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fractualized · 4 months

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A while ago I got under someone's skin for referencing Joker's surprising delayed reaction to killing Jason Todd, and since then I've been thinking it's worth digging into as an interesting element of Joker's characterization.

Of course, first thing's first: Jason's murder in Batman (1940) #427, as originally presented in 1988.

Jason has just reconnected with his biological mother, Sheila Haywood, at a famine relief camp in Ethiopia— and he's discovered that Joker is blackmailing her with information about her criminal past. She gets him truckloads of medical supplies to sell on the black market, and Joker restocks the trucks with toxin. While Bruce races to stop a tampered truck, Jason decides to help his mother on his own. When he discloses he's Robin, however, Sheila betrays him to Joker, not only to stay on Joker's good side but because she's actually been embezzling money from the organization she works for this whole time. She's afraid an investigation prompted by Batman and Robin's appearance would expose this fact.

So Sheila stands by as Jason is felled by Joker and his goons, and then the crowbarring starts.

It's bad! When we return later, Jason is presumably dead.

While Joker isn't shocked that he's murdered a child, he does have an unexpected reaction to Sheila's point. He hadn't really been thinking about what he was doing, implying that he hadn't intended to kill Jason. He just got carried away, whoopsie! He didn't do this to get at Batman; he wasn't thinking about Batman at all. Now, however, he's concerned about how Batman will react.

Joker thinks Jason is already dead. The purpose of the bomb is to get rid of the evidence of his involvement, including Sheila. Joker is not broken up about what he did, but he does have a sense that he's gone a step too far and he doesn't want Batman to know about it. At least for now!

In the end, while Jason wakes and he and his mother try to save each other, they're trapped in the warehouse when the bomb goes off. Bruce makes it back only in time to find a dying Sheila, who tells him it was Joker. When Bruce finds Jason, Jason gets no last words. He's already dead, and Bruce is devastated.

A clue from Joker leads Bruce to the United Nations in New York, and there, infamously, Bruce learns that Joker has been made the ambassador from Iran. Joker is now protected from prosecution, and Batman going after him risks an international incident. Bruce still very much wants to, but Superman stops him.

Well, mostly Superman. I recommend reading Batman #429 to see Bruce's full thought process on this. He is furious and constantly thinking about finally ending Joker— but he also questions his mental state. He still wonders if he can hold Joker responsible if he believes Joker is insane. He uses phrases like "what happened to Jason" like it was a natural disaster, not murder. He even confronts Joker to give him one last chance to turn himself in to Arkham Asylum. Bruce is in a kind of denial, still grabbing at how things usually go.

But back to Joker. Evidently, he's no longer worried that Batman will find out he killed Robin. Joker admits to it immediately.

I assume Joker realized there was no point in denying it. Is Batman going to think it's a coincidence that Robin got blown up when Joker was around? Though Bruce does say it's Joker's taunts that 100% confirm for him that the clown was responsible, pointing again to Bruce still grasping for reasons to not break his rule in his grief.

By the end of the issue, Joker has naturally tried to kill the entire United Nations assembly, which instantly made him free game. So Bruce pursues him to a helicopter, and an in-air scuffle ensues in which Bruce explicitly prevents Joker from being killed by friendly fire, evidently so he can decide how Joker will die. Bruce jumps out of the helicopter, abandoning Joker to a fiery crash. However, despite Bruce's (supposed) intentions, Joker's body is nowhere to be found. The clown lives!

So that's it, right? Joker felt some unease about killing Jason initially, but in a short time, he was happy to gloat about it to Batman's face.

But when Joker reappears in Batman #450, in 1990, he is not triumphant. He's holed up in a dilapidated building, where he learns someone is impersonating him.

How often do we see Joker upset by murders? When the story returns to him, we learn more about his mental state.

With all of Joker's cackling glee at the things he's done, coming close to actual death in the helicopter crash has jarred him— and not just the crash, but the murder that led to it. He recoils from the memory of what he did to Jason. It's why he can't see the joke anymore. It's set apart from his previous crimes. It's too far.

Which is not at all to say that Joker is completely broken up about Jason. By the end of #450, he rallies and sets out to go after his copycat and restore his reputation to his liking.

In Batman #451, though, Joker is still plagued by doubts along the way.

Even when he overcomes those doubts, claiming the mantle as the one and only Joker when his copycat dies by falling into acid, Joker challenges Gordon to finally kill him. It's reminiscent of The Killing Joke, the first time Joker went too far. But like TKJ, Gordon and Batman decide to get Joker back to Arkham against their more vengeful instincts.

Joker's also decided Arkham is just what he needs. Outside, he's plagued by the reality of what he's done; in Arkham, he can settle back into his insanity and stop caring about it again.

So after that, Joker has no second thoughts about killing Jason, right? After all, he largely references the murder in callous terms. In-universe this makes sense as Joker revising history in his own head, particularly as more stories portray his effort to be more monster than man. Monsters don't have qualms about murder! But this is comics, so we can also presume that not all Joker writers know or remember #450/451, which I think is a shame. I find stories in which Joker expresses even just a degree of vulnerability to be more interesting than those where he's just mwahaha evil.

I have seen a few other bat stories bring some nuance into Joker's perception of Jason's death, though.

First up is the particularly nuanced "Fool's Errand" in Detective Comics (1937) #726, published in 1998. Bruce visits Joker in Arkham to get information on how to find a kidnapped girl who's running out of time. It just so happens Joker arranged this kidnapping for a particular day.

I strongly recommend this issue for batjokes fans, as it revolves around Joker talking the case through with Batman in his cell to help him figure out more clues to a crime Joker himself planned. Even with Bruce beating Joker up, the conversational tone feels almost friendly. They're just doing their usual thing.

Well, sort of. Bruce has already said he's not in the mood, and he interrupts their conversation to say so again.

Joker could insist that Batman stay and keep playing the game, and needle him for being unwilling to merely talk to Joker to rescue this child. Instead, Joker gives up her location.

And Bruce does come back as predicted.

So that was Joker's nefarious plan. He wanted to restore some hope to Bruce's cynical soul to be sure that his future failures would hurt even more. But it sure seems the middle didn't go the way Joker expected, when he recognized Batman just wasn't going to play the game as usual.

Joker doesn't jump into taunting. He doesn't answer Bruce at first. He's withdrawn and reflective. He's got something else on his mind on this anniversary of the second Robin's death, and he knows that Bruce does, too. Perhaps not forcing Batman to play was a small gesture, acknowledging the difficulty of the day, remembering how things changed. And what does that gesture cost Joker when he still gets the outcome he wants?

Second example is actually also called "Fool's Errand," this one from Robin (1993) #85, published in 2001. This is a fun one in which Joker discusses his interactions and frustrations with the Robins.

