#anger does not serve us

[orcelito]

As a certified Akechi lover i probably should have more love for Legato. But it is just not the same.

Probably the level of cruelty involved + the fact that Akechi's ultimately a kid with a vendetta & too much power whereas Legato is someone who had no will to live so he filled that hole with the will of someone actively pursuing genocide.

Fantastic antagonist! Compelling narrative purpose! I love Legato as a character. I still want to drop kick him anytime I see him.

#speculation nation #major antagonist and foil to the protagonist does not a favorite character make #idk ive just been wondering why legato doesnt hit for me like he does some other people #considering how much i love akechi #& i guess it boils down to the Reasons for what they do. ultimately goro's doing this out of a twisted sense for justice #and an extreme anger derived from his childhood that is frankly justified #whereas legato is just... that dude is Fucked Up. i mean akechi is too but MAN. #while akechi sacrificed himself in the end to save the protagonist. legato FORCED the protagonist to kill him #via threatening someone vash cared about #two very different forms of suicidal self sacrifice. one born from the wish to change things at the last moment #for the sake of the protagonist. & using that as an excuse to say goodbye to this wretched life #vs legato living his life for the purpose of serving knives & if his purpose is erased there is no point to living #& he has been Obsessed with vash. a hatred to rival his love for knives. so it's one final Fuck You to force vash (known pacifist) to kill #a death born out of the sick wish to corrupt him. to force vash to kill him instead of killing himself. #LIKE it really is so fascinating. i could study them both under microscopes forever #but it's that difference in motivations that has goro being My Son and legato being a character i want to throw off a building #no hate to legato lovers Genuinely. fascinating character. im just trying to sort out my feelings on him. #trigun spoilers/ #suicide ment/

[applecherry108]

I’m going fucking insane.

My coworker is at Coachella so I’m the sole employee in the office for 3 days. My coworker is really good at faking niceness for strangers and randos, she’s really outgoing, whereas I hit my complete burnout point a few years ago and my autistic ass can no longer humor idiots, assholes, and old people.

Of all the idiots and assholes testing my patience today, it’s an old person that’s the last straw.

This guy will just….come into our office, every so often. Not to buy anything. Not to see the doctor. Just to chitchat. I do not want to fucking chitchat with the old man with nothing better to do than take up a working person’s time with bullshit. He’s nice, sure, but dude get out. I have a thousand things to do and I’m literally buried under files currently.

But I try. I try to be nice and make small talk. But he asks if I’m going to see the new Russell Crowe movie. Which one? The pope’s exorcist? Oh yeah, actually I am—I like horror movies.

OLD MAN SCOFFS AND SAYS ITS NOT *TECHNICALLY* A HORROR MOVIE BECAUSE ITS ABOUT A REAL PERSON. MY GUY. ITS A HORROR MOVIE. ITS SENSATIONALIZING A REAL PERSON BUT ITS 100% A HORROR MOVIE.

Thank god our next patients walk in then and Old Man leaves but like…. Get out. Get out and leave me alone, I didn’t want to chitchat in the first place, but you wanna argue about whether or not the horror movie is a horror movie??? Old Man, at least when people try to make conversation with a barista and they’re forced to play nice, you at least ordered goods and services. You did no such thing here. Get. Out.

#idiots today include: woman who walks in as I’m putting someone on hold on the phone so I ask her to please just give me a minute #‘oh it’s just a quick question!’ 🙄🙄🙄 bitch I #I’m busy. wait your goddamn turn there’s literally only one person here and it’s me. #bitch over the phone ‘I’ve been leaving messages’ she left ONE voicemail yesterday. that I returned. and she tries to talk to me #WHILE DRIVING the other person in the car yells at her to fucking call back BECAUSE SHES DRIVING #and when she DOES call back she snaps at me as I’m telling her how her insurance works bc I used the phrase ‘in genera’ ‘’not in general!! #specific to me!’’ and then the moron family wanting to waste their insurance on coordinating benefits when it’s be better served fully #using both plans but fucking whatever. and this guy wants no prescription sunglasses WHEN HE NEEDS A PRESCRIPTION TO SEE WHAT IS WRONG W/ U #apple talks #to the tune of spam #the rage has boiled over and the scalding water of my anger is fucking up the burner and causing a weird smell

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 !! ❞

❝ WHEN YOUR EX HUSBAND FINDS OUT YOU'RE DATING AGAIN, HOW DO YOU END UP FUCKING HIM IN YOUR BED ?? ❞

✧ pairing: ex-husband!satoru gojo x f!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo is the man everyone wants, except you -- well you married him and you wanted him, but when he pushed you away after you had your daughter, you had no choice but to divorce him. so what happens when he comes to pick up your daughter for his weekend, and he finds you ready for a date? and how is it you always end up under him?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, exes to lovers, modern au! (no curses), gojo is a CEO of a company, gojo has a daughter with you, divorced, some angst, switch! gojo, nipple play, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi public sex (near entryway), semi exhibitionism, sex (p in v), creampie, swearing,

✧ wc: 8,271

“You were supposed to be here at 6:00 PM,” 

Satoru Gojo stood in your doorway, as opposed to splashed on the covers of magazines and countless front page articles — you would think it would be business magazines, but you would only be partially correct — he made the covers of business, fashion, health, entertainment, and even a few women’s magazines. 

And what every single one had made apparent in their colorful print was that Satoru Gojo was anyone’s ideal man — the CEO of the wildly successful Six Eyes Corp, a philanthropist in his free time spent mentoring children and teenagers through establishing proper programs, and he was flawlessly beautiful — ocean blue eyes you could drown in, porcelain skin seemingly without a blemish or scar, and pretty lips that were a weapon when curled in a smirk. 

Just as they were now. 

“Well,” he smirks, leaning against your door frame, “I’m sure it’s 6:00 PM somewhere,” 

“Well, I’m not concerned with somewhere else since you daughter exists here, not elsewhere,” your words lacked their usual bite, only tinged with annoyance rather than cutting anger, “but good thing I told you to be here an hour and half earlier than I needed you,” 

Needed him as just as you did before you had divorced — just as you asked him to be. But he only grew more distant by the day — and soon he was already out the door when you had served him with divorce papers. 

And now, you can almost forget how it used to be — your eyes catch sight of the picture on your mantle of the two of you with your daughter, Satoru’s lips pressed to your cheeks as yours were pressed to your little angel — almost. 

He gapes at you as you walk inside, as he follows behind you, the click of the door closing overshadowed by the sound of his voice. 

“How could you lie to me, sweetheart? Thought we had a bond of trust,” you don’t have to look back at him to know he has a pout on his lips that would quickly melt into a grin if you conceded. 

“Bond of trust ended when you showed up two hours late to pick up our daughter,” and he grumbles, cheeks tinged with pink. 

“That was one time! I’m never that late. And it’s only on a Fridays when I have—“ 

“Meetings all day,” you finish with a sigh, “I know, Gojo, I know it’s not on purpose — but I know you’re always late on Fridays so I found a solution,” your lips curl, “anyway, our girl is napping still, so give her a bit before you wake her, but you can stay here until she does,” you’re shrugging off your bathrobe, littered with flecks of makeup, only to have a gorgeous black dress underneath. 

One that he very much hadn’t seen before — and he would know, he’s explored every centimeter very intimately of each one of your dresses, but this is new. His eyes skim down the exposed skin of your thighs — very new, but very familiar. 

He’s running fingers through his hair, not bothering to hide how his gaze rakes over his body, “Special occasion? Don’t tell me your birthday suddenly moved months, or I forgot our anniversary,” 

You scoff, as you pick out earrings from your jewelry box,  “Does an anniversary count when you’re divorced?” you can’t hide the hint of bitterness in your voice, and he’s stepping closer as you look in your vanity to put your earrings on, only to meet his gaze in the mirror, deep blue sucking you in as it always does. 

“But you’ll always be mine,” and you roll your eyes, expecting a cheeky grin, but find genuine longing in his expression, before it's hidden away behind a frown, “but you still haven’t told me where you’re going, sweetheart,” 

A sigh stuck in your throat, ignoring the use of your usual pet name that he had lost the rights when the ink dried on your divorce, as your teeth graze your bottom lip, “I have a date tonight,” 

He tilts his head, “A date?” and you can already hear it in his voice — ice creeping over usually still waters, “who’s the lucky guy? And do I get to meet him?” 

“And have you scare him off?” And he only grins in reply, hands slipping into his pockets. 

“If he’s intimidated by me, isn’t that more on him than me, sweetheart?” His footsteps only grow closer, as you turn to look at him, his hand on the wood of your vanity, nearly caging you in on side, “after all, he may be your date, but I’ll always be your husband, and the father of our daughter,” 

You didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss him or slap him — slapping him was self explanatory, but the want to kiss him was a lingering feeling, one that you couldn’t shed — no matter how much time passed. But that was the thing about Satoru Gojo — it was easy to fall in love with him, but even harder to fall out. 

And a part of you could never admit to yourself that you never did. 

No matter how hard you try.

“You haven’t been my husband for a year and half now, Gojo — a year legally now,” 

And he’s changing tactics, “You still haven’t answered my question, who are you going on a date with?” And you already can feel the beginning of a headache throbbing in your forehead, and you know why no one could say no to Satoru Gojo — because you’re sure he’s never understood it. 

“Why do you need to know?” And he's tilting his head, a small scoff parting his lips. 

“I need to know who you're potentially bringing home, don’t I?” and he’s far too close, and you don’t know why you’re not pulling away — his breath warming your skin, as he drags a finger down your cheek, “The man who might step foot in our home, might meet our daughter,” and his thumb brushes over your lips, “might kiss my wife—“ 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects you. 

You rub at your temples — yup, you definitely have a headache now. You brush past him, heading to the living room to pick up some of the mess, hoping your ex would somehow fall and hit his head on the doorframe and forget this conversation.

“And this dress?” Ah, no such luck, “did you buy it for the date?” 

“Do you keep a catalog of my wardrobe?” you scowl as you pick up the strewn about toys and things to collect into your daughter’s toy bin, and he’s bending down too to pick up your daughter’s things in his hundred thousand yen suit. 

“So you didn’t deny it,” and you sigh again, but grit your teeth all the same, his sharp words finely grating on your nerves. 

“This isn’t a business negotiation, you don’t win just because you use my words against me,” you stand up after picking up the last of the things, “yes it’s a new dress, and yes I bought it for the date since this is my first date in years, happy?” 

“Thrilled,” he says flatly, and you know it’s not the end of the discussion, “remember our first date?” 

And how could you forget? But you decide to humor him, if only for a break from the interrogation. 

“Which one? Because one was a date, and the other—“ 

He raises an eyebrow, “It was a date too, I asked you out—“ 

“You asked me to hang out—“ 

“And we kissed—“ 

“Only because I told you how I felt first—“ and he smirks again and you know you’ve dug yourself into a hole, cheeks burning at his stupidly smug face, “shut up,” 

“And what did you say again?” He slips the things you have in your hands into the toy box, his fingers brushing yours, and his touch is the same as you remember, even the barest brush was enough for your traitorous soul to yearn for more. 

“You know what I said,” his lips curl, the same smile he had given you all those years ago that made you fall for him in the first place, but his raise of his brow tells you he’s not going to let it go until you say it, “I told you that I liked you for a long time, and I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move. Because maybe by then it would be too late,” and his fingers brush against your cheek, featherlight — just as the bunches of butterflies that bloom in your stomach. 

“And you say that wasn’t a date,” and you scoff, biting back the small smile on your lips, “will any other first date compare to that?” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you know his brow is furrowed without having to look at him, “do you have to call me by my last name—“ 

“I do, because Satoru was my husband, and Gojo is my ex—“ 

“I’m still your husband—“ and you give a bitter chuckle. 

“In what world? We’re divorced, it’s over,“ 

“It doesn’t have to be,” 

“But it does. This isn’t me confessing to you on a movie night curled up on my twin bed. This is my ex-husband asking me to give him another chance far too late,” you slip past him, but he follows behind anyway, as you stand near the entryway to your home,  “it’s time to move on,” and you’re stepping from your bedroom and only reach the doorway when he speaks. 

“How can I move on when I never wanted to?” You still yourself in your tracks, fingers curling into a fist. 

Not this right now. Not now. “Gojo—“ you sigh. 

You’re so tired. You were hoping you wouldn’t have to have this conversation. You never had expected to have this conversation, not when you wanted to only marry one man your entire life was the one to break your heart. 

“It's almost two years too late for this conversation,” you willed your voice not to break — not when your heart was long broken by him, and you wouldn’t allow him to do it again, “you should have had it with me before I filed. When I asked you to spend your time with us, when I asked you to take time off, when I asked you to be present in our lives—“ 

“Sweetheart-“ and you snap. 

“Don’t call me that,” your quiet words hang in the silence, the wedding bells he heard in his head were nothing more than the sounds of bells drowning out the mourners screams, “don’t call me that when you don’t get to anymore,” 

“I’ll always be yours, sweetheart, a few papers don’t change that,” and he’s stepping towards you, but you’re rooted to your spot, and you want to say it’s stubbornness, but you know what it really is —weakness, because Satoru Gojo was your one and only weakness. And even now, walls raised and erected against him came tumbling down with one touch. 

Because he knew exactly where to touch and what to say. 

“Do you think any other man could please you the way I can? I know every place, every sound, every inch of you — inside and out,” he’s nearly against your back now, “are you going to let a stranger do that? Let them learn how to please you, but knowing your husband knows how to do it better,” 

“Ex-husband,” and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, “we shouldn’t—“ 

“And yet you’re letting me,” his nose brushes against the soft skin of your neck, warm breath sending a shiver down to the tips of your toes, and his words sending a wave of need right to your core, “because you know it’s true,” his hands tentatively brush against your hips and when you don’t resist, he squeezes, drawing a gasp from you, lips curled in a smirk, “more sensitive than usual, Princess? Been too long?” 

“I swear to god—“ he’s cutting you off with a bruising kiss, a rubber band snapping back against your skin, and now it’s taut against you, ensnaring you in its grasp. And yet, his kiss is so sweet, affection dripping from the slide of lips to the caress of his fingers against your cheek, and it reminds you of just why you don’t want to let go. 

“You don’t have to swear yourself to me, but I’d appreciate it, Princess,” and his mouth reminds you of the reason you (and that you don’t). 

“Gojo—“ and he’s placing more kisses along your jaw now. 

“Shouldn’t you at least call me Satoru now that we’ve kissed?” 

“You’re impossible—“ 

“And yet I’m here,” his teeth nibbles at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, tongue flicking over the blooming love bite, “almost forgot how sweet you taste,” he’s humming, as he kisses along your shoulder before he toys with the strap of your dress, “almost,” his large palms slide down your body, skimming your bare thighs as he’s pressing you against the walls, “but your skin isn’t what I want to taste,” 

You gasp, “we can’t—“ but why were you letting him? Irritation overrode by lust, and he knew the spots to make you bend to him, his hands squeezing your hips, “fuck you,” you wonder if his touch are phantoms engraved against your skin and muscles, forced to repeat the same patterns again and again — and a hand slides back up to cup your cheek. 

“That’s what I’m trying to do, sweetheart,” his lips find yours again, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before slipping inside. His hand is lifting your thigh around his waist, as his lips part from your own, eyes raking over your pretty, bitten red lips, “do you know how much I missed you?” 

“No, I don’t,” and his smile slips from his lips, as he cups your chin, “Satoru—“ 

“Even all the days I was gone, there wasn’t a second I didn’t think of you,” you waver a moment at the sadness rippling through his gaze, “I know I wasn’t there—“ his lips press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Why weren’t you?” 

And that’s when there’s a knock at the door that makes your heads snap over to stare at the door a good four or five feet from you, the shadow of feet visible through the crack at the bottom of the door, and you were sure it was your date. 

“Fuck,” you whsiper under your breath, “you have to go—“ your palms pressed flat against his chest, but Satoru doesn’t budge, “please, I have to get the—“ 

And his hand is slipping up and under your dress, hiking the material higher, “do you really want to go on your date like this, sweetheart?” His fingers graze your soaked panties, a gasp pulled from your lips, lithe fingers rubbing and pinching your clit through the thin fabric, “gonna go see him when you’re this wet?”

“Please—“ and his fingers snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin, drawing a squeal from your mouth, “fuck—“ 

“Any louder, Princess, and he might hear us,” he’s leaning down to press his forehead to yours, forcing your gaze to meet yours, “but maybe I should let him, let him know who’s the only one who can make you feel this good,” his words only make your cunt flutter, as if your body was in agreement, even if your mind was still in denial, “you’re much more honest down here, Princess, but you always were,”

Another knock as your attention is being tugged only for him to yank it back as his finger slips inside you. You’re burying your face in the crook of his neck to stifle your moans — his fingers were so much longer than yours, reaching places you could only have dreamed of — when you had dreamed of him. 

