grit out, frustrated from his edging game.

"I'll keep doing this until you get it right mi amor. Keep your eyes open." He says beginning again. This time, you steel yourself. You don't think you can handle another denial. The signs of release return quickly with his hands on you and though your lids desperately want to close you keep them open even as they threaten roll back in bliss as you finally cum with a breathy moan. "That's it, so fucking stunning." Luke says as he strokes you through the aftershocks. Your legs are still shaking and your chest is still heaving when Luke lifts you again. "I'm not finished with you yet, but this next bit will be easier in the bathroom. So you have something to hold onto." He says carrying you into the bathroom. He sets you down facing the large mirror over the sink. "I'd do this in the bedroom but you won't be able to see yourself if I fuck you right up against the mirror." Luke says in your ear and the words send a shiver down your spine. "Place your hands on the mirror sweetheart. Let me show you how badly I crave every inch of you." He says with a hand stroking your ass. You lean forward enough for your warm hands to touch the cool glass. Your eyes follow Luke's in the mirror as they trail over your skin hungrily while he frees himself from his sweatpants. He wastes no time sinking into you with a groan and though he gave no warning you moan at the stretch of him filling you. The look on his face as he settles into your heat can only be described as euphoric and it's one you could never get tired of seeing on him. After a moment his eyes peel open again and catch yours in the reflection. He gives you a smirk before his hands tighten against your hips and he sets a rhythm that explains why you needed something to hold onto. His thrusts are harsh and deep and have moans spilling uncontrollably from your lips. Luke's eyes are locked on yours in the mirror as he fucks you. "God you're beautiful, perfect, you've got the- prettiest eyes that sparkle when you laugh, and look so good rolling back when I make you cum." He hums.

"Oh Luke." You moan part of that was sweet, part if it made your walls clench around his dick.

"You're perfectly soft for hugging or cuddling and it doesn't hurt that I have plenty to hold onto when I wanna fuck you stupid." Luke says and if he weren't currently doing just that you might've laughed at his words, but the moaning makes it hard. "If I could spend all my days wrapped in your arms, buried in your heat- you have no idea how quickly I'd do it." You can feel your cheeks heating up from his, mostly, sweet words, so contrasting from the way he's railing you. "God I love you so much." He groans.

"I- I love you too Luke, more than- more than you know." You pant out.

"Fuck I'm close." He grits out. One of his hands wraps around your waist and finds your clit. It doesn't take much, a few well focused circles of your sensitive bundle of nerves and you're shaking as your orgasm hits, your walls clamping down so tightly around Luke's dick it pulls his orgasm from him too. His hips stop flush against yours as hot spurts flood your inner walls. You practically slump against the bathroom counter as the waves of your release die down. You're not quite sure how he manages but Luke turns you around and lifts you in his arms again somehow without fully pulling out of you. He walks you both over to the bed and lays down with you on top of him, soft dick still buried in your heat. Luke lifts your head from his chest to get your attention.

"I love every part of you with all that I am." He says.

"Thank you. I love you too." You say softly.

"I know insecurities are no easy battle but, yours is a body the Greeks would build statues for. It pains me that you see yourself as less than idolized."

"I'll admit it's much harder to feel that way when you react like this."

"Well I'll just have to make a habit of it then." He kisses your forehead.

"I- can't say I'm opposed to that suggestion." You hum.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And where we on food? Did your appetite come back any?" He asks, hand stroking soothingly down your back.

"Yeah but- I'm too tired to move." You mumble into his chest and he laughs.

"Don't worry I won't make you get up now. I'm sure after a nap your body will convince you to get up and eat, until then let's just lay here."

"Perfect that's exactly what I planned to do." You sigh as you snuggle closer to him. Maybe your insecurities will beat your ass every once in a while, but you smile knowing Luke will be there to fight them with you and that is more than enough for you.