But while Joker indicates more than once that he wants to fight Batsy alone, after he talks about killing Jason, this is the next page:

Joker does not then say he was relieved when another Robin showed up, but still. He's acknowledged again that when he murdered Jason, things were not right. As angry as the birdies make him, they're a key component in the game.

Then we come back to "Once More, With Feeling!" in Harley Quinn (2000) #25, from 2002. Harley's been playing double-agent against Batman with Joker, and she and Joker have this exchange.

Joker typically makes light of murdering Robin, but it seems that when he's with just about his only confidante, he lets other feelings about it burst out.

There's also a flashback to DitF in Batman: Gotham Knights #44 in 2003. We get an exchange between Bruce and Joker before Bruce jumps out of the helicopter.

Joker laughs as the helicopter dives, ready to die, but before that, he seems resigned. He doesn't throw in a real dig about murdering Jason, and he doesn't gloat that he's finally gotten Batman to kill him. He acknowledges he crossed a line.

Lastly, there's a 2006 exchange between, well, Joker and Jason himself in "All They Do is Watch Us Kill, Part 2" as part of Under the Red Hood in Batman (1940) #649. Jason has kidnapped Joker as batbait, and when Joker needles him, Jason needles him back.

Joker regularly extolls his own crimes, but suddenly one of his victims mockingly accuses him of putting up a front, of not being as coldhearted and untouchable as he wants to seem. Maybe Joker does doubt what he's doing and retreats under the cover of madness so he doesn't have to think about it— just as he did in Batman #451.

I'm not sure if there are other examples of Joker expressing anything but mocking glee about Jason's death. I do know of times he's shown a sort of fondness for Jason (such as in The Man Who Stopped Laughing #4, Gotham War: Red Hood #2, Suicide Squad: Get Joker #3), but that's not really the same thing. Joker could've seen Red Hood as his and Batman's Frankenstein child without feeling any squeamishness about killing him in the first place.

But if anyone knows of any other moments where Joker does not act like killing Jason is absolutely his most favorite thing he ever did, do share!

#joker #jason todd #my jibber-jabber

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gilverrwrites · 6 months

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Hello, me again

Could you make also, a Dean having erotic/dirty dream with his female best friend or rival (or a best friend that is also a rival).

And all that she does remember him of his smut dreams

Not So Sweet Dreams

Author note: Sorry for the delay, I've been super busy with unrelated things, but I had a lot of fun writing this and trying to get into Dean's mind set. I hope it's what you wanted and that you enjoy it!

Pairing: Dean Winchester/F!Reader

Rating: M/18+

Words: 3349

Content: Dean being jealous and over-protective. Male gaze/male fantasies, drinking, swearing, violence, blood, vampires, arguing, hatesex, (kinda) subby Dean, teasing, dirty talk, unprotected sex, p in v sex, woman on top.

Please remember: That you deserve love.

Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Request Info

You were being surprisingly level-headed about the whole thing. The two of you had inadvertently wound up at the same nightclub, hunting the same nest of vampires. You’d begrudgingly agreed to work together, two hunters are better than one, after all. But you’d been reckless. You, strutting around in your skimpy black dress to get their attention, acting drunk and helpless, had been part of the plan. Watching you had undoubtedly been his favourite part. You letting one of the vamps take you into the back office without warning and without backup was not. You were supposed to lure them outside, not deeper into the building, behind far more security. By the time Dean had found a way to stealthily follow, he’d found you in a precarious position. Time seemed to stand still as he took a moment to process the sight. Your dress, or what was left of it, was all but hanging off as you fought back against not one but THREE bloodsuckers. The image of your ass in that tiny little thong, would be etched into his mind until the day he died. When he found his bearings again, he stepped up. If there is one thing he’s good at, it's decapitating vampires. Even you couldn’t deny how quickly and skilfully he’d taken out your opponents before swooping you into his arms and taking you back to the car. He’d expected your normally ungrateful ass to be, well… ungrateful. After years of reluctantly crossing paths, he’d come to expect your brash, defiant attitude but you were taking the whole thing pretty well. In fact, he was considering how he might slip you some holy water when your voice interrupted his thoughts. “Thank you so much again, Dean.” You purred, and he looked over at you, sitting in the remnants of your disguise and his jacket, comfortable and safe in the passenger seat of his baby. The words sounded all wrong coming out of your mouth, but he wasn’t complaining. You reached over and patted his inner thigh, making his breath hitch as you continued. "Really, I’m so grateful.” At that moment, he pulled up outside the motel the two of you were checked into, separately. Taking advantage of your newly found pliable nature, Dean asked, while cocking his thumb towards his room; “You wanna come in? Have a drink?” You nodded and allowed him to slip his arm around your waist as he led the way. You didn’t object when he guided you to sit on his lap or brush him off as he examined the scrapes and bruises on your arms. “I didn’t know you could be so well-behaved.” He teased as he finished tending to the worst of your wounds. You giggled in response, actually fucking giggled; it was magical and confusing as hell. “What is up with you today?” “I want you, Dean,” you replied, looking down at him through your lashes. You placed your hand on his cheek, gently pulling him closer until your lips locked. Your lips were so soft against his, and in that moment, he decided to stop questioning your personality transplant and just go with it—at least for the night.

Every tiny detail of his illicit dream flashed through Dean's mind now as he watched you across the dancefloor. Your little black dress wasn’t quite the same as in his dream, but it and everything else was damn close enough. Where your weapons were hidden was totally beyond him.

You’d been less than thrilled when you’d bumped into him at the motel, but had reluctantly agreed to team up with him for the hunt. The similarities should make him nervous, but he just couldn’t seem to make himself care in the moment. Not at the sight of you, seemingly lost to the music, dancing beneath the flashing lights. Your body was so much hotter than he’d dreamed it. He was so engrossed in the sway of your hips that he barely noticed the glare you shot him before shimmying further into the crowd.

Dean takes a swig of the beer he’d bought as a prop, attempting to clear his head from the fantastical image of your hips, naked and riding him, from the way your body curved with each move. This is gonna be a long night. With another sip of his beer, he starts walking, patrolling the club, taking stock of the exits, the staff, all the things he should be keeping tabs on.

When he sees you again, you’re seated at the bar, smiling, chatting with a bloodsucker whose hand is so far up your thigh he’s surprised you aren’t squirming. In his dreams, your skin burned hot, and your breathing hitched when he ran his hand between your legs.

He slows, trying to eavesdrop, but he can’t make out a word over the booming music and the hustle of the crowd. He wants to head up to the bar to get closer in case you need help. But he can’t afford the risk of making a scene, so he keeps walking, intent on circling the building once more before finding a vantage point he can monitor you from. But when he returns, you’ve left the bar.