His finger squelches as he fucks you open, walls squeezing around him as your molten insides cling to his touch desperately. Small whines and pants are muffled against your hand as you clamp it over, your phone vibrating uselessly with your date’s messages inside your purse. 

“Please, Satoru let me—“ and he’s ripping your underwear, as he’s forcing your dress higher, “I have to tell him—“ 

“Tell him what?” His eyes are nearly glowing in the dim light of the fluorescents leaking in from the living room, “tell him you’d go on your date with him but you’re too busy being finger fucked by your husband?” And he’s sinking another finger into you, making your head loll back against the wall, “tell him that you’d let him fuck you in our bed, but you’re too busy letting me?” 

“Sa-toru—“ you’re biting back your whines, glancing at the door, but he’s forcing your gaze back to him, his thumb pressed against your chin, “just let me—“ 

And he’s turning you in front of the mirror near the entryway, forcing you to look at yourself — your lips kiss bitten and ruined, your dress hiked up and mussed, and underwear tugged down to your ankles. 

“Do you want him to see you like this?” His breath is hot in your ear, a soft murmur that makes your knees nearly buckle, “want him to see you how much of a mess I’ve made you?” His fingers sink into you again, a third finger with the other two. The lewd squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, your eyes catching sight of your own moans and pants in the mirror, your walls squeezing around them, “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, sweetheart, and now you can watch too,” he’s guiding your gaze back to watch yourself, watching him knuckle deep in your sweet cunt, “gonna make you watch your tight pussy break my fingers,” he spreads his fingers inside you, letting you watch your slice drip down his fingers and wrist and splatter on the floor.

And your head falls back against his shoulder — he’s thrusting into you faster, your walls working deeper and deeper into you — fingers curling against your molten insides, until he’s finding that one spot that has your lips falling open, “I’m so—” your voice is a broken whisper, and he’s pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Please—“ 

“Cum f’me baby,” his thumb rubs at your clit, and you do, walls clamping down as you cum, his fingers relentless as they fuck you through your orgasm, a wordless moan of his name on your lips. He’s holding you up as he does, your body buckling under the pleasure, blood roaring in your ears that slowly ebbs away, as his fingers slow, and you’re shuddering under his touch, “good girl,” and your walls flutter as he pulls out as if they want him to stay, and he’s tilting your gaze, “watch,” your eyes open reluctantly, a small moan on your lips as you watch him carefully each one of his fingers clean, pink tongue darting out to lick at the trails of your juices that had dripped down his palm and wrist, “still the sweetest thing I’ve had, princess,” 

And there’s another knock, as he clicks his tongue, “Doesn’t give up does he?” and he’s pressing a kiss to your neck, “must have really done a number on him and he’s willing to wait this long for you, huh?” he hums, nuzzling the hollow of your throat, “but I can relate. So, should I let him down for you?” 

Your eyes fly open, meeting his cheeky gaze with a glare, “Don’t you fucking dare,” 

“What? You still want to go out with him? Be my guest, but,” and he’s pulling at your ruined underwear until they rip under his touch, “can’t wear these, can you?” you gape at him as he pockets the ruined panties with a shit eating grin, “for later,” and you’re scoffing, and you hear a call of your name through the door. 

And you take a better look at yourself — completely disheveled and marked up along your neck from his kisses and nips, your skin shiny with a sheen of sweat, and your lips obviously bruised and bitten from his treatment. 

“Fuck,” you can’t go out like this — it looks as if you’d spent the morning before getting ravished, panic sets in as you hear his voice through the door. 

“Want me to send him on his way?” Satoru’s hands curl around your waist, “our angel’s still fast asleep, and that means we can spend some time together—“ 

“Fuck off,” you hiss, walking over to the door, “Atsuya, I’m sorry I can’t go out today. I’m not feeling well,” 

“Eh? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” And Satoru steps forward to speak but you cover his mouth with his hand. 

“No, I’m fine, but I have the flu and I’m still contagious, so I don’t want to get you—“ Satoru drags his tongue between your fingers — this fucker, “sick,” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and take care of you?” Satoru’s hands are dragging over your sides, squeezing your far too sensitive hips. 

“Hear that?” Satoru’s whispering to you between the gaps of your fingers, “He wants to take care of you. Should you let him? Maybe he could fuck you better in the home we bought together and in the bed we shared,” 

“No, I’m fine, really, I-I—“ and Satoru’s sucking at your finger, tongue curling around the digit, and you grit your teeth, “I’m going to rest. I’ll text you later, I’m sorry—“ and you don’t get to hear the rest of what he says, as Satoru’s pulling your hand away, and finding your lips in another kiss. 

You hate how good this man is at kissing, his lips and touch must have the ability to leech sense from your brain, and leave lust in its place. 

“What’s wrong with you?” you mumble against his lips, as his lips burn a trail of kisses down your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Nothing’s wrong with me, except that I love you,” he’s pouting again, “you think that guy could please you the way I could?” 

“No, but maybe he would actually be there,” you bite back and his kisses pause, smirk slipping into a frown. 

“I know I’ve made mistakes—“ 

You give a bitter chuckle, “Mistakes? You left us,” 

He opens and closes his mouth, “you’re right I did, and I’m sorry,” his words are slow, but so is the anger building inside you, “but I’m asking for a second chance, begging for one more chance—“ 

You finally turn to face him, and you can only hope the tears welling in your eyes weren’t noticeable, “You don’t get to beg, when I already did,” your voice finally breaks, as your clenched fist shakes, “where were you? After our daughter was born, you were gone. You kept saying you would make time for us, you would be there for us, but you just busier and busier, and the only time I’d see you were the nights you made it home to crawl into bed,” 

“I—“ 

“No, I’m tired, I’m tired of waiting and being upset, I’m so done—“ and he’s pulling you into his arms, and the familiarity of his grasp is nearly enough for your defenses to crumble, but you can’t, “Satoru” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I did wrong. I know I don’t deserve you or our baby, not after all I did,” he’s murmuring, “but it was never because of you or her,” 

Tears spill from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks, “I used to cry, thinking that not only that I wasn’t enough, but your daughter wasn’t enough either—“ 

“You weren’t the ones that wasn’t enough,” he cuts you off, “I am,” the last words come out a whisper, as he runs fingers through his hair, “I’m the one who wasn’t good enough,” 

You stare at him, “What do you mean?” 

He’s scrubbing a hand down his face, “I don’t know how to be a husband, much less a father. I didn’t think I even wanted to be either, until I met you,” his voice softens, “and then I wanted it all if it was with you,” 

“Satoru—“ and he’s shaking his head. 

“I thought I could handle it — but when I saw you two — the two most important people in my life — how much you were counting on me, how much you needed me to not fail — I threw myself into work,” he’s swallowing, “I thought if I could support you both, things would get better. But it only made things worse because I pushed myself away,” 

“Why?”

“Because I thought I’d mess it up — I don’t know how to be a father. I didn’t even know I wanted to be a husband until we got married,” and you swallow, “I thought I never would after watching my dad neglect and abuse me and my mom,” you knit your brow together, “and there were so many nights when you were sleeping, I got so frustrated with our angel. She wouldn’t sleep, she screamed for hours, and I just felt like I had failed her. And I would just fail you too,” he scrubbed a hand down his face, “so—“  

“So you ran away,” you finish, voice caught in your throat. 

He gives a curt nod, “And when you filed, I knew it was coming, but I thought you both would be better off. I thought even if I was miserable, it would be worth it to see you two happy—“ 

“Satoru, do you think I would be happy without my husband?” Your sigh stuck in your throat as your fingers find his cheek, featherlight, but he crumbles and melts against it, as if he was a statue made to wait for your touch, “you’re nothing like your father. I see you with Satomi, I see how much you love her — you dote on her, you know what she likes — she gets a cut and you’re panicking,” you chuckle as he huffs, a cute blush settling over his cheeks, “and you were a good husband, when you talked to me and didn’t run away,” 

“I know,” and the question unspoken hangs in the air, “can I be again? Your husband,” and your instinct is to pull him into your arms, where you wanted him to be, where you always wanted to be, but your instinct is tangled in fear, barbed wire dragging you down and digging into your skin. 

“I want you to be,” his eyes light up, hope flicking across his gaze like a comet tail, until it burns out with your next words, “but I’m scared,” you swallow, arms crossed, hoping if you physically hold yourself maybe you could hold yourself together, “I don’t want to get hurt again,” 

“I won’t, I promise,” he’s cupping your cheek again, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, “every night I only thought of you and Satomi — there’s no one else that matters,” he’s drawing closer again, it makes you want nothing more than his touch again — it had been too long — too long without him. 

And your lips find his again, it’s a chaste kiss at first, a breath shared a centimeter apart, as his eyes find yours, brow furrowed, “We have a lot to talk about,” you murmur, as your lips graze his again, and he’s chasing your lips, “but it’s going to take time,” God, you want to kiss his knowing pout away, as you drag a thumb down his lips, “a lot of making up to me and our angel,” He’s nodding obediently, a complete puppy under your touch, as he shivers as your fingers run through his hair before tugging, “are you ready for that?” 

“Yes, baby,” he’s biting his lip, fingers twitching wanting to touch you. 

Your lips curl, “Good boy.” 

“All that big talk and now look at you, Toru,” Satoru’s white knuckled fingers fisted at the sheets of your shared bed, as your own fingers teased the head of his leaking cock through his boxers, “such a mess for me,” 

You kneel at the foot of your bed, settled between his thighs, and though you were on your knees, you were the one who held the power. Fingers tracing the trigger right within your grasp, his cock twitching against your hand. 

“Please, sweetheart, fuck,” he’s hissing when your lips lean down to press a kiss to his clothes weeping slit, the wet heat of your mouth seeps through, making him twitch against your touch — a spark of need that burns against his skin and boils his blood underneath with need, “please, don’t tease me,” 

“Well that’s not fair,” you hum, as your fingers toy with the elastic of his boxers, snapping the elastic against your skin, sending a shiver up his body along with an ache that reaches his bones — and he wondered how he had let your grip on him grow this deep — and how he had ever let it go when it felt this good, “when you’re being teased I’m supposed to relent, even though you made me cum downstairs in my entryway?” 

And he’s swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing just as anticipatory as the rest of his body, a bow string drawn tight just waiting for you to release it. But you wished to toy with the arrow more. 

“I have half a mind to make you clean my cum off the floor with your tongue,” you click your own tongue as a taunt, but that only makes him squirm, “but maybe I’ll spare you since you’re being so good for me,” you’re dragging your fingers down his boxers, freeing his cock— already far too hard, flushed and dripping with precum as it slaps against his stomach, the flared head nearly begging you to touch it, “tell me what you want,” his cock is far too gorgeous, you thought that from the first time you saw it  — long and curved, and the veins that ran along it were so pretty— just like the man himself. 

And a whimper escapes his lips, “sweetheart, please, touch me—“ 

“With what?” you thumb his tip lightly, smearing the cum down his shaft, “my fingers? Or my mouth,” and your lips lick the pre that clings to your thumb clean, dragging your thumb down the flat of your tongue. 

“Y-Your mouth,” and you’re smiling, your lips curling as his pretty gaze pleads with you, “please,” 

“Imagine your subordinates saw you like this, begging your ex-wife to blow you, nearly ready to blow your load already just from fingering me,” your fingers toy with his balls, while you leans down to trace the tip of his tongue up the bottom of his cock, “what do you think they’d say?” And your lips part to let his engorged tip enter, as his head falls back with a groan, the wet and warm mouth, as you start to bob your head up and down his length. 

“Fuuuuck, pretty,” and you’re pausing as you wait for a reply to your question, his own tongue tying itself in knots, “think I’m down bad for my wife,” he’s grunting, the words ‘my wife’ and his groans sending white hot arousal to your needy cunt, “think I’d let her fuck me anyway she wants and they would be right, sweets. I’d let you use me,” your tongue is wrapped around his length, as his dick sinks deeper into your mouth, nose brushing against his pubes, his hips held taut as he forces himself not to face fuck you. 

And his eyes flutter down to meet yours, only to find your eyes drowning in lust, molten with need that nearly burned him with want, lips sloppy and dripping with a mix of precum and your spit out of the corners of your mouth, and your fingers —buried deep in your cunt as you sucked him off. 

Fuck. 

With the nasty way you slurped at his length, the noise ringing in his ear as your fingers begin to squeeze and stroke his balls, he wasn’t going to last much longer. His hips bucked against your mouth, and he’s muttering apologies but you let him, moaning as his tip hits the back of your throat. 

“I’m close—where—“ and you’re sucking hard, tongue flicking against his slit and when he fucks your mouth once, twice — he’s gone. He’s cumming down your throat, hot spurts of cum painting your lips and mouth, his head falls back, fingers gripping the sheets as his eyes flutter open. And he watches you pull away from his cock, sticky strings of cum and saliva connecting you to his length still, “fuck, sweetheart,” his softening dick already twitching at the sight of you — your pretty tongue darting out to lick his cum from your lips. 

“You taste as good as I remember, Toru — always so sweet,” and you’re pulling your own fingers from inside your tight pussy, and he snaps. 

You’re on your back on the bed now, flopped down against the mattress as his hand closes around your wrist of the hand that was just inside you. Your words are lodged in your throat but come out a shiver when he brings your soaked fingers to his lips, he kisses each one before sucking and licking them clean. 

“Toru—“ and he pulls away from the last finger with a pop, eyes clouded with need, “I—“ 

“And you say I taste good?” he’s humming, as he leans over you, “wait until you taste yourself, Princess,” and his mouth is insistent on giving you an entire course of your taste on his tongue, mapping out a detailed cartography of very crook and crevice of your mouth, “aren’t you so much sweeter?” He’s pulling away from your bitten red lips, spit connecting your lips still, “and that taste is all mine, just like you, wifey,” 

The pet name sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins, stoking the burning need already threatening to consume you both, “Toru—“ and he’s already stripping your dress away, pulled away up and over your head, thrown away like every thought of why this was a bad idea. Your nipples perk in the cool air of your bedroom and under his hot gaze, standing at attention as if they’re begging for his attention. And he’s more than happy to oblige. 

His fingers toy with the buds, rolling between your forefinger and thumb, until he’s bending down to take one in his mouth, and you’re arching into his touch, your fingers finding purchase on his shoulders. 

“Bet Atsuya would love to see you like this, huh?” He’s switching to the other side, teeth dragging against your nipple to draw a gasp from your lips, “Would love to see you such a mess like this, spread out and needy,” and he’s spreading you with warm palms, his half hard cock brushing against your thigh, “Were you gonna let him fuck you on this bed? Our bed?” 

He doesn’t allow you an answer as his fingers spread your dripping walls, “Gonna let him taste you like this?” His lips warm your fluttering pussy, nearly begging for his touch and to swallow you whole, “when I already said this pretty cunt was mine,” he clicks his tongue far too close, making you whine, “g’nna have to answer my question first, Princess,” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” and he presses a chaste kiss to your dripping pussy, making you whimper, your walls spasming around nothing, “Toru,” 

“Remember when we moved into this home?” his lips are teasing your inner thigh, teeth dragging against your hot skin, “we broke the bed in all night long,” he’s looking up through half lidded eyes, “think he could please you like that? Make you moan his name?” 

And you’re growing desperate as his lips draw close to your clit, tongue dragging against it, only to pull away to your thighs again, “no, no, only you, Toru, please—“ 

“Only I what?” oh you know he’s goading you, but your want is drawn taut like a stringed instrument, tweaking your strings when you’re dying for him to play you — “c’mon sweetheart,” 

“Only you make me feel this good — fuck, Toru, I swear to god—“ your head falls back into the pillow as his face buries itself in your cunt, his laugh vibrates against your walls, pleasure rising faster than smoke from a burning building. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you in place now, settled between your legs. 

“You swear to me what?” and you swear his god complex gets worse and worse, and the way you moaned with his head between your legs wasn’t helping, “sorry, Princess, I have my mouth full,” and his tongue as silver as his words were, parting your folds with ease, as his lips slurped at your folds messily. 

Fuck, he was too good at it, and he knew it, smirk on his lips as the wet, nasty noises of his mouth wrapped around your cunt and your bordering pornographic moans filled the silence. Pleasure ribboned up your body, mixing with the sharpness of his fingers pressed against your plush thighs to keep you in place. 