***

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez #luke alvez smut #luke alvez fluff

[pizzaapeteer]

Hey I’m kinda new to the fandom and at first I thought these guys were actually casted as the 🐍 boys but I looked it up and they’re just in random shows. Was this like a fancast or something? How come everyone agreed to use the same actors when writing about the guys? I need to know the lore😭

Hi hi hi theeeee biggest apology for taking forever to respond. pls accept my love 💛🌟 SO, I haven't actually read any of the original fanfictions that Lorenzo (Enzo) Berkshire, Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott are from. Though I know Theo is canon, there is a fanfiction that gave him more of a personality and I believe where he got his fancast face from. If im correct all the original fanfiction for these characters started on wattpad. Please I apologise if I get any of this info incorrect its just what I've picked up myself or learnt from friends.

Mattheo Riddle I believe he was created from the fanfiction Possessive by yasmineamaro. It's a draco Malfoy fic but he's a character that gets introduced in it. I only know this based off what friends have told me. I know his face claim is Benjamin Wadsworth and the most pics are taken from when he was in Deadly Class. Which I recommend watching if you haven't, it's a good show and he's gorgeous in it. Mattheo seems to be switched between Tom Riddles son/brother depending on who writes the fic, but is originally Tom and Bellatrix's son.

His original personality is also described as cold, possessive, jealous, or at least that's how I was introduced to the character and like to try mostly keep him. Of course, with fanfiction you can bend characters in a way that fits the plot or scenario of your fic and character (reader). The original fic looks to have been taken down, but this link explains what the book is about and Mattheo's character.

Lorenzo Berkshire Enzo I believe came from the fanfiction Filthy created by babynaomi. Another original Draco Malfoy fanfiction haha and him as more of a side character. His face claim is Louis Partridge original picked from Enola Holmes. Also he is adorable in that, especially the second film. Enzo in this fic is a fucking prick. He's a perverted, slimy git who manipulates and uses women. Again Louis is so adorable its easy to think of Enzo as super sweet, I try to find a blend between the two personalities. But always trying to remember that Enzo is a Slytherin for a reason. Pretty sure his mother is also bellatrix, so he’s suppose to be Mattheos half-brother and Draco’s cousin. Don’t quote me on that 🫢

Theodore Nott Theo is originally mentioned in the Harry Potter series and in the Cursed child. From what I know, he was a part of Draco Malfoy's gang, and his father was a death eater who was caught in the Order of the Pheonix with Lucius. Also that he invented the time turner in the Cursed child and sent to Azkaban by Harry as an adult. But his fanfiction which gives him more of a personality that I base my writing on at least, and the one I discovered he was in, is Secret and Masks by Emerald_Slytherin. His face claim is Lorenzo Zurzolo from the Italian show Baby. Also, another good show, and I fucking love his hair in that.

I'm not sure how everyone just came to agree but I bloody love that we all did. When I first got into them those were just the three guys already picked as face claims and I love them all and the personalities that have been picked. I hope this helped, I assume you already discovered this out since I took so long, but I appreciate you reaching out 💛 I need to read these og fics tbh

#answering sweet asks #I hope this helped #and I hope I’m mostly factually correct 🫢🙃 #slytherin boys #theodore nott #enzo berkshire #Mattheo riddle #Slytherin boys lore

[heliza24]

I have always been fascinated by the way that disability has been portrayed in this show (short version: I love it, esp Daniel), and after ep 3 I am thinking specifically about how the show addresses issues of eugenics.

The decision to set the Paris storyline in post WWII means eugenics is in the air. The coven members can criticize Louis and Claudia’s past burning of victims as “kind of German” and make a point to eat ex Nazis on stage (the victim this ep has a German name), but they themselves live by a code of conduct based around eugenics, a very Nazi ideal. It's right there in the rules: "never give the dark gift to children or cripples". (As a proud crip, all I can say to that is "FUCK YOU Santiago"). The coven is concerned with keeping the vampire species “pure” and “strong”, whatever the hell that means.