Cursing under his breath, he scans his environment; he finds you on the other side of the floor. Stumbling around in the arms of the same handy bloodsucker you’d been pawing at the bar. He should have fucking known this would happen. Exasperated, he watches as you’re guided through a door with a keypad, not an exit door. You were being herded into some kind of off-limits staff area. This was not the plan.

He pulled out his phone, watching intently as he waited for the time display to change. As much as it killed him, he couldn’t hurry in, guns blazing. That would put you at even more risk. As soon as 3 minutes had passed, he checked his surroundings for fangbangers before marching to the door. Luckily, the keypad was old, and the numbers 1278 were worn. He started punching in codes until the door gave way on 1827. The hallway was clear, and he could hear commotion coming from a room at the end of the hall.

When he entered, you were anything but the helpless damsel he’d saved in his dream. You looked powerful and radiant. You were stood tall, fully dressed, and swinging your knife at one of the four vamps as they attempted to advance on you, until you locked eyes with Dean. The swing of you knife had stuck the landing, but the distraction had opened you for an attack from behind. The biggest of your opponents had grabbed you, forcing you into a full-nelson, rendering your arms almost entirely useless. Regardless, you bucked your hips up and kicked at the vamp still in front of you.

That’s when fight mode kicked in for Dean. He pulled his machete from its risky position tucked in the inside of his jeans and started swinging at the other two vampires, taking one out almost instantly. The other was smarter and faster, dodging his strikes and mouthing off every chance he got. Dean didn’t bother quipping back. This was the same vamp who’d been cosying up with you earlier, and he didn’t want to waste any more energy on him.

By the time he’d taken the vamp out, you’d gotten free and were evading the big guy. It seemed your knife was laced with some potent dead man’s blood, because the one you’d stabbed earlier was whimpering on the floor. Dean put the thing out of its misery as he crossed the room to help you.

You had to tag team the last one, taking turns distracting and swinging for it until Dean landed the decapitating blow.

He turned to you, grinning and ready to brag about taking out most of them alone, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the nasty gash you were cupping, leading from your shoulder and over your chest. There were more, up and down your arms. Instead, he barked, harsher than intended. “We should get out of here. Fast.”

“But there’s still more.” You argued.

“I don’t care.” His anger didn’t let up. He grabbed you by the wrist, ensuring there were no injuries there first, and began pulling you into the hall. “We’ll deal with that later, let's go.”

He’d offered you his jacket, but you’d declined. This was not how he’d dreamed it. You sat in the passenger seat of his baby, your dress torn and bloodied, your face sour, refusing to look at him. He heard you take a deep breath and braced himself for your snide comment.

“What were you thinking? You could have gotten us killed.” You didn’t even sound mad, you stated it like a fact.

He couldn’t help but do a double take as he processed your words. “Me? We had a plan, and that wasn’t it. What were you thinking, going off alone with them?”

“I had to think on my feet, and it was going perfectly until you barged in and fucked it all up. God I am so sick of you.”

“Perfect my ass! Putting yourself in dange-”

“I was fine, YOU put me in danger.” He opened his mouth to interject but you continued, going full rant. “They saw you sniffing around the club, and when you broke in, they saw you on the CCTV. It wasn’t exactly hard to put 2+2 together. You always do this, you underestimate me. I am not some damsel in distress, I can handle myself.”

The air was thick with bitter tension as he drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence. He didn’t like you going off alone like that, but maybe you had a point. Hunting wasn’t exactly the safest of jobs, and you’d made it this far without him. He should have apologised or tried to smooth things over, but instead, he asked, “Well, princess, will you at least let me patch you up?”

You watched with furrowed brows as he cocked his thumb to point at his room. He’d expected you to ignore him and head for your own room, but you agreed with a nod and crossed your arms as you followed him inside.

He didn’t try getting you to sit in his lap. You sat yourself on the end of the bed as he located his makeshift first-aid pack.

“Should I put the TV on?” He asks, knowing it’ll likely be a long, quiet process if not.

You glare, and he knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s reminded of the look you’d given him across the dancefloor earlier and everything else he’s associated with it. Eventually, you answer. “Whatever.”

He sighs, switches on the TV, and begins patching you up in silence. He tries to be gentle, but the alcohol makes you hiss and groan as he cleans you up. Every moan evokes an indecent image that makes his skin burn with inappropriate arousal. He wonders if you sound the same in bed.

When the worst of the damage is patched up, he starts cleaning up the excess blood, checking for any he might have missed. Blood from the cut across your chest has gathered and congealed in your cleavage. He hooks a finger on the low neckline of your dress and looks to your face for approval. You’re unbothered, eyes fixated on the TV screen with such distaste he wonders if inanimate objects can take offence.

He tugs at the dress, not enough to expose anything but enough to get your attention. You glance down at his hand, then to his face, and shrug before diverting your attention back to the TV. Taking that as permission, he pulls your dress down, almost certainly too far. He takes an involuntary moment to soak in the image, blood and bandages included, you were a vision in your lacy black bra.

Your deliberate coughing brought him back to the present, and he made quick work of cleaning your chest, avoiding your gaze as he worked. When he was done, you pulled your dress back up without delay. You made no move to get up, and he made no effort to move you. Instead, you continued to sit in awkward silence. Both of you too stubborn to speak first.

When you finally broke the silence, you didn’t sound angry anymore, just tired, worried. “The rest of the nest is gonna be on our trail.”

“I know.” He conferred, trying to match your energy. “But it’s almost sunrise, we have time to rest and regroup before tomorrow night.”

“And will I be allowed to fight them, or would you like to cover me in bubble wrap?” Your voice still lacked malice, just sarcasm.

Without taking the time to think through his words, Dean replied. “You can do whatever you want. Just don’t blame me when you get yourself killed, or worse turned.”

“There you go again.” You leaned away from him, rolling your eyes, exasperated. “All your mouth does is talk dumb shit.”

“My mouth does plenty, thank you very much.”

“Like what?” You ask, tone defiant as you watch him through your lashes. The words were wrong, but the intense gaze matched his fantasy. He half expected you to reach out and pull him in for a kiss. When you don’t, he does it for you. You taste like salt and booze, but your lips are so soft, they melt right into his.

When you pull away, he braces himself for you to yell, or punch, or leave, but instead, your eyes rake over his face. He notices the heat in his cheeks when you comment, “Are you blushing, Winchester? Because of me?”

“No, it’s hot in here.” He replies curtly, still not wanting to give you the upper hand.

“Funny.” You aren’t laughing as you look around the room. “I’m pretty cold.”

“You lost a lot of blood. That’s one of the symptoms.”

“Isn’t delirium also a symptom. If it’s that bad, are you taking advantage of me?” You raise brows at him, challenging him.