“Gonna make me cum before I even fuck you, Princess,” and you hear the telltale squelch of his hand around his weeping dick — the shudder of your groan making him moan all the same, “taste so fucking good, never gonna go a night without tasting you again,” he murmurs far too reverently with his tongue dipping back into your folds for more of your juices, “you know how many times I fucked my fist to the thought of eating you out again? Never gonna spend a second without burying myself in this cunt,” 

“Toru, I’m close—“ and you are, greedy tongue flitting over your clit, his nose bumping against his folds, and the practiced ease of his touch — he knew just what to do to make you cum. And he did, his mouth closing around your clit, before sucking harshly. 

You cum on his face, swallowing your slick with the thrust of a desert weary man, his eagerness apparent on his soaked face, as you finally came down your high. He doesn’t waste a drop, only pulling away with a pop when your orgasm ebbs away, licking his lips clean of your juices. 

“Still dripping even after I licked you clean?” He clicks his tongue as he watches your slick soak the sheet, “gonna have to find another way, maybe you need something bigger,” he hums in fake contemplation, “what can we use?” 

“I have some sex toys that might do the trick,” and he scoffs, as he kisses up your body, before pressing his hard erection against your thigh. 

“Don’t think any toy you have compares to me,” and you’re gasping as he drags the head of his cock against your puffy clit, “nothing can fill you up like I can,” and he groans as he watches your releases mix, “just for that, g’nna make you beg for it,” 

“Toru,” you’re whining, but he’s only teasing your entrance with the head of his dick, your walls fluttering, already begging for him to sink into you, but he’s waiting for your mouth to do the same, “please, fuck me, I need you inside—“ 

He grins, “Well how can I deny my pretty wife when she asks so nicely?” And he’s splitting you open with his thick cock, balls deep with only a thrust of his hips. Your hands are grasping at him for purchase, needing to hold onto him as his cock stretches your walls out. It’s as if you remember him, walls sliding to accommodate him as they always did, but clinging to him desperately, a grunt parting his lips, as if they never wanted him to leave again. And you didn’t. 

“So fucking tight, Princess,” he’s groaning in your ear, a swallow roll of his hips drawing a chorus of moans from both of you, “don’t have to break my dick off to keep it — I’ll take you anytime you want,” and he’s pressing your thighs forward, slinging one over his shoulder, as he presses himself even deeper. 

A whine leaves the back of your throat, “too deep, Toru,” and his cock twitches inside you at that, “fuck,” and it takes everything in him not to blow his load there and then, 

“You love it when I fuck you like this, Princess, or do I have to remind you?” And he does, beginning to piston in and out, the lewd slaps of skin and moans filling the air of your bedroom, “be careful or our daughter might wake from the sounds of her mommy getting fucked,” he clicks his tongue, “maybe we should give her another sibling?” He’s watching the way your cunt eagerly welcomes his cock, sinking in and out with ease, “fuck another baby into you, hm? Would you like that princess?” 

“Toru, ngh,” your walls flutter at the thought of a kid, of his seed filling you up, “please—more—“ 

He gives a chuckle, “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart — fuck you so full that you’ll be dripping with my seed for days,” he’s grunting, legs trembling as his thrusts grow more sloppy as his orgasm begins to build, “fuck, you feel so good for me, “gonna give you another baby, make sure everyone knows you’re mine, my wife—“ 

“G’nna cum, Toru,” you’re falling back against the mattress, as he bends down to press a messy kiss to your lips, all tongue and teeth, before his fingers reach down to rub at your clit. Your eyes finding his, face flushed a pretty pink, eyes shrouded in a deep lust that was reserved only for you, and as he bucks into you even deeper, he brushes against that spongy spot that has the taut string snapping as you fall apart. 

“Cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he’s grunting, as he grazes teeth along your neck before biting. And you cum hard, toes curling as your mouth falls open with only moans of his name on your lips. The way your walls squeeze around him has him only rutting into you harder, deeper, messier — as he watches the ring of cum pool around the base of his cock, fucking you through your orgasm, “g’nna cum—“ and you’re pulling him into another kiss, legs wrapped around him as he falls over the edge with you. Hot cum spills in ropes inside your walls, his hips rolling as he does, if only to fuck his cum deeper inside you. 

“Toru, s’good, I—“ you’re incoherent nearly under him, soft kisses pressed along your jaw as you both come down from your highs, cock softening inside you only him to pull out, another groan of your name on his lips when he watches his cum drip from inside you, staining your thighs along with the sheets. 

And you whimper when he’s gathering his spilled cum on two fingers only to push it back inside, “can’t let you waste a drop, can we, sweetheart?” 

He’s finally pulling away, his other hand cupping your cheek, as he finds your lips in a lazy but far too sweet kiss, “Toru,” you mumble, “I never stopped loving you, because I don’t think I ever could,” 

His eyes grow glassy, his fingers finding the back of your neck, “I know nothing I’ll do will make up for what I did — to you and Satomi, but,” he presses his forehead to yours, “if you both let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” 

And tears burn at the corners of your eyes, “Just stay with us, and promise to never leave — that’s enough,” and your lips brush his, “you’re more than enough for us, Satoru,” and he kisses you again and again and again, nearly climbing on top of you again, when you both hear a tiny gasp from the door. 

Your heads both snap over to your baby daughter leaning against the door, badly hidden behind it, as she pokes her head in, “did mommy and daddy make up?” 

Your cheeks burn as you cover your face — you both had checked on Satomi before but she was fast asleep still, and now — you checked the time — 9:30 PM, you were sure she’d be up all night. 

“Yes baby, mommy and daddy had some stuff to talk about,” Satoru grabs your robe for you, handing it over as he pulls his discarded boxers on under the sheets, “come here,” and she squeals as she runs into her daddy’s arms, Satoru scoops her up before pressing kisses all over her face, her giggles and his grin nearly too much for you. 

“Now she’s gonna be up all night,” you murmur to Satoru, and he’s smiling. 

“I can tire her out,” he grins, and then he adds with a whisper, “and then I’ll tire you out,” and you flush, shoving him playfully, “come on, my love, let’s go play for a while and let mama rest,” and he’s sliding out of bed, carrying her out of the bedroom, and you watch him, lying on your side, with a smile on your lips.  

Maybe it wasn’t so bad having a husband — especially when it was Satoru Gojo. 

Satoru lets you and Satomi sleep in the next morning, making a smoothie for himself, as he starts to prepare breakfast. He did tire you both out last night, especially you — and you did some exhausting of your own, his fingers running over the hickies you left all over his neck and collarbone with a slight hum. He tied your apron on himself, only boxers and a sleeveless tee on. 

He started to crack eggs into a bowl with one hand. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again — he meant what he said. He would make it up to you, or at least he would try — and he would spend the rest of his life treasuring you and his kid — and maybe another if you let him have his way, he thought, biting back a grin. 

You had turned him down last night when he asked, 

“Don’t you think it’s time we try for another one?” His arms are winding around you, half hard erection already pressing into you, as the two of you stood right outside your daughter’s doorway, watching the angel sleep, “we did do well with the first one,” 

“Toru, we just got back together, we’re not having another kid,” and he’s already pouting, you know without looking at him, “but that would be nice — for our daughter to have a sibling,” and god, it made him to take right there (which he did), but he couldn’t wait until all three of you were ready. Because he wouldn’t dare to miss a second of it — never again. 

And then a knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts, and his brow furrows. Who could it be this early?

He walks over, checking through the peephole, a grin growing on his lips, oh, perfect timing. Satoru opens the door, leaning against the doorframe, “Yes?” 

Atsuya Kusakabe frowns, jaw nearly dropping as he attempts not to gape at Satoru Gojo standing in his date’s doorway, nearly dropping the bag of medicine and soup he had packed up for you, “Uh, sorry, I was looking for—“ 

“My wife?” He raises a brow, and Kusakabe’s face blanches, as Satoru only smiles with a shrug, “sorry I should say ex-wife, we did get a divorce,” and Kusakabe’s mouth opens and closes, “but you know, she never stopped being mine,” 

Kusakabe clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “where is—“ 

“She’s sleeping still,” Satoru’s lips curl, as he sighs, “she wasn’t feeling well yesterday, but I think I made her feel better last night,” and he’s rubbing the back of his neck, movement drawing his attention to your marks littering his body. 

A flush crawls up his neck and ears and he clears his throat, “I-I see,” he thrusts the bag into Satoru’s hands, “could you please give this to her and let her know—“ and he’s shaking his head, rubbing at his temples, “tell her whatever you want.” 

And he’s gone, door slamming behind him, click of the lock. He holds the bag behind him, only to walk forward to see you peeking from the bedroom, his button up shirt thrown over your head, as you rub your eyes,  “who was it?” 

He only smiles at you, dropping the bag in the trash, “No one important,” and he’s finding his way to your side, arms winding around your waist, “I made us breakfast,” 

“Oh really?” You hum, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses that only makes you sigh contently, “what’s the occasion?” 

“Oh, just the first day of the rest of our lives, nothing too big,” he hums, and you laugh, his favorite noise that only makes him fall deeper in love with you, if that was even possible, “have to treat you right don’t I, wifey?” 

“Yes, you do,” and your lips find his again, “my husband,” and the word sticks in his chest, a missing piece that fits right back into place, and fixes a hole that had been aching for far too long, “should we go wake up our daughter?” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Together.” 

✧ a/n: so i didn't think i'd finish this week with being at my sister's and having a con this weekend but i found the time! i hope you enjoyed this one. this is my reality for gojo i'm living in :) fun fact, satomi and satoru both mean enlightenment! :)

✧ taglist: @jasminelee324 , @forest-hashira , @spider-fan72 ,, @rougebrainsludge , @theshylittleelfgirl , @ririchurl , @johannakhalafalla , @hanlay , @fawnlikelore , @vickkysthings , @dead-kats , @hantaslittlearsonist t , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @augustwinesworld , @forest-fruits-jam , @kirashuu , @catsgomurp , @daddytojji , @notgoodforlife , @hyori2 , @shrimpy109 , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @sunamatic , @rougebrainsludge , @redmangotango , , @psychxbby , @nakariabnrb , @mua-for-now @dazailover1900 , @alwaysfreakingout , @yamaguccitadashi , @equikaz , @gojosatorubrainrot

#sab [mlist] #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo x reader #gojo fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru smut #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo

[softlyapocalytpic]

So there was SUPPOSED to be a new chapter of Steelheart today, but after I finished writing chapter 4 (like as I was quite literally wrote the end) I realized that! That it really felt like there was a chapter missing! My partner said that they didn't feel like it was super noticeable, but it is for me and I can't comfortably post what is now going to be chapter 5 until I write this new chapter 4.

Originally, there was just a bunch of stuff I just "skipped" over by having Amy kinda... exposit. About it. But it just didn't feel good so instead I'm writing basically the stuff she narrated and

Gotta be honest, I'm glad I'm doing this? It's frustrating, because now there's a whole nother chapter to crack out but I feel like it makes the pacing feel more natural, and also we got some more humor! Soooooo, ;w; worth it.

#Currently deciding between two NPC's for whose gonna go molerat hunting with Amy #In Amy's narration it was just her and Simms #But now I want to use it as an opportunity for her to start building her dynamic with some of the Megaton supporting cast #I'm trying to choose between Billy Creel and Jericho #Billy would be “lighter” one by comparison #And would really serve to nail down the thought in Amy's mind not to let Leo go out into the wastes #And then Amy gets someone she could try and go to about parenting advice (kinda) #While with Jericho #They have an antagonistic dynamic which is more entertaining #He could also do what Billy does but in a mean way of being representative of the dangers of the waste #And be the ~dark~ mentor figure that she kinda wants to shoot #Essentially #Do I want melancholy and support #or #anger and antagonism #leaning Jericho ngl

[sundrop-writes]

Careful - Chapter Two

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter Two: Liar

Why should I deny what's all at once, so crystal clear?

Summary:

Spencer is eager to talk to you - to find out if your son is actually his. But there are more important matters at hand, like the fact that you might be the next target of a serial killer who is actively stalking single mothers.

The two of you get locked in a battle of wills when you stubbornly refuse his protection and Spencer remains determined to keep you safe.

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst and Smut.

Word Count: 8,900

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: again, general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of killing/murder, mentions of the reader being a target for a killer; mentions of the reader buying and using a vibrator (does not take place during the fic, more so mentioned as the reality of the ‘sex life’ of a single mom); the reader and Spencer parted on very bad terms (but the details of the situation are not yet revealed); the reader is very angry towards Spencer; the reader and Spencer argue; the reader is in denial that she is the target of a killer; there is some mention of Sebastian having similar hair to Spencer - but I don’t want that to describe or exclude the reader’s race because in the next chapter, there is a mention of Sebastian having the reader’s skin tone; mention of the reader ‘shoving’ Spencer out of anger (not hard enough to cause harm); mention of the reader owning a gun (registered with gun training) as a form of self defense; mention of the reader character celebrating a birthday - but there is no mentions of specific dates or months when the fic is set, so you can easily imagine that this takes place around your birthday (aside from mentions of holidays or seasonal weather); mentions of JJ x Will; JJ talks about her trauma regarding dogs after being attacked in 2x15; this ends in another flashback, this time including flashback sex (smut); Spencer cuts off foreplay to give the reader a birthday present - mentions of heated kissing and some groping; Spencer calls the reader ‘Princess’ (not during sex - in the context of ‘I am here to serve you like royalty’); the smut basically consists of Spencer eating the reader out. And I think that’s it for this chapter. 

A/N: Okay so something I did not intend to happen - a lot of this chapter is from JJ's perspective. It just naturally started happening while I was writing it, and it was really interesting to me to write about Spencer and the reader's relationship through her eyes (especially to keep the conflict between them vague to the audience, because JJ doesn't know the details of what happened), and it's not something I did intentionally, but I really loved how it shaped the chapter, so I kept it in. Also, I really wanted to include a lot of JJ x Spencer friendship and comfort moments in the fic because (as a lot of people in the fandom have discussed) - the writers love to have the characters say that JJ and Spencer are best friends, but they don't often show it. They just show a lot of conflict between them. So I wanted to show the potential of their friendship. And I had a lot of fun exploring that. So - I hope you guys enjoy the second chapter, and definitely hope to see you come back for chapter three!!!

...

When you heard someone knock on your door, you thought it was a delivery. 

You had ordered Sebastian some new educational coloring books, and some new CDs with Mozart concertos to fall asleep to, because he was getting bored of his current ones. You often felt like you couldn’t keep up with him - Sebastian was so damn smart, and you always tried to provide him with the best resources to learn. Even if he was getting to a point where he was asking for high school level chemistry text books and actually seemed to understand the material in them and you were confused about how he could comprehend any of it. 

The package also could have been the new vibrator you had ordered. You weren’t sure if that package was small enough to be left in the mailbox or not. You had to roll your eyes when you thought about how pathetic your sex life had been since having Sebastian. But you couldn’t risk bringing random men through the house just for sex when you had Seb around. So battery power and smut novels, it was.

“Sorry!” 

You called out, hoping the delivery person would wait, as you raced to get to the door. You hoped they wouldn’t just slip one of those ‘failed to deliver’ notes into your door handle and force you to run an extra errand with a kid under your arm. You tripped over a toy truck and cursed yourself for procrastinating cleaning up (again). 

“Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-” 

‘I was in my office, in the back of the house.’ 

The sentence died off on your tongue when you finally fumbled the door open - your mouth going numb from shock when you saw him. 

Spencer Reid. 

The father of your child, the man you had once loved. 

Your heart raced inside your chest, your body so overwhelmed so quickly that you couldn’t even decide on an emotion. 

Happiness. Joy. Lust. Longing. Sadness. Relief. 

Shock. 

You lingered on shock for a while as you stared at him, your eyes locked on the sight of him - wondering what the hell he was doing standing on your porch. How did he know where you lived? Why was he here? 

Was he here because of Sebastian? Was he angry? He had to be angry that you hadn’t told him about Sebastian for all of these years. He had to be angry that you had given birth to his child and not told him about it. 

You flickered back to lust for a moment as your eyes traced over him. 

He looked good.

Somehow, he had grown up so much in just four years. He had gone from a gangly, boyish man to a full blown man. But he was somehow still so much the same. His hair had grown out a lot since you had last seen him - instead of the neatly combed, short cut you had last seen him with, it was downright wild. The chocolate brown locks were sprawling out into the thick curls that you had come to see sprouting from your own son’s head. It wasn’t a look that you were used to on Spencer, but it looked damn good on him. 

He was wearing his usual leather messenger bag - probably the exact same one from years ago. And he clearly had the same dress sense, but these clothes in particular made you want to jump his bones. A lavender cardigan that complimented his skin tone so well - and his usual button up shirt and tie, along with his usual gray slacks. 

You desperately wanted to blame the sting of attraction that you felt for him on the recent lack of male suitors in your life; the fact that you hadn’t gotten laid in a long time. But you knew it was something else, too. Your previous attraction to him - the fact that because you had slept with Spencer before, you could still feel the ghost of his hands and tongue on your body. 