But I think it’s important to note the difference between flawed characters embracing an ideology and a work as a whole embracing it. The show tells us, over and over again, that the coven’s logic is wrong. It tells us this in the way that we are shown Claudia’s mental strength and power of endurance. (Delainey’s monologue this ep? Omg) despite her age when she was turned. It tells us that in the way that Daniel is able to sometimes best Louis and Armand, two supposedly all-powerful beings despite being medically fragile. (As Armand says to Louis, “those with the most power are often the weakest.”) Armand is also constantly becoming disillusioned with these eugenics rules he enforces, in the 1790s and again in the 1940s. Even the juxtaposition of the coven rules with reminders of Nazi practices is a reminder that *these are not good rules to live by*. They are the reason that Claudia and Louis’s story are heading towards tragedy.

This is another reason it is SO important that this show doesn’t erase the pandemic, and therefore rejects the most prevalent modern day version of eugenics (the belief that the pandemic is over, even though Covid is still killing disabled people and further disabling others) The waiter in an N95 mask this ep was a reminder of that, and a reminder of how the pandemic affects people (and vamps) of different classes differently. And all this makes me *very* interested in how the show will address Daniel’s diagnosis in coming eps, as well as the idea of the great conversion, which is as yet undefined but definitely feels like it has eugenics undertones.

(As a little side note, I was pretty interested in one of the coven members claiming allergies this ep combined with the emphasis on not converting disabled people into vampires. Those two things together seem to imply that disabled vampires could exist, or rather that accepting the dark gift might not immediately provide a magic cure to all disabilities, which would make me as a disabled viewer very happy. A magical cure erasing all disabled rep from speculative genre stories is the bane of my existence. I would LOVE it if the show proceeds with Devil's Minion (pretty please) and modern day Daniel does eventually get turned, he gains immortality and some sick ass powers, but doesn't lose all of the symptoms of his disease. Regardless I will be writing this into a fic!)

So in conclusion, at least for now, as much as it stinks to see Claudia become ensnared in this eugenicist trap, the way the show is framing it is very very smart.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #interview with the vampire spoilers #my meta #my crip media reviews

[rosezza]

࿐Distanced

-r

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warnings: smoking, strong language, soft!jj, mentions of violence/abuse

you were laying on your bed, reading a book you got from the library down the street 3 days ago. you couldnt really dig into it, not finding it as entertaining as you hoped it wouldve been. you sighed and closed the book, placing it down on your stomach as you stared at the ceiling.

your quiet, peaceful time was interrupted with a few knocks on the door, quick ones. you pushed yourself off your bed. taking a coat from your chair as you walked, throwing it over yourself as you made your way to the door. it was probably your mother, wanting to talk about how beautiful her day was or anything else she could think of. she usually came at this time, wanting to visit now that you finally got yourself your own apartment.

but you were wrong.

when you opened the door, there stood your bestfriend, jj maybank, or— ex bestfriend. his hair messy, cuts on his cheek, bruised throat. he was breathing heavily. his eyes half closed as i stared at your confused and shocked face. your lips parted as you took in everything "jj?.." your voice almost a whisper. him and you had not spoken for soon over a year, suddenly he was at your doorstep, all bruised up. he had stopped talking to you without a reason, but you never reached out.

he looked away from your eyes, almost embarassed to be standing here "im-.. i- can i come in." he uttered out before clearing his throat. you nodded slightly "yeah– yeah ofcourse" you said softly as you stepped to the side, allowing him inside. he looked stubborn, like he always was. you could tell he was hiding away emotions under that mask of his. because he usually did.