In return, he shoots you with the most puppy-dog concerned face he can muster. “Are you? Delirious? Should we stop?”

“No, get back over here and kiss me.” Now you reach for him, placing both hands on his cheeks and pulling him closer until your lips lock again. Mid kiss, you straddle him, holding him still with your arm around his neck as you begin to grind against his clothed erection.

He paws at the skirt of your dress until you get the hint and pull it over your head. He only gets a second to enjoy the view before you return the gesture, lifting his shirt up until he finishes the job for you. By the time he’s done, you’ve removed your bra as well. He greets the unobstructed sight of your breasts by planting himself between them, lavishing them with his mouth, sucking and nibbling at your nipples as you roll your hips against him.

Offering you reprieve, he pulls back to watch you as he dips his hand into your panties, happy to be greeted by the slick between your folds. Not bothering to tease, he plunges a finger straight in, enjoying the way your heat immediately clenches around him. He pumps the solo digit a few times before adding a second and a third, and you take each one perfectly. The sounds you make are just how he’d dreamed it, but also somehow better.

The best sound is the squeal you make as he quickly retracts his fingers and switches your position, laying you flat on your back as he straddles your thighs. You take it in your stride, however, and plant your hands on his shoulder before slipping them down his chest to hook into the waistband of his jeans. You work together to undo his belt and jeans. Dean shimmies them down just low enough to expose his dick. You must like what you see because he notices the way you lick your lips at the sight. He makes a mental note to see about putting your mouth to good use at a later time.

Your whole body seems to shiver when he runs the tip of his hardened cock between your slit, deliberately circling your clit.

“You like that?” He coos.

You respond by pushing him off you. He concedes, rolling onto his back and letting you mount him once again. “Shut up.”

He laughs but otherwise does as he’s told, barely able to keep his composure as he takes in the sight of you. You grip his cock, pumping a few times before you start lining him up with your entrance, and he prays you don’t mock his blushing again.

You don’t say anything, but you lock eyes with him as you slide his cock between your lips and sink down onto him. Fuck, you feel so fucking good, better than he could have imagined. Your walls are tight and wet around him, and he can’t help but grip onto your hips, not to force you down, but to make sure you don’t retreat.

When you reach the base, you seize all movement, presumably allowing yourself to adjust, but he can’t help rocking his hip beneath you. You both groan in sync at the feeling.

“Impatient.” You scold, but your voice is soft and dreamy.

“Can’t help it.” He returns, thrusting up again and enjoying the way your eyes roll back in response. “You feel too good, you take it so well.”

You glare at him, challenging him as you reposition your feet, readying to start, and he bites his lip in anticipation.

With no further warning, you start riding him, setting a fast, reckless pace, and releases your hips to fists at the sheets, trying to distract himself from the fact he’s already about to blow his load.

“I think I’m gonna-”

He’s cut off by the immediate narrowing of your eyes. “Don’t you dare, not until I’ve cum first. You owe me.”

“Fuck. Yes ma’am.” He groans through gritted teeth as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock.

It’s agonising, watching you sway above him, taking what you want from his body. He watches with bated breath as you start to play with your clit, pleasuring yourself. His whole-body jerks, trying to hold back when he feels your walls squeeze around him. You lol your head back, moaning to the ceiling when you finally hit your climax.

Your body slows as you try to catch your breath, but it’s Dean's turn. He sits up, lifting you by your ass just enough to ease the process of him rutting up into your leaking cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum deep inside you.” He chants.

You nod, blasé and tell him; “Do it.”

As if on demand, he shoots his load, spilling inside you with a loud, animalistic groan.

Your weight falls on him, your head resting against his shoulder. He feels his own energy slowly draining as well, but that doesn’t stop him from placing absentminded kisses on the back of your neck as he carefully falls back against the bed, taking you with him. Of everything that had happened that night, cuddling was the most surprising to him.

After a few minutes he speaks up, shifting to guide you back up. His soft cock slips out, and he feels his own cum drip back onto him. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Yeah.” You nod, taking his queue, standing from bed, and heading for the bathroom to get cleaned up. “And we should really start working on a plan nightfall.”

“Maybe we should get some rest first. Regroup when we're not both exhausted.”

“Are you kidding.” Your head pokes out of the bathroom door. “They could be on our trail right now… What?”

“Nothin’.” He shrugs. All the tension you’d just released together was already building back up. “You just don’t ever fucking change.”

#supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester smut #gilverrwrites

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holmsister · 3 months

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Ok, my long delayed post about Kabru and the Winged Lion. This does not end here, I'm adding more in a reblog.

Heavy on spoilers. Taking the extra material from @dunmeshistash who I apologise to as usual

Let's start here:

I don't care if you're a wasp you owe him 22 years of alimony

Two important takeaways here:

1) Kabru's hatred of monsters is caused not just by the Utaya catastrophe, but also from the fact that even before that, his unusual eye color was connected to monsters in local lore, and this led to ostracisation and, we can imagine, violence or at least the threat of violence towards him and his mother, serious enough that she escaped to Utaya, aka the place where the dungeon would kill her.

Kabru crucially does not place the fault for this on his father's family, but on himself for being born with 'monstrous eyes'. This is a normal way of reacting to ostracization in children, interiorising instead of projecting the trauma. It's much easier to imagine a world in which there's actually something wrong with you than one in which others might make you suffer for no reason. Monsters are also much more likely to be offered as an explanation by the adults than the actual more realistic explanations (infidelity or rape), which would not be considered appropriate.

This means that indirectly, child Kabru feels that his own 'monstrosity' is responsible for his mother moving to Utaya to protect him and ultimately dying.

2) in the Dungeon Meshi world there are specifically legends about *demon* succubi and incubi (real world lore says succubi prey on men and incubi on women and I assume that's what Laios is referring to with the distinction, but besides that lets assume theyre one and the same), distinct from the *actual monsters* succubi. The demons and monsters have a similar MO of using a person's desires to capture them, but while monster succubi suck a person's vital force, the demons supposedly use the men for their seed and the women for their womb to reproduce (again, completing dungeon meshi lore with bits of real world lore here). Laios, our local monster expert, thinks those demons are just legend. He tells us there are monsters that do use people as incubators for their eggs but I highly doubt that's Kabru's case, uncanny resemblance to a wasp notwithstanding (Laios...)

From here we go to:

Kabru's incredible rizz

This is where the tumblr search function spat in my face and ran away with the rest of my references while giggling. Oh well.

It's noted over and over in canon and extra material that Kabru is charming. More than that: Kabru *will do anything to get someone to like him*.

Worth noting that Daya and Holm *like* Kabru. This is not them disparaging an acquaintance, this is them levelling a criticism at a good friend, a criticism that seems to have been levelled at him before even ("it's no surprise...").