How did he look so good? 

He made you feel like a slob in your casual ‘work from home on a random Tuesday’ Mom clothes. If it had been your choice, he definitely wouldn’t be seeing you for the first time in years while you were wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that you were sure had raspberry juice stained on it somewhere, and eyeliner that you had slopped in between traffic lights in the car that morning. 

(You hated it.) 

“Y/N,” 

He finally broke the silence, speaking your name in that honey-sweet way. 

Unfortunately, it brought you rocketing back to that night all those years ago. Your stomach dropped, and you felt like you were standing in that apartment all over again, tears in your eyes as you faced down the crashing reality that the best relationship you ever had in your life was over. 

This chased out that tiny splash of lust and brought on a whole new wave of confusing emotions. 

Anger. Rage. Sadness. Bitterness. More longing. Regret. 

Like your brain was a spin wheel, it whirled around for a few hectic moments, and then - you landed somewhere between anger and pure rage. 

And that was when you finally spoke. 

“Spencer Reid.” You hissed out his name like it was pure venom, your neck aching as the blood pumped hard through your aorta. 

Immediately, Spencer’s features fell from looking at you with nostalgic fondness, and fear took over his face. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked fiercely, this question rocketing back to the forefront of your mind. 

Spencer opened his mouth, seemingly to answer this question, and the rage pumped harder in your system. You found that suddenly, you didn’t want to hear whatever it was that he had to say. 

You stepped through the door, easily stepping into his personal space as you came onto the porch. Without even thinking, you gave him a hard shove in the middle of his chest as you spoke your next words - much louder than you intended. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You screeched. 

You let your emotions carry your actions before any sense of logic or common decency could kick in. It was resentment and heartache that you had locked away four years ago - and apparently, it had been aging like wine, only becoming more potent with time. 

“You think that you can just magically show up in my life again after I specifically told you not to contact me?” You screamed. “Do you think that order has a fucking expiration date on it?” 

You gave him another hard shove. Perhaps expecting to prompt an answer out of him, or wanting to shove him off the porch entirely and get him out of your life once again. Which of those it was, even you weren’t sure. 

Spencer just looked at you with wide-eyed shock. Clearly, for once in his life, at a loss for words. 

“You better have a good fucking reason for showing up here!” You screeched, your voice becoming so loud that it wore out your throat. 

“Look, Y/N, I-” He stuttered out. 

“Don’t say my name.” You hissed, cutting him off. “Don’t say my name like we’re friends.” 

You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest, and Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets, now finding himself utterly speechless. 

He definitely was not expecting this kind of reception. 

The two of you became locked in an icy staring contest, neither of you speaking. Spencer found his throat too dry, and for once, his head far too empty. You were simply too angry and too stubborn to speak in those moments. 

This stalemate was only broken up when JJ walked around the corner. 

“Spence, Hotch just told me that the first woman doesn’t even match the-” 

“JJ!” You cried out her name happily, your entire demeanor changing when you saw her. 

She grinned, completely forgetting whatever news she had to report to Reid as you practically flew off the porch and ran to meet her. JJ eagerly opened her arms to hug you, and you squeezed her with all the warmth and kindness of an old friend. 

Spencer felt a pang of jealousy that he wasn’t being greeted with as much affection. He knew that the last argument between the two of you had been bad, but he didn’t know it had left such a distinct impression on you. He didn’t know it had been enough to make you hate him. 

When you pulled away from JJ, you looked between her and Spencer, and then it suddenly struck you. 

If Spencer wasn’t here alone, that meant this wasn’t personal. He wasn’t just here to see you over some lost love, or - maybe he didn’t know about Sebastian at all. You felt a pang of guilt twist your gut because of that. 

“What - what are you guys doing here?” You asked, now entirely confused, directing the question toward JJ. 

JJ looked toward Spencer, and according to his ill-concealed frown, his reunion with you had not gone well. She doubted that you would take the news that you were possibly being hunted by a killer well on top of that. 

“Is it alright if we come inside?” JJ asked, her voice tentative and soft. It was the same voice she usually used with victims and their families. 

“Yeah.” You said, knowing there must be something big that you were missing, and hoping that you would be filled in soon enough. “I’ll put some coffee on.” 

You walked back up the few steps of the porch and breezed right past Reid. You didn’t even spare a glance in his direction as you went back in through the open front door, leaving it open for the two of them with the expectation that they would close it behind themselves. 

“So - I take it things didn’t go well?” JJ whispered to Spencer as she moved up onto the porch. 

“Not quite.” Spencer mumbled in return before moving into the house, waiting for her to follow. 

This made JJ even more curious about what had gone down between you and Spencer all those years ago. 

What could have possibly made you so cold and distant toward him? 

But she couldn’t just come out and ask. They had a job to do. They were there to ensure your safety against a man who had already killed five women and orphaned five children. 

JJ walked into the house and closed the door behind her. She wasn’t surprised that she nearly tripped over a plastic toy truck in the entryway. Even though your son didn’t seem to be here (it was far too quiet for a small boy to be around), this was definitely a house where a child lived. 

The first space that was visible to her eye - the living room, was clearly a space that belonged to a young child. There was a large, colorful play mat underneath the coffee table, and a few toys scattered over across the floor, showing that he clearly liked to have hands on play. In the corner, there was a child-sized desk with a small chair, which seemed to be surrounded by art supplies, and advanced textbooks? Some of them opened and were dotted with bright, colorful stickers. One glance told JJ that the reading material very advanced for his age clearly belonged to him. 

So he very likely was Spencer’s son. 

She wasn’t sure why, but that did bring a cluster of joy through her. Likely because she knew he would be so excited to have a child of his own. 

JJ couldn’t help but to notice that many of the toys were Paw Patrol themed - it was a favorite show of Henry’s, too. In the back of her mind, she wondered if your son and Henry might be friends. 

“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” You huffed, rushing around with your arms half full of toys now - distracted from getting the coffee, as you had mentioned. You were clearly rushing to pick up some of the mess now that you had realized how it appeared in the eyes of your ‘guests’. “All the - stuff.” 

You hesitated to say ‘toys’. Clearly, you didn’t want to bring up the subject of your son, even though the evidence of him was so visible all around. You didn’t want to give Spencer the smallest opening to start asking questions about him. It was something you wanted to avoid speaking about for as long as possible. 

Spencer looked at you with a mournful look on his face as you dodged around him, purposefully avoiding eye contact while you picked up a coloring book and a handful of crayons off the couch. You still refused to look his way at all as you rushed off to stash the items away somewhere. 

Clearly, he wanted to ask you more about your son, and simply ask that penultimate question: was he the father? 

But now wasn’t the right time. 

“It’s alright.” JJ assured you. “You can just come sit down. We really need to talk to you.” 

You heaved out a sigh, defeated in your effort to clean up, and then came back from one of the other rooms. (JJ could only assume you had stashed the toys in a playroom or a closet, because much like her own home, all areas had become a domain for toys and playtime). You motioned for them to sit on the couch, and you scooted over a rocking chair from the other side of the room to sit in front of them, blocking the shut-off TV on the other side. 

“So, what is it?” You asked, clearly eager and curious to know what they were doing in your home - why they had contacted you now after so many years apart. 

JJ and Spencer exchanged a look, and with a gentle nod from him, JJ took the lead. 

“Well, um… there’s no easy way to say this, but we believe that you might be in danger.” She told you, introducing the topic gently, while wanting to be honest and direct. “Perhaps you’ve seen it on the news? But if you haven’t… several single mothers have been killed in the area recently, and we have reason to believe that you might be the killer’s next target.” 

You looked at her, entirely observant, quietly taking in her words. Your face was still and expressionless, and JJ was unsure if you were going to take this calmly and logically - if you were going to panic after you had fully absorbed the news, if you were going to cry. 

After a moment of silence - you burst out laughing. Your laughter was harsh and nervous, a sound that cut through the air like the rip of a chainsaw. Clearly, it was the stark opposite of someone taking the news with tears. 

“Oh my god.” You sighed, taking a breath from the non-humorous laughter. “You know that you didn’t have to make up some excuse just to come and see me, right?” 

Spencer’s face curled into a deep frown. He was upset that you weren’t taking this seriously. JJ found herself in shock. Usually when people found out they were potentially on the radar of a killer, they were paranoid, afraid, questioning why. 

But it was very rare to see denial. 

She did take notice of the fact that you didn’t immediately ask about what kind of evidence or reasoning they had to believe that you were the killer’s next target. Perhaps if your brain let you assess that reasoning for yourself and found it to be valid, then fear would take over. And you couldn’t let that happen. So this laughter, this posturing and not taking things seriously - it was an unconscious way to protect yourself from that fear. 

But JJ could only theorize about that. 

“I did miss you, JJ.” You said, very pointedly looking at her while you said it. “But you could have just sent me an email or something.” 

You continued avoiding Spencer’s harsh gaze as he bored holes into the side of your face with his intense, intrusive eyes. 

“Look, this is serious-” Spencer began, and you cut him off. 

“Okay.” You shrugged. “Let’s say for argument’s sake that there is someone trying to kill me,” 

You spoke of this lightly, the words entirely condescending on your lips, as though Spencer’s theory was entirely wild and imaginative to begin with. 

JJ saw the movement in his jaw as he grinded his teeth out of the corner of her eye, and she was surprised that he let you continue. 

“I have an alarm system that I set every night before I go to bed.” You informed them. “I am a proud gun owner. I have a registered revolver that I keep in a lock box beside my bed and I renew my gun training every single spring.” You told them, not seeming the least bit worried at the idea of a killer hunting you down. “If someone wants to kill me, let them try. I’m sure you guys have much better ways to spend your time than sitting around here, chatting with me when there are people out there, actually in danger. People who probably need your help.” 

You said this, trying to dismiss them. And then you moved to get up from your seat, looking to escape the conversation entirely. But once again, Spencer stopped you. 

“That’s it?” He fired back, entirely indignant, standing from his place on the couch. 

This caused you to roll your eyes and let out a hiss, your lungs deflating like an annoyed balloon as you paused in the middle of the room. 

“Yes, that’s it.” You groaned back. “Look, I know it’s your job to see problems everywhere, but-” 

“It’s my job to protect people.” Spencer replied, cutting you off. “And-” 

“Funny!” You scoffed, your voice escalating in volume. It had turned into a full-blown argument now - you were entirely uncaring that JJ was there to witness it; Spencer was locked in your sight like the crosshairs of a scope, and you were ready to fire. “You give a shit about ‘protecting’ me now, but what the fuck happened four years ago?”

You glared harshly at Spencer, and he locked his jaw, staring right back. It turned into a poisonous silence as neither of you spoke - he didn’t have a good answer for this question. And it made JJ all the more horribly curious about what had happened between the two of you. But she didn’t need to be a psychic to sense that the two of you needed some privacy. 

“Do… do you mind if I go get myself a glass of water?” She asked, tentatively standing up from her place on the couch. 

“I’ll get it.” You huffed out, moving to leave the room. 

“It’s okay.” JJ told you. “I can get it for myself. Just point me in the right direction.” 

You motioned toward the kitchen and JJ left, and she heard Spencer hiss out something about you being stubborn, which turned into another cluster of voices. The argument turned even more personal and sour now that the both of you didn’t have a witness. 

When JJ made her way into the kitchen, she was happy to see that your backyard was full of toys. A pair of sliding glass doors let her peek out to see a colorful swing set and a large playhouse, and a scattering of other toys meant that your son obviously spent a lot of time outside. She smiled to herself, trying to ignore the rising, angered sound of voices from the other room as she found a glass in one of the cabinets. When she moved to the refrigerator’s water dispenser, something along the way caught her eye. 

A vase of fresh flowers was sitting on the counter. 

White carnations. 

It made her stomach churn ominously. It felt too perfect to be a coincidence. 

She abandoned her half-full glass and grabbed the vase, walking back to the living room with it. 

“You just can’t accept help from anybody, can you? How can you not understand that your life is in danger here? This man is not going to stop until-” Spencer ranted on. 

He was still trying to convince you to take the threat seriously - but you were still boiling with rage over the past, blind to anything else. 

“I can’t accept anyone’s help?” You scoffed, crowding into his personal space to hiss the words closer to him. “That is so rich coming from someone who-” 

JJ cleared her throat loudly, cutting you off. 

“Spence.” She got his attention from the intense gaze he was keeping on you - anger hot in his eyes even though he was staring heavily at your lips. 

When Spencer looked over and saw the vase in JJ’s hands, his entire face shifted in a blink. His expression went from tight-knit anger and annoyance to ‘shit-your-pants’ worry. The danger went from being theoretical to being very real in that moment. 

“Where did these flowers come from?” Spencer asked. 

“What?” You gaped, so entirely confused. 

“Where did you get the flowers?” He asked, rephrasing the question, his tone more urgent and demanding now. 

“Why does that matter?” You replied, exasperated. You didn’t see how it was at all relevant. 

“All of the women who were killed received these exact same kind of flowers within days of their death.” JJ told you. “Do you have any idea who sent them?” 

“I thought my mother did.” You shrugged. “There was no name on the card. It just said ‘Happy Birthday’. She didn’t get to see me in person for my birthday, she’s traveling right now. She’s one of the only people who would send me flowers for my birthday.” 

“Yes, but your mother knows that your favorite flowers are lavender and baby’s breath. Why would she send these?” Spencer replied. 

Naturally, he remembered your favorite flowers. 

You couldn’t get stuck on that, though. Instead, you pondered the question he posed. 

Why would your mother send you white carnations without even signing the card? 

It wasn’t something you had thought about. At the time, you had just thought it was considerate, and sweet. When you had called her to thank her for the flowers, you had gotten her voicemail. You had left her a message thanking her. She was away on a singles cruise with shoddy reception and she hadn’t gotten back to you yet. 

“They’re just flowers.” You said, letting out another nervous chuckle - but your voice broke over this one. 

Obviously the reality of things was truly starting to set in with you. 

“We need to set up protective custody for you.” Spencer said, taking out his phone in order to get this done. 

“No!” You snapped. “I am not having some random cops follow me around because you think I might be in danger.” You hissed angrily. 

Spencer paused and stared you down, debating if he was going to go against your wishes or not, his phone still in hand. 

JJ hated the look in Spencer’s eyes. That deep, bitter fear. Whatever had happened between the two of you, there was still enough care lingering there that he would fight for you no matter what. He was terrified for you. He wasn’t going to let you meet the same fate as the other victims. She knew he wasn’t going to let this go. 

JJ put the vase down on the coffee table, and turned to you. 

“It doesn’t have to be random cops. We can stay with you, in order to-” She started to explain, only to be disrupted by the digital ringtone of your home phone echoing through the house. 

You rushed to grab the phone, and JJ heard some of the quiet conversation from you on one end. 

“Yeah, okay. Yeah, I’ll be there soon. It’s no problem. Thank you so much. Yeah, twenty minutes. Bye.” 

You hung up and then rushed back into the living room - and before either of them could speak further on the matter, you rushed past them. You went to the entryway, taking off your slippers to exchange them for sneakers. 

“Look, guys, I would love to stay and hang out, but I have somewhere important to be.” You huffed out. 

“Seriously?” Spencer replied, entirely frustrated with you. “This isn’t some tea party. We aren’t just hanging around here for fun. Call whoever that was and tell them that you’re gonna be late. Or call and cancel, or-” 

“No!” You yelled back, entirely frustrated with him. “Dammit, Spencer! People have responsibilities, you know! I have responsibilities. I am an adult, I’m not some child you can talk down to. Now get the fuck out of my house so I can lock up, and get to the important things that I have to do. Things that don’t involve wasting my time talking to you.” 

You said the last part so snidely, resenting that Spencer’s unexpected visit had been part of your day. 

He opened his mouth to argue against this, but JJ put a gentle hand on his shoulder, nudging him toward the door. He sighed and flexed to this movement. He angrily stormed past you to leave through the front door, which he left wide open like a toddler having a tantrum. 

You grabbed your keys and your purse from a side table near the door and JJ moved to leave as well. On her way along, she put a gentle hand on your shoulder, capturing your attention. 

“We’ll check back in with you later, okay?” She said, using her most gentle, non-confrontational voice. 

“Sure.” You easily agreed, unable to be angry with her. “But just call, or something. There’s no need to bang down my door over some stupid flowers. It’s nothing.” 

She stepped through the door and you followed. As you used your keys to lock up, you added on: 

“I would give you my number, but I’m sure Penelope can find it for you in five minutes flat.” 

JJ chuckled at this. 

“More like two and a half, I’d say.” She replied - it was a joking tone, but she did truly think this highly of Penelope’s skills. 