"what happened?" you asked gently as you closed the door behind you. ,,dad happened" he muttered quietly, trying to keep his composure. your face softened at the mention of his dad, you knew how hard he had it with him

"you're the only one who knows about that– and.." he swallowed "nobody else would get it they would just.. call the cops or sum." he added as he rubbed the back of his neck "im sorry i just came here out of nowhere i just didnt know where to go.." his voice broke a bit as his lip started quivering slightly "fuck i'm stupid.." he brought his hands to his face, covering his eyes

you shook your head and walked closer to him, your arms hooking around him warmly, embracing him like you used to do before. "shh.. its alright, im here" you reassured softly. his arms wrapped around you, hugging you close as tears started running down his face, his composure falling down, showing his vulnerable side to you. but only to you.

your fingers gently caressed his back as he cried into your shoulder, small sobs escaped his mouth as he clung onto you. it had been a while since you were this close to him, but you still recognized his scent of cigarettes.

"im fucked— i've distanced myself from you because i'm a bad influence.. but i can't live without you anymore" he cried into the crook of your neck as his hands pulled you closer to him, his fingers digging into your shirt, gripping it tightly, almost as if he was afraid of losing you again.

"hey its alright, okay? its okay, you can always come to me i don't mind. you don't have a bad influence on me, jj." you mumbled, your fingers still tracing his back, trying to soothe him

he gently pulled back, his glossy eyes staring into yours, his lips slightly parted, a cut visible on his lower lip. he was quiet for a while, he had something on his tounge, threathening to spill out. your gaze darted from his one eye to his other "whats wrong?" you asked softly, his blonde hair hanging over hia forehead. his mouth opened a bit more but he hesitated. until he finally spoke

,,the real reason i left was because i fucking fell inlove with you."

taglist: @rafeownsriley @necroflame

#jj maybank #jj x reader #outer banks #obx #jj obx #jj obx imagine #jj obx fic #jj fic #rudy pankow #fluff

[wildgirllz]

I'm not sure if you are familiar with the "mating press" position, but the little horny voice inside my head says that Tommy would absolutely love it. Just imagine reader having her legs on his shoulders while he pins her down to the bed because he needed to let off steam. Of course, this is completely consensual! Reader is willingly helping her husband out like the sweet housewife she is <3 Would you be up to write something like that? Sorry for being so disgustingly horny about him... (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

Omg i love this request!! HAPPY 1K MY BEAUTIES!!!

Mating press with Tommy <3

Warnings: unprotected sex, SIZE KINK OML (I'm sorry I couldn't help myself) pnv, afab reader, he cums inside because he's a loving husband, overall just porn with a little plot

It was a sunny day, the warm Texan breeze on your shoulders as you washed dishes from breakfast. A hefty pile of dishes, Tommy was not a small man to feed. As the warm water eroded the bacon grease from your castiron, you heard some stomping from the yard. You smile, you can imagine how he was looking at that very moment; his mask covering half of his sweaty face, hair stuck to his forehead, shoulders wide and casting a big shadow over whatever he was blocking. His tall frame was delicious, his arms, his hands that held the majority of your torso already made you hot on the back of your neck.

Lost in a trance of your thoughts, you feel the warm water over your hands' sudden absence. You don't need to turn your head to identify the reason. You can already hear his little huffs behind his mask and his big meaty hands pawing at your hips.

“I missed you, Tommy.” You turn and raise your arms to place your hands on his broad chest. His fingers fidget with the red trim of your sundress, one of his favorites. “You like my dress honey? I like this one too, I wear it to ensure you stay grateful for this pretty little wife you got.” You giggle and cover his hands with your own, but only manage to shade a finger or two. 

“I made you pie again Tommy, peach crumble! It's right on the counter. Lemme cut you a slice.” You smile warmly before turning to walk to the countertop to your right, but you don't manage. Tommys' hands are glued to your hips, keeping you grounded like a statue on the floor. “You don't want pie, baby?” You ask, sweetly of course. You knew Tommy wasn’t focused on your pie right now, you knew from the second you heard his feet shuffling outside that he had some steam he needed to release, and you’d be damned before you said you didn't want him to take it out on you.