So, important takeaway: Kabru isn't just charming in general, he VERY SPECIFICALLY makes an effort to be charming. He needs people to like him, to trust him, and in order to obtain this, he's willing to lie and pretend.

Like with the Canaries: he needs them to trust him so they will keep him privy to their plans. So he plays up the poor innocent baby orphan angle:

And with Laios? The what (pretending to like monsters) we know, but why?

Kabru thinks Laios is the only one who can conquer the dungeon without the elves or the dwarves intervening and taking control. He is however very worried about his motivation. He wants to know why Laios is going so deep into the dungeon - beyond wanting to save his sister. What motivates him? Can he be trusted?

In the Toshiro chapters we find out that he has been trying to get in contact with him for weeks, possibly months, but this is the first time he has had a real possibility to meet him, and in order to make sure to leave a positive memory and possibly be an influence in the future, he pretends to be aligned with Laios' as much as possible, including hiding his hatred of monsters. I have written tons on this that has now been lost to tumblr like tears in the rain, but: I do not joke when I say that I think Kabru is flirting with Laios before and after the harpy egg incident. Let's be clear: Kabru's intentions are not romantic at this point. But he has noticed how lovestruck Laios was with Toshiro before their confrontation, and he's thinking, well, if I can get him to develop a similar crush on me, I can probably get him to listen to me more easily. Like I can mince words and put things in scary quotes but that's straight up what's happening. Kabru is trying to establish a close bond that wasn't there before: it might not be necessarily sexual, but it's definitely a type of seduction.

It kinda works.

The rest in a reblog because I ran out of space.

#cw rape mention #dungeon meshi spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #kabru #meta #this is a monster of a fucking post sorry

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tojirings · 2 months

Text

to yield

pairing: toji x reader

wordcount: 5k

glimpse: toji's the world-class fighter who trains in your best friend's gym, and you're the all-rounder employee who has a crush on him.

alternatively, mma!toji wants you to stop pining for him, and you finally listen.

[ angst + fluff, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (but only initial!! 😑😑), toji's almost always a little mean whenever he turns u down, nosy as FAWKKK bff satoru, the L word, mentions of mma-related injuries, jealousy, eventual redemption ]

To yearn for Toji is light work.

Pining after him is as easy as making up workout trivia just to get a reaction from him that isn’t a neutral quirk of his lips or a dismissive tilt of his head. You’re pretty sure you’re going overboard with said lies (the proof being you having to approach Toji without Satoru in earshot just so the latter wouldn’t burst out laughing), but Toji doesn’t seem to think so.

He’s either very clueless and actually believes you, or he’s just tolerant of your “fact” of the day despite being annoyed to death with you.

“Now where the hell did you hear that?” he narrows his eyes at you, the ghost of an amused smirk lingering in his lips the longer you look at him in anticipation for his reaction.

“Just… somewhere! I heard it’s verified information,” you smile, nodding your head to delay the incoming wave of embarrassment that you have for yourself.

“Oh, okay,” Toji parts his lips, nodding tersely. “A reputable news site really said that my grip strength is stronger than a shark’s?”

“Mhmm. You’re the strongest, I bet,” you squeak, the tremble of your hands behind your back coming to a halt when Toji has to excuse himself because Satoru hollered at him from the other side of the gym.

You’re not ready at all to confess to Toji.

Every week, from Monday to Saturday, Toji comes into your best friend’s gym with a scowl on his face as if Satoru personally provoked him one way or another (read: he did), within the window of 9 to 10 AM. Only his left hand would be occupied by his gym bag, which he leaves to you for safekeeping at the front desk instead of the locker room, because Toji would rather punch himself in the gut than to deal with overeager fanboys asking him about his fights.

Additionally, every week from Monday to Saturday, you come to the gym at 7 AM sharp, partially to clock in — but mostly to walk to the expensive coffee shop down the block to buy Toji his drink from your own pocket. Between 9 to 10 AM, Toji saunters into the gym and gives you his bag, to which you take with open arms.

Also, every week, from Monday to Saturday, you make sure that you're Toji’s first interaction of the day.

The routine you have with him (and not the other way around because he’s definitely not as involved with you than you are with him) starts with you giving him a wildcard drink that the barista recommended, then Toji either scrunching his nose in disgust or him humming in something a little bit more pleasant than disgust, then him later thanking you before giving you his standard response.

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N,” he’d say, his brows soft yet scrunched in the middle. (In other words: I don’t like you back so you don’t have to do this for me at all.)

“But I want to,” you’d reply, your smile small yet unperturbed. (In other words: I like you and I want to do this for you regardless, but a large part of me hopes that you’ll like me back.)

It’s no secret that you have a crush on Toji– not at all. Practically everyone in the gym knows how head-over-heels you are for him, and maybe even more than the fighter in question.

Satoru knows it, and he groans to no end whenever you pine for Toji like a little puppy. With each interaction you have with Toji that’s more desperate and maybe even a little more pathetic from your end than usual, Satoru wastes no time before offering to set you up with one of his friends, to which you always deny.

Shiu knows it too, and he tries to bring you up during sparring sessions with Toji that come after seeing your more helpless flirting attempts with the latter. Shiu’s actively trying to help you, Toji, and himself in the process because he can’t tell just how much secondhand embarrassment he can take before exploding.

The occasional opponents for practice matches know it. The night janitor knows it. God, even the delivery guy who’s only seen you ask Toji if he wanted water once knows it too.

Toji doesn’t like you, and while you know that fact wholeheartedly, you’ve come to realize that taking care of him in your own way is what completes your day even without getting anything in return. You know you’re bound to be sick of the one-sided yearning anyway, but while you’re not sick of fawning over Toji, you want to make the most of it.

You want to make the most of it until defeat sinks in.

Toji does not care for you — or atleast that’s what he tells everyone.

“I don’t have a crush on her. Never did,” Toji would say to Shiu every time they sparred, his words automatically flowing as soon as he sees the slightest hint of a smirk on his handler’s face. Shiu would always wave him away as usual (and that earns him an ungloved and unrestricted punch on the shoulder out of the ring), and it only makes Toji pout because even his friend doesn’t believe him.

“I don’t like girls who are so obvious,” he would mutter under his breath whenever Satoru nudges him to say thank you when you hold out a clean towel for him even if he didn’t ask. Toji appreciates the cold, fragrant, and personally-delivered-by-you towel anyway, but not enough to smack Satoru on the face with it.

“I don’t know why you’d think that,” Toji, without fail, would reply to anyone in the gym who mistakes him as your boyfriend. He’s gotten shameless with it to the point that he doesn’t mind if you hear it, but also without fail, he feels a little guilty every time.