You smiled over your shoulder at her and she nodded before she began to walk back to the car, where Spencer was already sitting in the passenger’s seat, stewing in his anger. 

When she got in beside him, they watched you pull out of the driveway and drive off before either of them spoke. 

“What the hell happened between the two of you?” JJ asked, the question finally unleashing from her lips. 

“It’s complicated.” Spencer huffed out in reply, tired. 

In order to distract himself from all of it, he was staring down at some files in his lap - some of the case files of the other murders that he had pulled out of his bag. He needed something to do to keep his mind from churning more on the fact that you seemed to hate him. He wanted to find a way to protect you now, instead of focusing on the past. 

But JJ seemed hellbent on walking backward - getting him to look back on what happened between the two of you. 

“I can do complicated.” She said. “We’ve got plenty of time. We should just sit here and wait for her to come back.” 

“You should go check in with Hotch.” Spencer told her, dodging around the question once again. “I’ll come back after.” 

“After what?” JJ questioned, finding this wording particularly strange. 

JJ started the car and pulled away, hoping that you would be safe during the time they didn’t have eyes on you. The UnSub had a particular routine - he liked to stalk his victims for a few weeks before he broke into their homes and killed them. So she hoped that he wasn’t ready to make contact with you yet. She hoped that if he did, your gun and your alarm system would be enough to deter him. 

“I - I wanted to get her something nice.” He answered, sounding rather shy about this proclamation. “Like she mentioned, her birthday just passed. And, according to the preschool forms, her son’s birthday was a week ago. I want to get something for him too.” 

“They have the same birthday?” JJ asked. 

“Not exactly the same, but their birthdays are only five days apart.” Spencer replied. “I missed his birth.” He added on, a quiet sigh, entirely melancholic. “I missed the whole pregnancy. I - I missed everything.” 

“You still didn’t answer my question.” JJ reminded him. “What happened?” 

Spencer knew she was asking as a friend. He knew that of all people - she was the one to talk to about this. 

“It - it was right after Hankel.” He admitted quietly. “That was when Y/N and I broke up.” 

“Oh.” JJ said quietly. 

The air in the car became thick as the heaviness truly overtook her. 

So, it was complicated. 

But she definitely couldn’t understand your rage toward Spencer. 

“When I came back from Atlanta, she knew I wasn’t the same. And things - we - we fell apart.” He admitted this barely above a whisper, hesitant to even voice the words as a reality. “You knew what kind of person I was back then. I wasn’t good to her. I wasn’t good to anybody.” 

Spencer let out a harsh chuckle - a defense to all the hurt he was feeling about it. 

JJ spotted a sign for a shopping center, and pulled into the parking lot. She knew that Spencer likely had a good idea about buying into your good graces with a late birthday gift. Even if it wouldn’t instantly make up for everything that had happened all those years ago. 

“Yeah, but you’re sober now.�� She reminded him. 

“She doesn’t know that.” Spencer replied. 

JJ ruminated in thought for a moment. 

“You know, I met Will afterwards, right?” She said. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Spencer nodded. 

“It was only a few weeks after everything happened, when we were working that case in New Orleans.” She explained. “And he looked at me like I was a hero. Because I helped him finish what his father couldn’t. He didn’t look at me like I was fragile or broken. He didn’t tip-toe around me. He didn’t see me as some ghost. And that is part of the reason why I fell for him. He always saw me as this goddess. Like Superwoman.” 

Spencer smiled at this. 

He wanted to be that person for you. He wanted to be your Superman. (But he feared that he couldn’t live up to that. That he would fail you when the time came.) 

JJ found a parking spot, and parked, but Spencer lingered - sensing there was more to the conversation. 

“You know… Henry wants a puppy.” JJ’s voice shook, her throat clenching up around these words. 

Spencer’s stomach shook. 

He hadn’t been there, but he had seen the scars on JJ’s arms. He had seen the footage of the other poor woman being torn apart by those dogs. 

“And I had to tell Will everything. How I was chased down, how I had to shoot two innocent animals - the stupid fact that I still feel guilty about it, even though they would have killed me if I hadn’t done it.” She said, her throat becoming more closed off with each word. She cleared it before she spoke again. “How I lost you, how it was all my fault.” 

“What happened to me wasn’t your fault.” Spencer felt the need to say this aloud, reaching over and putting a gentle hand on her knee. She nodded at him before she continued. 

“Just - it was all so overwhelming. The idea of having a dog in our house. But… I told him that I wanted to try, at least. For Henry.” JJ explained. “But when we went to the animal shelter - the sound of dogs barking… I couldn’t stop myself from flinching. And next thing I know, I’m sitting on the curb outside with my head between my knees and Will is putting a bottle of water to my lips.” 

“Henry seems more like a cat person anyway.” Spencer replied, hoping this slightly humorous comment would offer some comfort to his friend. 

JJ let out a tired laugh. 

“He’s three and a half, I think we’re still in the stage where a goldfish is more than enough for him.” She added on. 

“I - I never told Y/N.” Spencer said, suddenly shifting the conversation. JJ raised her brow, prompting further explanation of this. “I never told her what happened to me. What happened with Hankel.” 

JJ gave him a sad look. 

“Why not?” 

“I - I didn’t want her to view me as weak. I couldn’t fight him off. I accepted the drugs. At certain points, I…. I even pitied him.” Spencer replied. “I didn’t want things to change between us. Even though they did anyway.” 

“Do you still wanna be with her?” JJ asked. 

“What?” Spencer gaped, not expecting the question. 

“If the kid is yours, obviously you wanna be in his life. But co-parenting as separate, single people is one thing.” JJ explained herself. “Do you still want to be with Y/N? Do you still love her?” 

“Yes.” Spencer replied shyly. 

“Then you have to tell her everything.” JJ said firmly. “Being with someone for the long term isn’t about creating some fantasy. I fell in love with Will because he looked at me like I was Superwoman, but I stayed in love because he takes care of me when I’m powerless. You have to be weak in front of her and let her take care of you, so that you can be strong everywhere else.” 

Spencer sighed - letting this wisdom fully penetrate him. 

He knew that being a genius sometimes meant that he wasn’t the smartest person in the room. Apparently, this was one of those times. 

“You’re right.” 

Then, he reached for the car door’s handle, feeling like JJ had taught him a lot with that conversation and he needed some time to think alone. 

“You want me to come with you?” JJ asked. “You might need a woman’s opinion on what to get,” 

“No thanks, I know Y/N pretty well.” He replied. “At least I hope I still do.” He opened the door fully and stepped out. “And I wanted some alone time, to… think all of this over. To think about what I’m gonna say to Y/N. I’m gonna walk back afterwards, the house is only a few blocks away.” 

JJ nodded. 

“I should check back in with Hotch.” She noted. “See if they found anything with the other women on the list. Otherwise, all we’ve got is the flowers.” 

Just as he moved to close the door again, JJ spoke up one last time. 

“Rubble.” She said suddenly - which sounded very strange with no context. 

“What?” Spencer asked, ducking his head down to see inside the car to potentially hear her words better. 

“Rubble - it’s a character from the kids’ TV show, Paw Patrol.” She explained. “There was about five action figures of him sitting on the living room floor back there. So I would assume that he’s your son’s favorite character.” 

Spencer’s chest jumped at the way she said ‘your son’ - so casually. 

He could really have a child in his life. This could really be his future. 

If he played his cards right, this could be his future with you. 

“Thank you, JJ.” Spencer grinned at her. 

She smiled back and he stood up to his full height and closed the car door, walking off into the shopping center by himself. 

And of course, his thoughts drifted back to you. 

He thought back to the last time he had spent your birthday with you. Before Hankel, before all the madness. Before everything good in his life slipped through his fingers and he was left feeling so alone. 

… 

For someone with basically no serious relationships under his belt before you came along, Spencer was excellent when it came to romance. 

Perhaps it was because he spent his time reading the classics - he could recite Elizabethan poetry off by heart, he could whisper epic romantic ballads in your ear before kissing you with such intense passion that it left your head spinning. He had such a perfect picture of what romance should be, and it meant that he knew how to plan a date that left you feeling like a queen. 

Every single time he took you out, he made you feel like you were the only woman on earth - like he would move the seas and the sky just to show you how much he cared. 

And because he insisted that your birthday should be a day all about you - a day dedicated to celebrating you - then this was certainly no different. 

The night had been a whirlwind of perfection. 

After dinner at a gorgeous fine dining restaurant downtown, Spencer then drove the two of you to an art gallery to stroll around. He cited that he wanted you to have some down time for your food to settle before he gave you your present. From the spark in his eye, you had a feeling that you knew exactly what that present would be. The whole evening was so utterly beautiful and peaceful. And like everything with Spencer - it was a pleasant enrichment of the mind, looking at art while he told you things about the artists or the origins of the paintings. 

Before you got halfway through the gallery, he checked his watch and told you that it was ‘just about time’ for your present, and then he drove you back to his apartment. 

The two of you barely made it through the door before you had him pinned against it, your mouth enveloping his in a hot, desperate kiss. You were so utterly grateful to have such a romantic, thoughtful man in your life. 

The entire evening had been nothing but a reminder of that - the way he looked at you with love so pure in his eyes. Him opening doors for you, keeping his hand on your lower back to usher you gently around, speaking lowly to you as though his words were precious and only meant to be yours. 

You needed him. You needed to show him how much you appreciated all of it. You needed him to know how much of a treasure he was in your life. 

You reached for his belt and Spencer let out a choked off moan into your mouth. 

You were surprised when he reached for your wrist, gently pulling your touch back - stopping you from unfastening the belt as he pulled his now slightly swollen lips away from your kiss. 

“As - as much as I want to,” He huffed out against your mouth. “I - I still have to give you your present.” He noted, flashing you a smile. 

“I thought this was my present.” You replied, reaching down to grope Spencer’s half hard cock through his pants. 

He let out a groan; but then he reached for your wrist again, pulling your touch back. 

“I - I promise - later - afterwards? Later tonight.” He stuttered out, hard pressed to focus as more blood rushed to his cock. 

Spencer puzzled you. You had never known any other man to interrupt foreplay for something other than sex, unless it was life or death. But it made you very curious about what your present was and why he was so desperate to give it to you. 

And sex was still on the table, so that panging need between your legs would be taken care of eventually. 

You hummed in ascent and stepped back, releasing Spencer from where you had him pressed against the door. He gulped in a large breath of air before he moved across the room. 

You were surprised when he didn’t move to turn on any lights in the apartment, leaving the two of you settled in comfortable darkness. The only lights being the light from the bathroom that he had left on before leaving, shining down the hall, and the dim lighting coming in the windows - some street lights and the occasional passing car’s headlights. 

Spencer shrugged off his blazer and tossed it over the back of the couch on his way toward the window. He yanked up the blinds in front of the space where he had set up a very expensive, advanced, gorgeous telescope - one that had been there the last few times you had visited. Astronomy was one of his many hobbies, and he often invited you to view different stars or passing comets. It was just one of the many things you learned from him - knowledge you absorbed from being around him that made you feel infinitely smarter. 

You always indulged in the joy of feeling smarter just from being in his presence. You loved that Spencer was someone so gifted who loved to share his knowledge, rather than gatekeeping it or being snide toward others who weren’t as privileged as him. It was just another thing to love about him - the fact that he was so kind in sharing his big brain with others. 

You watched him with intrigue while you took your wrap off your shoulders and tossed your purse onto the couch. Enjoying the quiet and the peaceful darkness and watching him work, you moved to sit on the arm of the couch to begin unstrapping your heels. 

He checked his watch again, and then looked to a small side table he had near the telescope. He flipped open a notebook that he had there, and you supposed that the minimal light coming in through the window was enough for him to see whatever it was that he had written there. He adjusted the telescope slightly, then looked at the notebook again, then adjusted the telescope again. 

Then he said ‘aha, there you are’ under his breath, grinning widely to himself. 

The entire thing made your insides glow with curiosity. 

Spencer then turned back to you, still grinning widely. When he noticed your shoe half-hanging off your foot, he stepped over to you and softly grabbed your ankle, sliding your shoe off the entire way before gently rubbing the sole of your foot. 

“Let me help you with that, Princess.” He said quietly, before moving to take the shoe off your other foot. 

Again, your insides tingled as he made you feel like you were the most important woman on earth. 

“Thank you.” You replied, almost speechless at the action. 

“If you’ll step right this way, I can show you your present.” He said, motioning toward the telescope with a dramatic flare. 

You let out a giggle as you stepped over your abandoned shoes and moved to look into the telescope. 

You wondered if he had written some poem and taped it onto the other end of the lens or something like that (it was Spencer, it must have been something epically romantic). But as you bent down and closed one eye to get a good look, it was entirely ordinary. 

The telescope was focused on a single, tiny star. 

It was beautiful, but it was very… plain. And more than anything, it was confusing. 

Your present was… a star? 

“Spencer, I don’t really get it?” You sighed, standing up to your full height once again. 

“I got you a star.” He said proudly, grinning even wider now. 

When you stared at him with more intense confusion, Spencer reached over to the notebook and pulled something out. After he handed it to you, you leaned into the light of the window and studied it carefully. 

It was a certificate stating that Spencer had paid to name the star after you. 

He had literally changed the night sky for you. 

“Oh my god.” You gasped quietly. 

You felt so overwhelmed. 

If he had made you feel like the most important woman in the world before, then now - you felt like the most important woman in the galaxy. 

“Spencer, this is - this is too much.” You said, your throat clenching up slightly due to the intensity of the emotions. 

“No, it’s not.” He said firmly, reaching out and putting a hand on your jaw, tilting your face up from looking at the certificate to look at him. 

There it was again, all of it spelled out in his eyes - the adoration, the pure, overwhelming affection that he felt for you. It bloomed nothing but those same feelings in return from you. It was almost so overwhelming that you felt like you could have exploded from how much love you felt for this man, all of it swelling inside of you so quickly that you felt like your body couldn’t contain it. Like it was a sickness that was going to overrun your body if you weren’t careful. 

“Spencer.” 

His name swelled in your throat like that throbbing love, and you couldn’t help yourself from reaching out and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, pulling him into another kiss. Because of course, words weren’t enough. You smothered him with your mouth, trying desperately to communicate every ounce of passion and gratefulness you were feeling with the heat of that kiss. 

Spencer held you, engulfing both your cheeks with his large, warm hands, kissing you back with just as much intensity. 

Both of you lingered there for a few moments, savoring each other’s lips, mingling in each other’s breath. 

You were disappointed when Spencer pulled away. 

“There is something else.” He told you, a bit of glee edging on his voice. 

“What?” You gaped, shocked by this. 

“There’s something else I have to give you. Another part of your present.” He clarified, pulling back completely - likely in order to fetch this thing. 

You let out a breath. You weren’t sure how this magnificent man could possibly do more. 

You placed the certificate for the star down on the table where Spencer had kept it. Later, you would take it home and have it framed, wanting to display it proudly. You could imagine yourself putting it up in the front of your home when you eventually moved in with Spencer. You could put it next to your marriage certificate; eventually, put next to wedding photos when the two of you eventually got married. (And sometime later, it would be hanging alongside photos of you and Spencer with your kids. You tingled, realizing that this was the first time you had ever thought of having kids with him, but it fit so well. It seemed right.) 

The thought made you tingle. 

You could truly imagine yourself having a life with Spencer. Standing proudly because this was just the beginning of it. He truly felt like ‘the one’ you had always been waiting for. 

“Here.” 

Spencer’s voice pulled you from your plethora of dreamy thoughts, and you turned to see him holding a velvet box. Your heart skipped a beat at the passing thought that it might be the box - but no. Now wasn’t the time. The two of you had only been dating for a year and a half. And while you were so deeply in love, you knew that it was a bit haste to assume that he was ready for marriage when you were his first serious girlfriend. You were still both so young. 

He opened the lid and you let out a small gasp when you saw it. 

It was a simple, elegant silver necklace. The pendant was a four pointed star, with a small, dainty stone in the middle. You easily recognized it as your birthstone, meant to represent the fact that he had given it to you on your birthday. And obviously the star pendant as a whole represented that he had also gifted you a literal star in the sky on that same day. 

“Spencer, it’s so beautiful.” You said, utterly breathless. 

“Traditionally, the four pointed star is believed to represent the designation of a goal. It marks one’s great endeavors, because it seems to point to the four cardinal directions. This star is meant to guide someone, like a map - the way that sailors used the stars to guide their path.” 

Spencer explained, knowledgeable as he always was. 

“I - I chose this for you because… well, because when I met you, I felt as though I had accomplished great things in all areas of my life, except for one. Academically, I was satisfied. In my career, I was happy. But when it came to matters of the heart… I was utterly clueless. And when I found you… it felt like you were my guiding star. Like you were the person I had been waiting for to finally show me - show me the meaning of love.” 