You look up at his lust-filled eyes and reach to untie his sweaty mask. You didn't like that he always felt he had to cover himself up, but you understood it brought more comfort to his everyday life. As the mask fell, you could hear his shaky breaths practically calling for you. You got up on your tiptoes and pursed your lips, so he reciprocated, bending his head downward and capturing you in a warm, desperate kiss.

His hands on your hips lifted your body off of the ground, unconsciously, making your face line up with his. You wrap your legs around his waist, not making it all the way, but you were stable as his hands moved down to cup your ass. You whimper into his mouth, grinding your little hips against his big tummy, and running your fingers through his messy hair.

He lets out a single huff before turning on his heels and taking you to the bedroom. After storming through the doorway, he tosses your body onto your’ neatly made bed and begins to undress. You take his cue and do the same, unzipping your flowy dress and slipping off your white panties. Leaning back in your bed, you take in Tommys' body, how the veins in his hands bulge as he unbuttons his shirt, and how tight his pants look on his thick thighs.

Once he's fully bare, he slowly stalks around the bed, looking you up and down like a piece of meat he’s longing to devour. Suddenly, he yanks you down by the ankles, making you lay flat on the bed. He pushes himself to his knees at the end of the bed, settled between your now parted legs. He shuffles forward a bit, then pulls you by the knees until your legs wrap around his hips. 

He bends forward, towering over your frame. He takes your legs and pulls your feet over each one of his shoulders. Your thighs are pressed to your stomach as he settles an arm on both sides of your head. His hair falls around your face, and you reach up to kiss his pretty pink lips. You feel his girth slipping over your slit, and you reach your hand down to press his throbbing cock to your little bud. He groans at the touch of your hand and you begin to rock your hips back and forth, covering his length with your slick.

Not long after, he begins to rock his hips against yours in tandem. His forehead touches yours and you can feel his warm breaths covering your face. On one of his slower thrusts, the tip of his cock caught on the rim of your hole, making you take a sharp breath in. Tommy looks at you to make sure you’re okay, then slowly slides his fat member into you without warning.

“Tommy! Jesus, baby slow down.” You whimper out. The intrusion makes your lips quiver and hands grip the sheets, so he takes your arms in one of his hands and moves them to wrap around his neck, immediately latching onto his hair. As he settles his hefty body on top of yours, his tummy pressing down tightly on yours, he pushes even further forward, trying to get as deep as possible.

Your moans turn into choked-out groans as he slowly pounds into you. Your toes curling and heels digging into his damp back. He lets out deep groans and uses his hand to wipe hair from your face. He cups your cheek and kisses you, a distraction from the ache of your stretched hole, struggling to accept his large cock. 

His thrusts pick up in pace, and he buries his face into your neck. His hands slide down to grip your hips, and he maneuvers your body to slam down on his cock in time with his thrusts. In a state of complete cock-drunk bliss, you struggle to let out a whine as you feel your peak approaching. Rolling your eyes back, you grip his hair between your fingers and give it a little tug, before feeling the warmth of your orgasm explode through your body in ripples of pleasure.

Your back arches and your legs shake, the feeling of your pussy clenching over his length makes him whimper, and his thrusts become fast and shallow. You whine at the feeling of him abusing your overstimulated warmth, and Tommy leans down to bury his face in your breasts and grips your hips almost bruisingly in his hands, quickly reaching his orgasm himself. 

He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you as close to him as possible before letting out one more deep thrust and filling you to the brim with his seed. He groans and flips over on his back, taking you with him. You lay over his body, feeling his cock softening inside you as his spend drips out. You both catch your breath and relax, his hands rubbing gently over your back. 

You close your eyes and let the cool air of night take you both to sleep.

feel free to leave requests! (get FILTHY.) <3

#thomas hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x you #thomas hewitt smut #thomas hewitt x you #slasher fucker #slasher x you #slasher smut #thomas hewitt x y/n #tommy hewitt x reader #leatherface x reader #leatherface smut