Toji shouldn’t exactly feel guilty for not liking you back because he doesn’t owe it to you in the first place — or atleast that’s how he reasons with himself.

“I’m gonna stop liking him in a week, Toru. I swear. Cold turkey and everything.”

“Yup. Sure you will, sport,” Satoru snorts at your drunken admission, kicking your knee lightly to stop you from your sulking.

He feels a little responsible for your feelings towards Toji because if only he didn’t introduce you to him, none of this would’ve happened in the first place.

You would’ve still been his sole accountant for his gym who only dropped in every once in awhile to help manage the place whenever it was short-staffed and not this; not the multi-tasking beast that you are who’s not only his accountant, but this cheery and energized all-rounder gym employee you he didn’t ask you to be.

“No, no. I’m serious this time,” you mutter, your cheek squished to the table so you can limit yourself from saying anything else that could explain to Satoru why you were hellbent in accepting his offer to drink tonight. “I feel like a fool running after Toji.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly use the word-…”

“I know you think it.”

“Fine. I do think it, but you know I mean well!” Satoru surrenders, ruffling your hair as he takes note of keeping the windows down and driving as slowly as he legally could when he takes you home tonight. “You just aren’t Toji’s type, but that’s not a bad thing, y’know?

There’s so much more on your mind, but you’re not in the mood to think of Toji any longer because the moment you do, you’ll succumb to him again.

You want to surrender, completely and irrevocably this time, but not without the final push so you could say that you did everything and you’ll have no regrets if Toji turns you down again — or rather, when Toji turns you down again.

“If it doesn’t work out,” you hiccup, burying your face to the bulk of Satoru’s sweater so you could smell the scent of clean laundry on him instead of imagining that you’re smelling Toji’s perfume out of nowhere in the packed club. “Go set me up with your friend.”

( ♡ )

Toji’s a little perplexed to see you at the front desk this morning.

After all, it was only last night when he saw you at the club, looking completely spent with your head buried in Satoru’s shoulder. Toji had only nodded to him when their eyes locked, mouthing that he’s with his friends so he can’t hang back with him, and Satoru let him go without any annoying remarks because he just gestures to your sleeping figure wordlessly.

Weirdly enough, Toji didn’t get to enjoy himself last night because his eyes kept wandering to your booth.

What’s even weirder now is that not only did you come to work looking fully recovered, but Toji also hangs back for a fraction of a minute right after giving you his duffel bag.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling tightly as he tries to figure out internally on why his feet wouldn’t move at all.

“Hi, Toji,” you reply back, staying still on your seat as you try to make conversation with him, but oddly enough, no ridiculous trivia could come out of your lips.

All it takes is Satoru whistling from the breakroom for you to snap into your senses, and for Toji to realize what was missing.

You have no drink for him today.

He’s not that bothered because that means he’s not subjected to whatever overly sweet or bitter monstrosity you give him, and that could only mean that he’ll be able to skip giving you his signature rejection.

It’s a good thing for you to start giving up on him, he convinces himself.

Toji tolerates you in a way that’s unbeknownst even to you, because in the first place, you’ve convinced yourself that the crush you have on the MMA fighter isn’t that serious.

Swiping your employee card to get him a free energy drink isn’t that serious in your own perspective, but when you overheard the conversation awhile ago between Toji and Shiu (with the latter convincing him that free energy drinks equated to a marriage proposal), you started doing it for everyone. You swipe your card over and over even for the fighters you barely know, but oddly enough, Toji’s eyes twitch whenever he sees his favorite grape-flavored drink in everyone’s hands.

Offering the Bluetooth connection code to Toji for him to play whatever he wants to on the speakers may be a little serious, but you convince yourself that it really isn’t when you accidentally eavesdrop on Satoru telling him that you totally have it out for him. What you do for Toji, you start to do for everyone; it’s telling with the way your speakers announce whose phone it’s connected to every thirty minutes, but not so much telling as to why Toji’s going extra hard sparring with his handler.

Toji does not care for you — or atleast that’s what you’ve convinced yourself.

Denying his fondness for you has almost been as easy as you tamping down your adoration for him, so much so that when a new guy at the gym randomly comes up to Toji and mentions your name, he responds automatically.

“We’re not together. Go ask…” her out — that’s what Toji’s supposed to say. “I don’t know, actually. I heard she’s taken, I think,” he rectifies himself, exiting the conversation before he could be bombarded with yet another question that revolved around you.

Or another question that would only make him realize that you having eyes for only him doesn’t equate to other people backing off from that mere fact alone.

Toji doesn’t like you, but oddly enough, the fact doesn’t bother you as much lately.

( ♡ )

You’re on your last leg of pining for Toji.

The shame of it all is finally getting to you, seeping into your deepest crevices that had thought for the longest time that you had a fighting chance with him. You don’t exactly regret yearning for Toji because after all, it had been in your own accord, no matter the risks you’ve already taken.

Maybe, just maybe, you could only go up from here.

Maybe, because you and Toji hadn’t been friends to begin with when you pursued him, but on the other hand, it could be your ultimate downfall because perhaps right after he turns you down this time, you won’t be able to come back to anything.

There’s no foundation built between the two of you for you to fall back on, and while that’s surely devastating for you, it would only be a walk in the park for Toji.

You’re risking it all, even if you’re just as sure that nothing will come out of this, because you know you won’t come out unscathed — when Toji finally lets you down this time, harshly like you don’t mean anything to him, you’ll know then that you did everything in your power before you gave up on him.

The omamori in your hands that you’ve planned giving to him is your only salvation, because you get to grip it and remind yourself in real time that Toji’s seething at you.

He’s been stressed since the early morning fighting with his manager who had considered fixing up a match, and despite having resolved it with Choso already even before you came into his eyesight, Toji can’t shake off the anger from his body.

You’re the first person who comes into his space and into his mind, and you’re probably the last for the day (and maybe for an unforeseen amount of time) with the way he snaps at you.

“Y/N, can you just-“ Toji sharply inhales, clenching his jaw so tightly just so he can’t make his voice any louder. “Can you just please fucking stop?”

The omamori that you’re gripping tightly in your hands, the same one that you’ve gotten for blessings and protection for his fight in a month’s time, reminds you that Toji doesn’t want anything to do with you.

“I bet you’re a nice girl and all but I just don’t want you, okay?” he nods breathlessly as if asking you for confirmation. “I don’t like you like that.”

After a year and then some of yearning for Toji, you finally yield.

( ♡ )

You don’t come in for work.

Your absence is easily noticed because by this hour, you should’ve been glued to your seat by the front desk, ready to stash Toji’s gym bag under your desk.

He freezes by the entrance, brows knitted in confusion to see that your spot’s empty. He and his bag have been spoiled by you to the point that Toji feels uncharacteristically displaced when he walks past your desk, with his bag and without his drink.