“Oh, Spencer.” Your voice cracked around these words, barely able to form them. “Oh, honey. I love you so much. Thank you.” 

It was all your mind could gather at the moment. It wasn’t the first time you had said it to him, but it was certainly one of the most intense. 

“I love you too.” He replied. Through the dimness, you could almost see tears forming in his eyes. “You truly make me so happy.” 

Spencer then cleared his throat harshly, wanting to clear away his intensely emotional tears. 

“Can - can I put it on you?” He asked shyly, motioning with the necklace in its box. 

“Of course.” You grinned. “I’d love that.” 

You turned around and Spencer took it out of the box, fiddling with the dainty clasp for a moment before he put it around your neck and then did it up for you. It felt so right around your neck. It felt like his love was being carried with you. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t want to take it off anytime soon. You could easily imagine yourself feeling so proud to answer whenever random strangers or your co-workers asked where it was from. 

When it was secured around your neck, Spencer leaned in and laid a gentle, open-mouthed kiss against the chain. This simple act reminded you of that needy throb between your thighs; of what you had been wanting so badly the moment you had come in the door. 

“So…” He whispered against your neck. “What else does the birthday girl want?” 

“I can think of a few things.” 

That was how you ended up with your back pressed against the softness of the couch - too impatient to even make it to the bed - with your dress pushed up around your waist, your panties tossed somewhere in the middle of the living room rug. Spencer’s glasses were pressed up onto his forehead while his knees dug into that same rug, his fingers splayed across your thighs, holding you open to makeway for his tongue. 

He ate you out with all of the intensity and passion that he had kissed you with - moaning into your pussy as though he was singing directly to the gods. 

“Fuck, Spence.” You moaned, raking your hands through his hair, holding him close - not that he would want to pull away for even a second. 

He loved your taste more than anything in the world, and he savored every second that he got the privilege of being on his knees for you. He moaned into your pussy, loudly, almost pathetically - hot echoes coming from his lungs as though he was the one being pleasured. He laved his tongue across you with an open jaw, drinking in as much of you as possible while your thighs quaked around his head. Your nails dug into his scalp and he only moaned harder, loving the sound of your needy whines and your gasping breaths as your clit throbbed under his tongue. 

Spencer hummed in delight while he bounced your clit on his tongue, loving the feeling of that sweet little bead throbbing against him; loving your taste, loving your echoing moans. Loving how much he could bring you pleasure. 

“Fuck, Spence, so close!” 

He put his lips around you and sucked then, holding you gently against him by the hips. He couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling of your body quaking against his face while your orgasm overtook you. It was overwhelming and beautiful and warmed your whole body - just like the love you felt for him. 

He pulled away after a moment, when he was sure that he had seen you through to the satisfying end, and he grinned against the mound of your pussy. 

“Happy birthday, pretty girl.” 

… 

After the break-up, Spencer often looked up to the sky and thought about you. 

On the nights when your star was in place overhead, he felt a particular pang in his chest. He wondered where you were and what you were doing. He wondered if you were safe. He spent many nights staring out his telescope, wondering if you were happy, blanketed under that inky sky. 

You thought about the star sometimes, too. 

You thought it was a lot like your relationship with Spencer. Placing all of your hopes and dreams onto something already dead - something where the light had died out long ago.

...

Continue reading: Chapter Three - Turn It Off

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

[risestarkiss]

Being Big Red

Rise Ramblings #312

In “What Was Meant To Be” and “What They Became,” I discuss how the turtles were created by Draxum to be weapons and then how the boys were embraced by Splinter to be a part of the Hamato clan.

I also discussed how Splinter viewed television as a window into his former life. He used television as a means to drown himself in a never-ending cycle of reminiscing the past and mourning his former self.

Splinter’s crushing depression, though never voiced, impacted the turtles’ emotional growth and development. As a result, all four brothers had to cope with their father’s lack of attention and his expectations for their lives in their own way…

However, I believe that no one had more pressure placed on them than Raphael Hamato.

Raphael is naturally easy-going, sweet, fun-loving, and supportive. But, as the oldest/biggest turtle, he became the impromptu leader of their little team by default. Consequently, he takes on several different roles for the sake and well-being of his family.

Their day-to-day training regimen is directed completely by him.

He is the boys' moral compass and who they go to for guidance.

He's the team’s backbone, support, and backup, which often cumulates in him acting as a physical shield when things get rough.

And, most significantly, Raph is the leader even when he himself wants nothing more than to crumble to pieces.

Raph is so physically imposing, strong-willed, and devastatingly kind-hearted that it’s easy to expect these roles from him.

But, Raph is also just a child.

In reality, these roles should never have been Raph’s to bear…

Parentification is a process in which a child or adolescent is forced to act as a parent to their siblings (or to their actual parent) through providing emotional support (Emotional Parentification) or physical support (Instrumental Parentification) in order to maintain the household.

I believe that Raphael was subjected to both, but was especially subjected to the former.

All of the roles described above are the roles of a supportive parent to their children (or Sensei to their students.) To verify this claim, you needn’t look further than the roles that Splinter encompassed in any other iteration.

With Raph, none of this responsibility comes naturally. He has to work hard to live up to the pressures and expectations placed onto him, resulting in a dissonance between his responsibilities and his true nature.

I believe that you can see the evidence of this dissonance in his chosen form of dress.

Have you noticed that when Raph casually dresses himself, he mostly wears white?

Even Donnie picked up on this trend when he chose outfits for his brother in "The Clothes Don't Make The Turtle." (See "The Fashionista" for a full breakdown on Donnie's impeccable fashion sense.✨)

Yet, when Raphael is filling a role, or dressing to impress others, Red is his automatic go-to.

It’s almost as if the title of “The Red One” was not one that he chose, but one that was merely placed onto him.

But I digress...

Raph is able to be a pseudo-parent to his brothers and serves to fill in the gaps that their actual father could not fill. However, with no outlet for his own insecurities, all of that pressure had no relief.

And, if you understand chemistry, pressure, with no release, creates an explosion.

“Acting out” is an unhealthy defense mechanism in which one expresses their unacceptable feelings through physical actions.

In this case, the "unacceptable feeling" is disappointment, not at his brothers, or with his father, or with any external force, but with himself. And with no outlet and with no one to turn to for support, that disappointment turns into red hot anger.

He’s so disappointed with himself, in fact, that he reaches his breaking point.

Then finally, finally, he opens up.

And at long last, he gets the support he so desperately needed.

Thus, he is able to ultimately let it all go...

It's so lovely to see that his family does not disappoint.

○○○○

Next | Being Baby Blue • Being Purple ○ Part One • Being Purple ○ Part Two • Orange, Baby!

Finale | Being Hamato Yoshi

#he is the best of boys #he tries so hard #and I love him for that #research resources provided upon request #starkiss ramblings #rise analysis #rottmnt analysis #character analysis #Raphael Ramblings #rise raph #rise raphael #raphael #rottmnt raphael #raphael hamato #rottmnt #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt2018 #tmnt 2k18 #tmnt 2018 #save rottmnt #unpause rottmnt #unpause rise of the tmnt #save rise of the tmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

[luvyeni]

❛TAMING THE PILLOW PRINCESS❜ ( n. jaemin )

p. boyfriend!na jaemin x fem!reader w. 1.8k+

warnings? oral ( m. receiving ), uprotected sex, sorta mean dom jaemin (he's such a softie it's hard), a little degradation, breeding kink (?)

— 𖦹 ( you used be such a good girl for him, but thats okay jaemin will fix it ) !

“Come home.” You spoke through the phone. “baby im with the guys I told you I wanted to hang out with them for a while.” Jaemin said, but you could care less. “i don’t care, I want you home now.”

“Ba— come home or you’ll sleep on the couch for a week." Before he could speak up you said something else. “and no sex!” you hung up in his face— he sighed, putting his phone away, he friends already looking at him, your voice was loud enough for them to hear the entire thing. “don’t say anything.” He rubbed his temples.

“jaemin, man I love you and I don’t know how to say this but.” Jeno said. “your girlfriend is a bitch.” Haechan finished. “haechan.” Renjun said, jaemin shook his head, ready to defend you. “she’s just really needy you know?” he said. “she needs attention, it’s okay I don’t mind.”

“she’s also rude as hell, constantly nagging and yelling at you over stupid shit, spending all your money, i could go on.” Haechan said, jaemin sighed. Jaemin loved you, he did — but even he had to admit his friend was right, you were a nightmare dressed in pink.

“does she even you know?” jeno trailed off. “you know give it up?” he said. “sex? of course we have sex.” He said. “does she go down on you?” renjun asked, jaemin tried to remember the last time you did, cringing. “she really isn’t  that good at it, but id rather give than receive.”

“and you go down on her?” jeno said. “I do most of the work, so what?” jaemin said. “that’s your problem, you’ve created a pillow princess with a bratty attitude, and now you don’t know how to handle her anymore.” Jeno said. “I know how to handle my girlfriend.” He said, feeling a bit defensive now that it was finally laid out for him. “do you really?”

That sentence stayed with him all the way home — your attitude was getting worse day by day, and he stayed passive, letting you do what you want,  as long as you were happy, even though it made him miserable— he wasn’t getting sad, he was getting pissed, speeding on the gas all the way home.

You scoffed looking at the time, he was 2 hours late. “im gonna kill him.” you got up out of bed, only in your underwear and a flimsy tank top , making your way into the kitchen to get a drink, opening the fridge — your eyes sat on the last can of jaemins beer, you smirked grabbing the can, opening taking a sip. “serves him right.” You didn’t even like beer, you just wanted to piss him off , knowing he wouldn’t do anything but smile and tell you it would be okay.

Leaving the can on the counter, knowing it will piss him off as well, turning to go back in the room, when the front door open, your boyfriend walked in. you rolled your eyes, he looked at you,  then over by the counter, noticing the beer. “that was my last one.

“So?” you shrugged walking back to the room, the cats following behind you. “why didn’t you throw away the can?” you ignored him, he followed behind you. “you know I hate when you leave the cans on the counter.”

“well go pick it up and throw it away.” You picked up a pillow, throwing at his chest. “you go sleep on the couch while you’re at it.” He looked down at the pillow then back at you, anger boiling up inside him. “go.” You said turning on your side, no longer facing him.

“im not staying on the couch.” He said you scoffed. “well you aren’t staying in here, so sleep in the hall for all i care.” jaemin saw red, and before he could even notice it was like his arms and legs were moving for him — and he was sitting on the bed, you shot up ready to yell.  “I said get the fuc—” he your words were cut short by jaemins hand wrapping around your throat.

“Listen here.” He said, his eyes dark, not like how you’re used to. “i've had it up to here with your bitchy attitude.” He seethed. “letting you walk all over me, you don’t have to do shit, i let you sit here in the apartment i pay for all day and do nothing, while i go out and work my ass off so you can spend my money on your unnecessary shit and how do you repay me?” he squeezed. “by being a bitch.”

You couldn’t say anything, not because you couldn’t due to him choking you, but because you were speechless, he never spoke to you like that — so mean and with hatred in his eyes — it was kind of turning you on. “jae— did i say you could speak?” he said. “that’s your problem, you don’t listen.”

“i've been spoiling you too much, letting you get away with everything.” He kissed his teeth. “that shit stops today.” Before you could say anything he was tossing you over his lap. “i want you to count.” He whispered in your ear. “wh-ouch!” you yelped upon feeling his hand come down on your ass. “fuck that hurts.” You cursed. “good, it’s supposed to.” another slapped made you jolt. “now count.”

“jae– shit!” you cursed as he didn’t let you get your words out, slapping your ass. “one!” you shouted. “good again “ he repeated. “tw-two.” He kept repeating his abuse on your ass, tears wielding in your eyes as you counted all the way until his desired number.

“Good.” He rubbed your sore cheeks. “you actually listened for once.” He grabbed your hair — yanking your hair back roughly, looking you in the eyes “get down on your knees.”

You sat in between his legs, your knees digging into the rug sure to leave them red — your face close to his hard on. “im always going down in you, bout time you give me something in return.” He unbuckled his pants, pushing them down to his ankles. “gonna suck me off real good.” He pulled his cock from his underwear, stroking himself off, his cock dripping with pre-cum from his tip on to your pouty lips.

You hadn’t done this in a while, jaemin always doted on you, so you probably only did it a few times in the early stages of your relationship after a while he just ended up saying it was fine. “go on.” he held the base of his cock tapping it on your lips. “put it in your mouth.”

You slowly sunk down on his cock, he groaned out throwing his head back, his hand resting on the bed, the other in your head. “you’re still just as bad.” Your eyes widening, as he pushed your head all the way down. “it’s like you’re not even trying.” The more he talked to you like that the more turned on you became, your panties sticking uncomfortably to your cunt. “have to do everything.”

He used your hair, guiding you up and down his shaft. “there you go, slowly.” he cursed under his breath. “use your tongue.” he hissed. “i said your tongue, not your teeth — are you dumb baby?” you moaned around his cock. “of course you like being degraded -fuck- i guess i assumed you liked being treated like a princess.”

He pulled you off him, slapping his cock against your lips. “that’s enough — want you now.” you went to lay down like you normally did but he stopped you. “no, it’s not about you tonight.” he laid back against the headboard. “tonight i want you to ride me, i want you to work for it.”

You’ve never ridden anyone, all of them doing the work for you. “i-i.” he picked you, making you straddle his lap. “i'll jerk off right now in front of you and you won’t get anything, if you want to cum, you ride me.” You were desperate to cum, biting your lip — grabbing the base of his cock, hovering above you. “sit.”

He pushed you down, his cock filling you up, you moaned out, holding yourself up by his chest. “jae-jaemin.” you moaned. “now move.” he commanded, you rocked your hips sloppily. “do it right.” He slapped your ass. “i-i c-cant.” you sobbed. “try.” He said deciding to help you just a bit, grabbed your hips rocking you back and forth. “fu-fuck just like that.” He let your waist go, leaving you on your own again.

It just wasn’t enough, you needed him. “jaemin.” You whined. “i-i need you.” He smirked. “yeah.” His hips bucking up. “why should i help you when -fuck- when all you’ve been is a bitch to me?” he grunted, slowly loosing his mind, wanting nothing more than to flip you over and fuck you like he’s used to. “why should i help you.”

“i-im so-sorry.” You stuttered. “i'll be good, i promise.” You sounded so pretty, begging like that. “you will?” he grunted. “no more being mean, and rude?” you nodded, promising him through tears. “i-i promise.”

He flipped you over,  pushing his cock deep into your cunt. “shit!” you screamed as he plowed into you, wrapping your leg around his waist. “shit that’s it.” he moaned. “be a good girl and take my cock.” You grabbed his bicep, eyes rolling to back of your head.

“that’s all you needed, to be fucked back into submission right?” he said grabbing your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “you’re gonna be my good girl again if i let you cum.” You nodded dumbly. “words.” he said, thrusting deeply inside you,  hitting that gummy spot. “ye-yes i promise.” You felt it coming all you was his word.

“cum.”

Your mouth dropped out, eyes rolling to back of your head as you came with a loud gasp of jaemins name, your head feeling deeper into a subspace as he fucked you through your orgasm. “pretty girl -fuck- gonna cum inside your pretty cunt okay?” you nodded. “pl-please cum inside me.”

His thrust began to falter as he came, his cum pouring into your cunt. “good girl.” He looked at your fucked out face. “there’s my good girl.”

He pulled out of your cunt, watching his cum leaking out of you, laying next to you, caressing the side of your face . “im sorry.” You pouted. “for being such a bitch.”

“it’s okay princess, i still love you and I still want to take care of my precious baby.” He kissed your temple. “just be nicer to me baby.” He said. “as long as you don’t make me ride you anymore.” He laughed. “I don’t ever want to do that again.” He nodded. “I won’t baby.”

“you’ll always be my pretty pillow princess.”

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #nct fanfic #nct fic #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct x female reader #nct x reader #nct hard thoughts #nct hard hours #nct dream imagines #nct dream x reader #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fic #nct dream smut #nct dream hard thoughts #nct dream hard hours #na jaemin x reader #na jaemin smut #na jaemin fic #jaemin x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin fanfic #jaemin fic

[sinizade]

Izveta Noquar

Class: Rogue

Dark Urge (Evil but "redeemed")

Romance: Astarion (Ascended)

Besties: Why does she need friends if she has her own company? (Shadowheart is her bestie)

Being the youngest adopted daughter of the prestigious Noquar family in Menzoberranzan, Izveta was able to surpass the matriarch's biological daughters in any aspect, battles or manipulations. The drow had a natural talent for killing ever since she first held a weapon, the family's only concern about the girl was her constant conversations with a butler who seemed like only she could see, but often some other drow could see a small shadow next to her, almost as if whispering in her ear.

Her first love was the first person Izveta killed, a handsome young elf with beautiful green eyes almost the same age as her who was given to her as a gift by her mother. The young drow really thought he loved her the way she loved him, but she discovered the hard way that it was all just cruel manipulation for him to try to kill her and escape... What he didn't expect was that it would be a trigger for something cruel and bloodthirsty to awaken in Izveta who hunted him like an animal and slit his throat completely, leaving him unrecognizable...

Izveta ended up finding out from her butler that her sisters planned to kill her to reduce the matriarch's chances of choosing Izveta to replace her as head of the family. The young drow, possessed by anger and a feeling of betrayal, slew her sisters, showing them both to her mother like a trophy, but she didn't react as Izveta expected... The woman who raised her all her life tried to kill her and was once again overcome by hatred, Izveta killed her own mother, afraid of the reaction of the other drow, she fled to the surface where her butler constantly talks about a place she could actually consider a real home, where she would be accepted and loved for who she truly is

Getting used to the surface culture was one of the biggest difficulties for Izveta, not having males to satisfy her whims or soldies to do as she commanded was a reality check. The males on the surface were not as submissive and obedient as those who served her in Menzoberranzan and this ended up involving her in several fights in the places where she managed to stay, but it wasn't long until she finally found that place her butler talked about, her home, The Temple of Bhaal, the Lord of Murder... Her father. She didn't like her father's temple, it wasn't quite what she imagined as she thought it would be something grand like a castle or a fortress, but it fit with the cliche "I am a homicidal God"

Baldur's Gate was truly a lovely city, so full of light and life, Izveta simply loved walking through the dark alleys looking for some clueless person who would follow her wherever she took them, so that was when she met that dark-haired human man who He wasn't looking at her with fear, but curiosity and even perhaps admiration? Izveta didn't know for sure, but receiving that look after so long made her interested in knowing more about this human, knowing more about this "Enver Gortash"

The years after meeting Enver seemed to improve her mood. Izveta might have loved killing, feeling the hot blood on her hands, but she loved even more being pampered, receiving gifts, ordering and having her carpices supplied whenever she wanted and Enver made a point of doing all of this for her, giving some small gifts like rings, necklaces, masks... Izveta LOVES masks. Even though vanity is not something much used either in the Bhaal temple or by his followers, Izveta always loved simply beautifying herself, makeup, big jewelry, hairstyles for her long white hair, she loved spending minutes and even hours just beautifying herself with makeup or the blood of someone she killed. Enver managed to make her see him as an equal, not just an equal, a potential partner both with this strange plan with a "brain" and in bed, he had a thirst in his eyes, a thirst for her and she would quench that thirst every time he begged for her...

For some reason, losing her memories, even if it caused a certain frustration, at the same time caused relief... Being able to recreate her story without memories of the past to worry about

Some may think that Izveta redeemed herself by denying her "family heritage" by denying Bhaal, but her wave of chaos was just beginning. Astarion may think he controls her, that she is his beautiful spawn waiting only to receive orders from her lord, but something he doesn't even suspect is that he is right in the palm of her hand... A little flattery, a few whispers in his ear, a few touches on his chest and he does exactly what she wants and when she wants, he may not feel anything anymore or maybe feel, but the memories of the love he once felt for her are what give her power. Being a Bhaalspawn may have its advantages, but having the control of an ascended vampire lord was much better and as a vampire spawn everything is even more delicious, an eternity delighting in the death of whoever she wants and without any consequences... No There's nothing more she wants

Some extra information about Izveta

She loves white, she loves seeing the white of her clothes stained with blood, she loves seeing how her skin is highlighted while wearing white, she simply loves the color white.

She felt a little sorry for Orin, her little blood kin might be a kinda crazy, but she wasn't a bad person... At least not before her mother tried to kill her.

The only bad thing about denying her "father" was losing Sceleritas... Her butler, her true father... one of the few creatures she truly felt affection for

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanart #baldurs gate tav #dark urge #darkurge #durgetash #gortash x durge #astarion x durge #bg3 durge #durge #drawing #drawings #characterdesign #draw #sketch #digital drawing #character #drawn #sketchbook #sceleritas fel #bhaal #bg3 bhaalspawn #bhaalspawn tav

[tiachiflada]

Please don't traumatize others with your trauma as much as you can. Don't let cruelty in the love you experienced as a child turn you cold and cruel to those who love you as an adult.

#theres those who go thru that bs and come out screaming angry never again #angry in the way that makes them never fucking stand for anyone they love to be treated so badly #and those angry at themselves that they tolerated such trauma for so long #and angry at anyone that cant tolerate the cruelity themselves #but who does your anger serve? #yourself? others? the abusers? the victims? #you cant deny the anger but how do you use it? #i am so aggresively kind sometimes #so kindly aggro #all i can do is try to be conciouse of it and how i use it #hopefully for myself and those kinder than me

[elliespassagerprincess]

house wife reader x mean ellie 👀 ellie works long hours on the weekdays and takes out all of her anger on her docile wife who cooks all her meals, does all of her laundry, cleans the entire house, and make sure ellie’s satisfied 24/7.

Satisfied - (ellie williams x housewife reader)

hi anon! mean ellie? hell yeah. I hope you don't mind, but I added my own twist. I hope you enjoy <3

Pairing: mean ellie x housewife fem!reader

requests are open, feel free to leave one!

HUGE warnings: toxic relationships, murder, gore, violence

Summary: in which you were the perfect housewife

authors note: I'm literally trying to empty out my request inbox, so be ready because there's a bunch of fics coming your way!

"so when last have you seen her?" The police officer asked as he sat across you.

"well she went out yesterday and she never came back"

you saw him look at you and Ellie's house as he was taking notes.

"Any arguments?"

"No"

once again you saw the pen write something on some paper. You wanted to know what exactly he was writing about.

What was talking him so long? You wanted him to fucking leave.

"Thank you for answering these questions, we'll call if we need anything else" the officer said as he stood up.

"Thank you for your hard work! Do I need to walk you out?" You asked with smile

"no, I'll show myself out" was all he said as he walked towards the front door.

As soon as he was out of sight you got up and ran to window to check if he was gone. You watched his car pull out the driveway, and you let out a sigh of relief.

fucking finally.

You ran to you and Ellie's shared room, and between heavy breathes you said "she almost caught us baby".

You walked towards the bed, where Ellie's decomposing body lay. Flies circled her body, her skin was pale and cold to the touch.

You put some of her hair behind her ear "it's ok now, they'll never catch us" you whispered

You loved Ellie. And you would anything for you. Anything including quitting your job and becoming her housewife.

In the beginning you hated it, staying home, cooking, cleaning. But when Ellie praised you, you fucking loved it.

And soon after you became the stereotypical housewife. Cute outfits, aprons that matched whatever you wore. You always woke up before her, to prepare her favorite breakfast. You cooked her dinner.

You fucking did everything.

The two of you were happy. Until Ellie got a promotion. She got more work, the pressure was getting worse for the poor girl.

Ellie came home late and most nights she barley even slept. You tried supporting your wife as best you could. You tried cleaning the house before she came come. You did all her laundry, you even chose her outfits most days.

But it was never enough for her.

One night you cooked Ellie's favorite meal. A prideful smile was on your lips as you put the plate in front of her.

This would cheer her up. You knew it would.

Ellie glanced down at the plate, and she looked back at you. The dark circles under her eyes looked even darker than they did yesterday.

"You are so fucking pathetic" she started.

"I work all fucking day to come to this shit? And look, this table is dusty" she added.

Ellie got up from where she was sitting and she threw the plate filled with food onto the floor. "You have cleaning to do, and don't fucking serve this shit again" she walked out of the dining room and you sat there mouth agape.

This was the first time she's ever said anything like that to you. You sobbed in the kitchen that night. You felt sick to your stomach.

Everything you did was for Ellie and for the first time she wasn't satisfied with you.

Your main mission in life became to serve. To serve her. But what do you do when the one you did everything for, wasn't satisfied?

The next morning you woke up bright and early, and you cooked Ellie a widespread of breakfast. Fruit salad, bacon, eggs pancakes and so much more decorated the table.

You heard the bedroom door open and you saw her walk out, she glanced at the table

"I'm not hungry" was all she said and she walked out the front door.

You were shattered.

Since that day everything you did was wrong.

You couldn't clean right.

Her fingers ran along the cupboard, and she looked at you with a frown.

"Can you not clean right? Should i get a maid? Because you cant do shit"

you couldn't do the laundry right.

you stood in the doorway watching Ellie fit on her suit. She looked herself in the mirror before she made eye contact with you.

"It's still wrinkled and there's a stain" she pointed out.

"fix it" was all she said before she threw the clothes on the floor.

You couldn't even cook right.

Ellie only had one spoon of her food before she pushed her plate to the side

"what's wrong?" you asked

"this is disgusting"

it hurts. Every insult Ellie hurled at you hurt.

You knew she was stressed but it didn't give her the right to take her stress out on you.

One night you tried talking to Ellie. But she didn't want to. She didn't have energy for this.

"Don't you have a house to clean? Oh wait you can't even do that right" she said through a chuckle.

You snapped.

You let out a scream as you grabbed the lamp on your side of the bed. You jumped onto the bed, and you shit her over and over again.

"I"

*hit

"am"

*hit

"the perfect"

*hit

"housewife" you yelled.

Blood littered the walls, and your hands. Heavy breathes left your mouth as you looked at the scene.

"Oh Ellie I'm sorry! This room is filthy! I'll clean it"

you scrubbed the walls, you changed the bedding and you gave her a bath.

Everything was back to normal. It was all clean.

You looked at her decomposing body. She looked peaceful and she wasn't being mean anymore.

This was the girl you fell in love with.

You gave her a kiss on the forehead before you muttered "its time for breakfast" and you left the room to start making your girl breakfast.

You weren't sure how long you were going to get away with this, but for the time being you were happy.

She was better dead anyway.

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou x reader #ellie tlou2 x reader #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams imagine #ellie #ellie x you #dark! ellie williams #ellie miller #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams angst #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams hcs #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams one shot #ellie williams oneshot #ellie williams promlt #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ here’s to hoping (cause i can’t stop calling) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.1k

summary: gojo calls, and you spend it half-wishing you weren’t broken up. 

contains: gn!reader, exes to ???, alcohol, mentions of going to the club, gojo is bad at being an ex, complicated feelings, ambiguous ending, kind of hurt/comfort. 

a/n: writing this as my copium, i haven’t written gojo outside of col in so long so this was challenging, but equally as exciting! some songs that inspired this are: better than this - lauv & oh, gemini - role model.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: calling your ex drunk at two a.m. with feelings still stuck in your throat

“Well, well, well… miss me already?”

The clock on your kitchen wall reads some time between 2:05 and 2:10. Even when you squint, the little lines remain a drunken blur. 

You blame it on the alcohol. 

“Don’t be shy now.” the voice on your phone continues, shaking you out of focus. 

Had you been any more sober, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. 

Had you been any more sober, the throbbing in your head wouldn’t have persisted from the sound of—

“Gojo–” you sigh. 

“Satoru.” he interrupts, a full pause before he continues, softer, “It’s Satoru, remember?” 

Had you been any more sober, you wouldn’t have even answered his call. 

You haul your bag up sluggishly, the chains of the strap clacking against your countertop. Patience is a ticking time bomb when you’re this inebriated, the heavy bass from earlier tonight still thumping its way within your brain. 

You can’t think straight. 

“Satoru,” a name now foreign but still so close to home; it burns on your tongue, trickles bittersweet down your throat, “you called. What do you need?” 

It’s stupid of you to ask, you know, because Gojo’s been calling you like this since the day you broke up months ago. You’d picked up the first few times, but quickly realized that it wasn’t good for the both of you—you’d never move on, and Gojo would never let you go. 

Except—

“You picked up.” 

—liquor makes for poor company when it only serves to soften the anger you’ve built up as protection. It really is all the alcohol’s fault. 

Your eyes burn as you squeeze them shut, sighing, a twisted exhale, “You have to stop, Satoru.” 

“Stop what?” he feigns, the lilt at the end a sure sign of the most insufferable smirk. 

The thought of it makes you sick, makes you ache with memories of pinching his nose at the sight of it. He used to giggle then; now, he chuckles on the other end. 

That’s the question, isn’t it? Stop what?

Since the break-up, Gojo’s been acting like nothing’s changed. He still calls you just as much, still texts you with undertones that tread the fine line between flirty and ‘just Gojo’. Your toiletries are still at his apartment, and his clothes are still in your closet. 

You’d find humor in it if not for the fact that all of it has been so goddamn confusing.

He started it; he broke up with you. 

Shouldn’t he be pushing you away? 

To this day, you have no full closure, no other reason other than an ‘it’s better this way’ followed by a continuous stream of mixed signals because how he treats you is still the same. 

“Stop calling,” a lump forms in your throat, an admission you’ve had to remind yourself again and again, “we’re not together anymore.”

“I can’t call a friend?” 

You snort, fiddling with the metal links of your bag strap, “Is that what we are?” 

A pause. Slippers shifting on floorboards. They sound just like the sleepless nights he’d shuffle out of bed. 

You can picture him on the other end, head tilted and leant back on the plush leather of his couch. He hums but doesn’t answer you—he never does when it can mean something. 

“You still sound the same.” 

And you don’t expect it at this moment, to get so choked up over how he sounds over radio waves, but he says the words a little too fondly for you not to notice. Gojo’s always teased that he can pinpoint your voice from the moment you speak the first word.

You don’t mean to give him any more authority over your feelings than he already has, but the words slip out before you can catch yourself, “You’re being unfair.”  

Another hum. His tone shifts to something lighter, more teasing, “Like you aren’t. Always typing, never sending…”

The huff that punctuates his sentences paints itself vividly with a small pout. 

“Stop staring at my chat box then.” is all you can muster, the ache spreading throughout your chest. 

“Afraid I can’t.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You’re impossible.” your eyes begin to feel wet, your sniffle concealing itself as you clear your throat. 

The silence that follows is uncharacteristic of your relationship with Gojo, even more of the man you know, but you find it filled to the brim with all the possibilities of what went wrong—of things you know he’ll never say out loud.

You know Gojo has issues; they presented themselves well enough in the year you were together. Being with him is accepting that you’ll be reading between the lines your entire life. 

He is simultaneously touchy but distant, vocal but elusive in his affections; he drapes himself over you every chance he gets, but when you touch him in places no one else has, you think a storm swirls cyan in his irises. Gojo gives compliments like candies on Halloween, but he keeps his feelings close to his chest, locked away like presents tightly wrapped under a Christmas tree. 

This is why you never saw it coming. 

This is why there was no hint, no sign of him ever wanting to break things off when he did.

‘Let’s stop dating’ with no warning. 

“Had fun tonight?” he asks so casually, like it doesn’t tell you a million things—how he still has your location on his phone, how he’s still checking on you, Six Eyes or not. 

Tonight was okay, all things considered. You don’t go to clubs often, but your friends kept you company; the music boomed just a tad bit louder than you’re used to, and the drinks were good, but—

“You would have hated it.” 

If Gojo were there, you would have stayed 10 minutes tops. He’d whine about being bored but you’d be able to tell, from the slight furrow of his brows and the clenching of his jaw that it’s because one of his migraines is forming. 

“Good thing I’d have you, then.” 

There are half-truths in jokes like this, a dangerous thing to say when you both know he could still have you if he wanted.

“Stop flirting, it’s annoying.” you try to steel your voice, pushing down the false hope rising in your chest. 

“You love it, though.”

The pain sears you, hurts when he says the word so lightly, as if he isn’t aware that you know love is the reason he had to break things off prematurely. As if he doesn’t know that you’re still in love with him, that you’re still putting faith in a tragedy. 

“Do you even know what loving something feels like?” 

The line remains silent, save for the softest sound of his breath hitching. 

You must have hit a nerve. 

He hums, an expected answer, but then he mumbles, words spoken so faintly, so quietly, you’re surprised they even came through. 

“Yeah, I do.”

a/n: wanted to use this as dialogue practice because i think gojo’s dialogue is one of the trickiest to nail! i also found it so fun exploring this kind of dynamic with him!! i subtly hint on some of gojo’s personal issues but don’t explicitly state it to leave room for interpretation! the ending is ambiguous for that same reason.

thank you notes: @stellamancer for helping me out so much with this 🥺 practically beta-ing it, really 🥺 ily niku 🥺 in my head, gojo does not exist without you 🥺 & @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @scarabrat @soumies for being my lil cheerleaders always 🥺 ily all 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #gojo x you #gojo x yn #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x yn #jjk x y/n #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

[ursusarctos42]

I just finished watching The Fall of the House of Usher on Netflix, and I have a theory that each of the main characters represents one of the seven deadly sins. Note: pretty much all of these characters embody several (or all) of these aspects, so this list shows the ones that come through most clearly to me.