“Huh,” Toji mutters to himself, strolling as casually as he could to the breakroom. He’s already had breakfast and he’ll be willing to have another one if it means lingering around you today, but to his surprise (and his surprise only), you aren’t there. “That’s weird.”

Toji jolts in place when he senses an agitating presence behind him that does little to conceal his proximity behind him, fists immediately clenching when he sees Satoru lean on the wall next to him.

“Jeez. I wonder who could’ve possibly said what to Y/N that made her call in sick today,” he enunciates slowly, enough for the sarcasm to steep in and his words to absorb into Toji’s thick skull.

“What are you-…” Toji interrupts himself when he finally gets what Satoru’s pertaining to, the skip of his chest being telling about the guilt that’s been stewing at the back of his head since last night.

“You weren’t exactly discreet about it, idiot. We were in the breakroom,” Satoru rolls his eyes, standing to his full height when he sees Toji falter. “Even Shiu heard you and he has the most effective noise-cancelling headphones known to man.”

Right on cue, Shiu comes out leisurely out of the room he had been peeking at two seconds ago. It takes only a second for him to register that Toji’s outside for whatever reason (he knows exactly why) before whistling in response, the shit-eating grin on his face apparent for Toji to remember.

“Woof,” he chuckles. “Don’t go biting my head now. I bet you’re a nice guy and all.”

It’s a build-up of things since this morning, and perhaps even from last night if he counts the immediate tinge of regret that stings him when he’s seethed his rejection at you, that truly throws Toji off his game.

Maybe it’s Satoru’s repeated teasing throughout the day and his targeted material of asking whether Toji was hungry or not, right within the timeframe wherein you usually ask him if he wants to join you for a meal.

Maybe it’s Shiu’s incessant mentioning of your name throughout his workout and the convenient reminder that Toji’s working out harder than he usually does, yet there’s no cold towel waiting for him.

But really, whatever it is that just adds up to the already excessive noise in Toji’s head concerning you, he knows now more than ever that absence your absence is noticeable.

His opponent for today’s practice match knows it. The day janitor knows it. Even the delivery guy who’s only been here twice knows it.

Toji simmers in guilt except he doesn’t want to admit it just yet, full well knowing that he would have texted you an apology — if only he had your number.

( ♡ )

You come back after three days.

After a year and some months’ worth of excessive reminders from Satoru, you finally take into realization that you don’t have to go to work in-person as often as you do.

You didn’t know that all it would take for you to slow down and take your much-needed break is Toji by some way (read: rejecting you so harshly that you had been mute on your way home), and you haven’t predicted at all that there’ll be a day wherein you come to work not to pursue him.

Toji immediately notices your presence because even if you were no longer perched by the front desk, it was apparent that you’re already back judging by the way everyone– and literally everyone— in the gym seemed to look at ease somehow.

You’re at the other side of the gym with the light equipment that Toji barely frequents, and it’s the way you stand and smile that makes him pause.

It’s also the way that you smile at Choso that makes Toji announce his presence loudly.

“Let me help you there, buddy,” he claps behind the guy he recognizes as one of his fans (in all fairness, Yuuji isn’t as annoying as all the others who only come here just to get a glimpse of him), startling his already trembling figure.

Toji, without any hesitation yet a lot of frustration, easily grabs the heavy barbell mid-air that Yuuji’s struggling with before dropping it to the ground as roughly as he could.

It’s too light for him. Too easy, even.

What’s heavier for Toji at the moment is the realization that you’ve given up on him and he has no one to blame but his emotional constipation, and maybe Choso who had pissed him off prior to his tantrum at you.

You did look at Toji and the mini scene he had created, but you immediately avert your eyes as soon as he fixates on yours.

He feels untethered this way, and if the lump on his throat is omniscient of the guilt that he’s feeling yet he’s unable to put into words, Toji wants you to notice him again, tirelessly and shamelessly like you did before.

He’s not in his usual zone, so much so that he barely makes any banter with Shiu who had been talking his ear off in letting Satoru have a go at him.

Toji’s too far out of his concentration, so much so that he agrees to spar with Satoru.

He’s been pestering him for the longest time to get in the ring with him and Toji had always declined, even if he knows that your friend could take him on to some degree. He’s turned him down again and again for even just a light sparring session, especially when you were around, because he knows that he’s your friend.

He wouldn’t want to hurt Satoru if it hurts you, except now, the difference is that the latter really wants to hurt him and the former is out of his game to the point that he’ll resort to anything just to get your attention.

Toji lands a punch so hard that Satoru audibly croaks, holding his stomach even with the padding on. You’ve always been (read: used to be) the biggest fan of Toji even in practice matches, but now, instead of cheering for him, your eyebrows knit in worry instead–

Except your concern isn’t for him.

“Satoru? You okay?” you immediately come to his side by the ring, eyes inspecting him from head to toe.

Before he could even say that he is and that he’ll get back at Toji with twice the power, Toji pipes in from behind your friend, raising a gloved hand sheepishly.

“I’m not.”

Toji shamelessly declares his apparent hurt, making everyone nearby audibly gawk at him for his audacity. You only blink at him in the surprise, trying your earnest to see on what part and capacity could Satoru, a non-professional, has possibly injured him.

“H-he punched me by the ear,” he stutters, the lie catching onto his teeth on the way out. The embarrassment of him making up an unbelievable lie is yet to hit, but Toji wouldn’t mind either way.

“What?! I barely even hit you in the face!” Satoru reacts, his face indescribable with the way he swats Toji on the arm in disbelief.

You snort at the scene in amusement, yet your eyes stay fixated on your friend.

“Yeah, yeah. I believe you, Toru.”

( ♡ )

True to his word, Satoru sets you up with his friend.

It was amusing, if not mildly infuriating with regards to the universe’s fate for your heart, to learn that Suguru’s the owner of the upscale café you’ve been buying Toji’s drinks from for six out of seven days a week.

It’s actually amusing to the point that you immediately smile whenever Satoru brings up Suguru, even for no particular reason, because if only time and luck had been at your side, you would’ve met him earlier and spared yourself the heartbreak from Toji.

You know to yourself, even in the deepest pits of your stomach that would like to argue otherwise, that you would’ve like Toji regardless even if you met Suguru earlier — what irks you about the whole thing is that fate is twisted.

You’re at standstill with the guy who checks all your boxes and actually likes you back unlike Toji, except this time, you’re content at staying in whatever playful relationship that you and Suguru are in now.

It’s not a mess per se, but it’s a playful blunder between the two of you wherein you flirt and like each other’s presence, except you’re not in a relationship at all because neither of you are in a rush.

Oddly enough, having each other while not exactly owning the other at same time is enjoyable for the both of you.