Prospero (lust) - the sex club, the pleasure rooms, the image of him waking up amid half a dozen naked bodies? Yep.

Camille (pride) - she believed she knew everything, and she often did. She believed she was right so far as to infiltrate Vic's lab, wielding her family name and status to get past the security guard, and shove a camera in the faces of dangerously drugged chimps. She was so proud/full of herself that she didn't pay attention to the open cage, leading to her eventual death.

Napoleon (gluttony) - he is constantly high, gorging himself on drugs or video games or sex. This eventually leads to his downfall, as his pleasure seeking is consistently interrupted by the gory "gifts" from the cat.

Victorine (anger) - she often feels inferior to her siblings, trying so hard to win her father's approval. When her research doesn't pan out and her partner tries to leave, she flies into a rage and kills her. This anger seems to be bubbling below the surface for the whole series, it just comes to a head in the episode where she dies.

Tamerlane (envy) - her death is the evidence of this connection. She is convinced that her husband is seeing the other woman behind her back, so much so that she runs around the house smashing mirrors. In every mirror, she can see the object of her envy and herself, not measuring up. And it ends up killing her.

Frederick (sloth) - he basically does nothing for the first several episodes. His father asks him to do one simple task over and over, but he just doesn't do it. When he finally does get around to doing it, he dies unable to move due to the paralyzing agent he used to abuse his injured wife. Dying while lying completely still and unmoving sounds a lot like Sloth to me.

Madeleine/Roderick (greed) - Madeleine and Roderick Usher are together in this list because they are twins, often act as a unit/team, and (to me) they embody the same deadly sin. This whole show is about greed. These two want money, power, and freedom, and they are willing to do anything (ANYTHING) to get it. Look at the people they killed, either directly or indirectly. All of those deaths were self-serving to the Usher twins.

#fall of the house of usher #the fall of the house of usher #tfothou

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Okay, so, there's one thing that I'm kind of tired of beating around the bush with white fans about, and it's this: if you pretend to "ignore" race in OFMD, you will miss a lot of what the story is trying to tell you.

Now, I do not truly believe that race is something you can ignore in a story. I just don't think it's possible, and when you try, what you wind up with is something like the conservative worldview of "not seeing color." Trying to ignore race will make you sound racist and ignore important racialized themes.

You can't understand Stede's need for character growth at the beginning of the show if you just focus on how he's "cringe" instead. When Stede makes his crew members of color serve them at dinner when the English board, this is gross, and their faces tell us exactly how they feel about it. Stede unlearning his biases here isn't subtle (guy who called him and Pete "fucking racists" I love you forever), and learning to take all of his crew members seriously as fully actualized people, moving away from the sort of Kindergarten-teacher behavior at the start to truly valuing them as people and taking their input and suggestions, it's an important aspect. Stede asking Abshir for intel at the party isn't just funny, it's also proof he's learned to see value in people in positions like Abshir's.

You can't understand the motivations behind Ed's actions, especially the violent ones, if you ignore the racist overtones. Ed is not a randomly violent person - he gets angry at a captain for calling him a "rich donkey," and if you think it's unreasonable for a brown man to want to get revenge on a white man for calling him that? Then fuck I'm glad you can't see the conversations I have with my other black friends, man. Ed's anger and frustration at the party aren't just because he fucked up with some spoons, lol, you can't get it unless you realize he's the only brown guest in that room. Yeah, he's ignoring Stede's advice, but he's immediately under a pressure Stede never has been. Ed's wanted posters in s2, too, rely on heavily caricaturizing Jewish features to make him look grotesque and monstruous. We're supposed to be horrified by that aspect.

And, yeah, when we ignore the racist tones to Izzy's behavior, I think that's undermining an important aspect of who he is as an antagonistic character. Him buying Ed from the English should feel like a gross violation, because it is. When he sits in front of the crew eating and making Fang and Ivan serve him, I think it's a pretty obvious parallel to how the crew members of color were similarly insulted in the pilot. It's impossible to ignore race in the way he dehumanizes Ed and tries to force him back into a caricature of behavior he hates and is horrified by - when he calls Ed a "wild dog" in s2, if that doesn't cause a visceral reaction of disgust in you, I dunno what to tell you. This doesn't mean that Izzy is irredeemable - just as Stede wasn't - but it does mean that racist biases are things Izzy had to unlearn.

OFMD so often takes so much care with how its characters of color are depicted. We get thoughtful, relatable moments (those French boat people getting humiliated and setting their boat on fire after they'd tried to touch Ed's beard is so satisfying, guys) and excellent, supportive friendships between men of color. The characters of color on OFMD are clean, smart, respected, and it's wonderful. And just because these things aren't always relatable to you specifically doesn't mean they're not important parts of the story.

#ofmd #our flag means death

[donutz]

Yandere Catnap x female smiling critter cat reader

Request from Wattpad—! Here you go Shaymi999☆

You weren’t the only cat out of the smiling critters.

There was another one, Catnap. Though, you were very much like him.

You were barely any different from him! The only difference is that you were a girl(and maybe the color, it depends on what color you want to be).

You were quiet, sneaky, hid in the dark, interacted with others, but not so happily. Even if it looked like you hated being at Playtime co, it wasn’t that bad here.

Other than the abusive workers.

And Catnap stalking you.

You didn’t find it that creepy, but it did annoy you a little bit. Why couldn’t he just interact with you? Yet you caught him looking at you every time.

Cat instincts, that’s all. Y’know, maybe he wanted you gone because he wants to be the only cat critter.

You’ll just have to wait.

There would be times where you tried to talk to him, but he’d just walk away.

You don’t know why, he could at least just listen to you. Makes you feel a little sad.

Of course, somebody noticed. That was Dogday.

“Mew, you’ve been seeming kind of down these days, are you alright?”

“... Yea, it’s just that. Catnap’s been ignoring me. I try to talk to him, but he just walks away.”

Dogday furrowed his eyebrows a little, pretty disappointed in Catnap’s actions.

“Oh alright, I’ll try to talk about it with him..”

“Oh, thanks Dogday.”

After that, you caught Catnap right behind you staring at you. It happened quite often.

… At least he wasn’t hiding in the shadows.

.

.

.

But now, 10 years later, he’s always in the shadows.

And 10 years later, you’re here, roaming the halls just like Catnap. You wish you could check up on Dogday, but you can’t Catnap’s too possessive.

If you even tried to sneak around to talk to him, Dogday would be dead the next hour. Not from Catnap’s hands, but from the smaller critters' mouths.

You wish you could just see your best friend one last time.

But you can, just this one time. Why? So you could alert Dogday that his body will be taken over by the smaller critters.

The tinies were listening in of course, excited to finally get their fill.

Why does the only time you get to talk to him the time where you tell him how he dies? Sometimes you wished Catnap wasn’t so possessive. You feel as if he would trust Dogday but— apparently you were wrong.

“Oh.. I guess I’ll have to prepare for the future.”

You wish you could rub your head against his and tell him it’s okay. You wish you didn’t have to tell him the way he dies. You wish you could’ve just passed like the other critters.

What made you so special?

“...” You would’ve told him you’re sorry, but you know Catnap was watching. He would’ve told the smaller critters to make Dogday’s death more painful and slow.

You just want him to be put out of his misery. He could’ve just agreed with serving the prototype and he would’ve lived.

But that’s not the Dogday you know.

And apparently, the player arrived so you have to go.

Even if they were already dealing with the smaller demonic version of the Smiling Critters, Catnap was determined to kill them. Or, to hunt he says.

Catnap wants to kill the player, but wouldn’t mind you doing it instead.

Unfortunately, there were hiding spots in the play area. The place where there’s different colored blocks and random holes that the small ones come from.

You were looking for the player, and since you saw the hiding spots, you looked in them. After some time you finally spotted them.

You grabbed them and threw them on the ground. They used their grab pack and grabbed at your eye. You tried to stop them by grabbing their face, but the hand took your eye out of its place.

And for some reason that singular eye was heavily connected to the organs in your system.

The player scurried towards a possible exit in the place, and ran, leaving you to die by yourself.

Catnap thought you could handle it yourself. But you didn’t.

Not only did you being dead anger him even more. But he didn’t want to hunt anymore, he wanted to torture and kill that stupid player.

He loved you so much that he didn’t even give up your body to the Prototype. You weren’t just some toy, you were his love.

Thankfully, the Prototype accepted the fact Catnap wanted to keep you.

After that, every way Catnap planned just to spook the player, wasn’t just giving them a little scare anymore. It was supposed to terrify them. To make them feel threatened.

To make them scream whenever he came near them.

He even released his red gas to make them have horrific hallucinations.

He nearly killed them, but didn’t, he wanted them to go through the pain he experienced.

But no matter how much torture they went through, it will never make up for the death they caused.

It will never replace your death.

It will never make him as happy as he was when you made him happy.

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime fanfic #poppy playtime x reader #catnap #dogday #smiling critters #yandere catnap x female reader #catnap x female reader #yandere catnap #yandere poppy playtime #yandere #smiling critter reader #female smiling critter cat reader #cat reader #yandere catnap x female smiling critter cat reader #catnap x female smiling critter cat reader #catnap x smiling critter cat reader #catnap x smiling critter reader #catnap x reader #female reader

[nayatarot777]

What Are Your Future Spouse’s Pet Peeves?

• Pile One •

The first pet peeve that your future spouse has is people underestimating their power - or other people’s power. You know when someone views you as someone who’s weak and defenceless? They can’t stand shit like that. This might pertain to the way that people treat you and they won’t be happy about others viewing you as someone who they can just say and do whatever they want to. If you also experience any demonisation of your power on a spiritual level (for example, if you’re a witch, a medium, a psychic, a tarot reader, etc) then this will piss them off too. Another pet peeve of theirs is when they witness someone being made to feel guilty for something that they shouldn’t have to carry around guilt for. Any type of gaslighting and manipulation will really send them over the edge, and they’ll be ready to raise hell over shit like that 😂. They also hate when people try to suppress their anger or when they’re told how they “should” or “shouldn’t” feel. When someone tries to suppress their emotions and they feel like they’re not allowed to show their true feelings without being dismissed, it triggers something within them. Your future spouse may have a history of experiencing their emotions being suppressed and disregarded - especially from childhood - and they’ve had to work hard to even get comfortable with showing their feelings. So for someone to overstep that line and try to control the feelings that they show? Yeah…it’s not gonna go down well 💀.

How Does Your Future Spouse Handle Conflict?

• Pile Two •

Your future spouse really hates when people keeps secrets from them. And not just personal secrets, but secrets that include them or that would affect them in some way. They’ve experienced throughout life too many secrets already and they don’t like it. At all. Also, people talking shit behind their back. Or talking about them to others without addressing the issue with them directly. They also hate any form of injustice. I feel like your future spouse is someone who will take justice into their own hands if no one else is willing to step up and serve someone their karma. Another pet peeve is those who keep other people’s secrets despite knowing damn well that they should expose that person for all of the skeletons that they have in their closet too. And I’m also seeing that your future spouse has a huge love for Earth and nature, so when they see people littering, destroying and harming the environment, hearing about animals being poached, etc will upset them greatly too. Going back to the message about secrets, your future spouse hates when people try to pry too much into their personal business. The types of people who try to rush into getting to know them are not met with compliance from your future spouse. They’re someone who’s slow to open up and they hate when people don’t respect that.

How Does Your Future Spouse Handle Conflict?

• Pile Three •

The first pet peeve of your future spouse that I’m seeing is people who refuse to see the ugly sides of themselves. The shadow side. Those who don’t see themselves for who they truly are (the good AND the bad) gets on your spouse’s nerves to the fullest extent. They can’t stand those people who want to go through life acting like they never do anything wrong, as if they’re perfect. And this annoyance comes out the most when they’re trying to get someone to see the error of their ways and the other person is being so dismissive and stubborn. Basically when someone’s ego gets in the way of knowing themselves thoroughly. They also hate when people choose to use escapist tendencies instead of facing their issues directly. And this mainly applies to the situations in which people becoming escapists affects other people around them. Your future spouse also hates people who don’t show up as their authentic selves. I feel like because they can see through that shit and it makes them feel like so many people are fraudulent. The last pet peeve that I’m seeing is when things from the past pop up a second time around. Whether this is people bringing up what was supposed to be dead and buried already, or people from the past thinking that they can weasel their way back into your spouse’s life after some time has passed after a separation and ending.

How Does Your Future Spouse Handle Conflict?

• Pile Four •

I’m seeing two messages about responsibility: your future spouse hates when people don’t take responsibility over themselves, their own actions, their life decisions, etc. And the reason why they hate this is because they understand that when people lack personal responsibility over themselves, that responsibility unfairly falls onto someone else who shouldn’t have to deal with it. They’re also the type of person who can’t stand seeing people not giving someone their praise for achievements in life, no matter how big or small. They don’t like that unsupportive energy that they see coming from people sometimes. Your future spouse is someone who is extremely clairvoyant - they see beneath the surface of peoples actions and energy, and what they say (or what they don’t). And they can’t stand when people act like they’re “reading too deeply” into something just because they bother to see the truth behind people and situations. That’s also why they can’t stand liars 😂. It feels like an insult to their intelligence and their perceptiveness and they don’t stand for any of that.

How Does Your Future Spouse Handle Conflict?

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[murdrdocs]

infidelity; coach patrick; MDNI 18+ w/ PATRICK ZWEIG

you should've known better than to let patrick—coach zweig as he's been trying to get you to call him—rile you up how he does.

he throws taunts at you with the speed of his serves, all while smirking through the way he squints to avoid the sun. he knows what he's doing when he says, "are you even trying?". because you're so obviously trying, your body coated in sweat and your muscles aching from over exertion.

you don't even know if you'll make it off the court let alone upstairs to your room.

but patrick doesn't care. he makes you work, telling you, "you can do better than that" when you hit a nearly perfect serve, much better than the one he critiqued earlier this morning (which, you believed there was nothing wrong with your serve then but coach zweig loved to pick on something new each session).

you know he does it on purpose, yet you still fall for it.

you let your body pump blood born from anger throughout your limbs as you try again and again to make him happy. but he's never happy unless you're scowling at him, pissed off because your husband is wasting your money just for some guy in the top 200 players of the world to critique the things that didn't need any work in the first place.

but your husband is also paying for this, the things you let patrick do to you after practice has ended. after patrick finally tells you, "good job today" even as you're glaring at him. after he gets in your space, leans down, and grins at you as he promises to make it all up to you while he takes your racket out of your hands.

in all honesty, the improvements on your game is enough made up. it's why he's here in the first place. well, it used to be why he was here in the first place.

but somewhere down the line, things got muddled. you mixed your tennis coach up with your husband. you let patrick in the house for things other than a quick bathroom break or a sip of water since he ran out.

you let patrick in the house for him to play the part of your husband as he asks you about your new decor while you chug gatorade. he plays the role of your husband when he coos at your dogs and he lets them lick all over his face. he plays the role of your husband as he takes you into the shower and fucks you against the wall.

meanwhile, you only really interact with your husband when you're playing a match against him him. when you're using the strategies and practice that coach zweig has taught you.

and the match is boring. it's easy. your husband has the audacity to let you win and then pretend he didn't. he smiles in your face and kisses your forehead while he tells you, "those lessons are paying off, yeah?".

when you're with patrick, he makes you work for it. on the court, he plays you cross court, making you run back and forth and pushing your stamina while he controls the court.

and when you're on your bed staring into the mirror on the opposite wall while patrick takes you from behind, it's the same. he controls you. he has enough decency to only barely make you work for an orgasm, but you aren’t let completely off the hook. this is the only form of reprieve he ever gives you, even though it comes in an unusual form.

the uncomfortable sting the patrick forces into your muscles on the court is replaced with the sting of his hips slapping into yours from the power of his thrusts. you'll take the unexpected smack of his hand against your ass over the unexpected smack of a neon ball into your thigh.

he's still cruel to you when he fucks with you off of the court, but your reward is instantanous. it doesn't take multiple sessions and hundreds of dollars to get gratification. it just takes a little dishonesty and sneaking around, which ends up working in your favors in the long run as patrick feeds you line after line about your husband, his rough fingers rubbing over your clit while he teases.

"it'd be crazy if he had cameras in here, right? hm? if he was watching your tennis coach fuck you better than he does. what would you do then, huh?"

and it’s sinful how quick his words always make you cum.

#patricksworld! #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig smut #celeste writes challengers