For not atleast, you and Suguru are simply fated to be a pair of flirty friends that enjoy each other’s company without having to come home at the end of the night. He has his reservations while you have yours too, but they didn’t mean anything when the other just needs another shoulder present.

Your reservations don’t matter at the moment when there’s an inner turmoil that roots from the base of your chest, simply because Satoru had made the offhand comment that Toji kept asking him about you while you weren’t around.

Your reservations don’t matter at the moment when Suguru comes at the perfect time because he’s not as familiar as the best friend you grew up with, nor is he as fond as the man you’ve spent the better part of a year crushing on and are now wanting to move on from.

“Who’s that?” Toji snaps to no one in particular, the scowl on his face off-putting and intriguing enough for Satoru to notice. He follows Toji’s line of sight, a sly smirk already building up on his face at the prospect of teasing him, even if he knows your real score with Suguru.

“Oh, that’s Suguru. He’s my friend.”

“Didn’t he use to be that defending champion or something?” Toji murmurs, crossing his arms. He vaguely recalls how he once read an article detailing the young player retiring early so he could live a normal life, hearing the name Geto every once in awhile. “Why’s he here?”

“Didn’t you say you never keep tabs on other players?” Satoru snickers, the teasing smirk apparent on his face because of Toji’s sheer bitterness. “Also, it’s my gym. He’s not allowed around here or something?”

“Whatever. Don’t care,” Toji grumbles. “I could take him in a fight. I’d probably destroy him.”

Toji feels unwell, not because he spent a solid ten minutes arguing with a defensive Satoru that keeps insisting his best friend could totally defeat him in a fight, but because throughout that time, not once did you stop smiling at whatever Suguru has to say to you.

Your eyes are practically gleaming and although he loves the sight, there’s this ache that blooms in his chest and spreads all the way to the base of his spine knowing that it’s what you had looked like in front of him for the longest time.

“I bought lunch.”

Toji approaches you as soon as Suguru goes to the bathroom, his smile gentle and hesitant.

It’s a first for you because you usually treat him. At the start, it was you treating everyone in order not to be transparent with your crush, but there’d been a couple obvious times in which you only exerted efforts for Toji and only him.

Toji doesn’t bother with an excuse of treating everyone or that he had bought too many; he just wants to have lunch with you. “Want some?”

“No, but thank you,” you answer lowly, the shake of your head barely noticeable because you don’t want to look him in the eye.

Toji’s more confused than he is deterred, the bag in his hands suddenly weighing a ton. “But you haven’t left your desk so that means you haven’t eaten yet,” he points out. “Do you not like this type of food? If not, I could just run to the-…”

“There you are!”

Suguru comes back, and just like that, the crumbs of attention you were giving him had been cleaned up entirely.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s gooo, doll. I wanna beat everyone else to the limited specials,” Suguru ignores his obvious beating presence and practically drags you out from your chair (even though you needed little convincing), the hold he has on your wrist making Toji see red briefly.

Toji’s jaw clenches, unconsciously stepping out of the gym not long since you and Suguru rushed out, his sharp eyes following you until you both turn the corner.

It’s the same shop he got your food from.

( ♡ )

Toji can’t put a finger to what he’s feeling.

He feels different; the bad and dull kind of different that makes him listless and anxious no matter how much he tries to tire himself out.

He’ll subject himself to an agonizing workout with no breaks in between, but after that, he could only think about the way your bottom lip trembled at his words.

He’ll put himself through one practice match after another without any proper training, and even if Toji wins as he always does, he could only think about how he’s lost all of your affection that he had unconsciously looked forward to the entire time.

Toji finds himself lingering around you and he doesn't know if he could just continue hovering and hovering in this way; in a way that's unlike yours because you were unafraid to stand so close to him, talk to him whenever you please, and trail around him like a lost puppy in the past.

He’s upset and he doesn’t even know why he allows himself to feel that way, when for the longest time, he had convinced himself that he didn’t give you any hope so he had no reason to feel guilty about turning you down; so that he had no problem ignoring you while dealing with his constipation of not apologizing.

Toji’s upset, except he’s too self-aware to the point that it’s only his spite that keeps him awake with regret; he did give you hope.

He didlinger around you and accept whatever you had to give him despite his lips making out the sentiment that he can never return them.

He did feel guilty at the prospect of turning you down right from the start because if that wasn’t the case, then you would have long given up on him.

He did feel guilty about rejecting you, especially considering the fact that he wasn’t wholeheartedly sure whenever he refused your love — he still does.

“Toji?” you call out, the sound of your voice immediately startling him with the lights already dim in the breakroom. Toji only frequented the breakroom whenever you were there, and the odd, if not ironic, turn of events makes him smile humorlessly. “Are you drunk? Do you need me to call Satoru?” you ask with genuine concern, tilting your head as you try to assess his figure. “Do you want to go home?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head softly. “It’s jus’ to take the edge off. Probably easier to get a horse drunk than to get metipsy.”

You give a small smile at that, the tremble of your hands barely noticeable with the way Toji’s even more nervous than you at the realization that the two of you are alone with each other.

You’re only here because you forgot your laptop, and Toji’s only here because he doesn’t know what to make of himself because you’ve detached yourself from his routine— from his life, it seems like.

Toji looks down on his full glass, swirling it by his knee. There’s an unspeakable sorrow to his face with something about it resembling you, or atleast the resignation you felt every time Toji turned you down less than gently.

“Why don’t you like me anymore?”

Your eyes widen at the question, the words left in the tip of your tongue drying out the longer that Toji looked at you this way — like he’s stooped down to the level you used to be in, his eyes tired and glassy.

“Why don’t you like me anymore?” he repeats, mistaking the shock on your face for confusion. “If I… i-if I pretend to be drunk and ask you out, will you say yes?” Toji murmurs, using the back of his hand to clumsily get rid of the wetness that had unknowingly formed at the corners of his eyes. “Would that make you go back to liking me again?”

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naamahdarling · 2 months

Text

Maybe it isn't that I actually hate medical professionals? They just suck and are weird sometimes, and a lot of them shouldn't be practicing, but I don't hate them as a group, like, personally.

What I hate is their ability to make my life harder in ways that are often completely opaque to me, and a lot of the crap things they do are not really possible to challenge. And I hate the fact that holding them responsible fort dogshit behavior in any way that will actually benefit me is almost always impossible.

And I also hate the fact that they have to do stupid things sometimes because that's how the system is set up, and those things sometimes mean patients actually get harmed. They aren't fond of that part either! They don't want the system to be the way it is! But they don't have a choice, so sometimes people like me get forced by bureaucracy into doing things that are re-traumatizing. And I can't imagine that feels good for them at all, knowing that their patients are sometimes only "consenting" because that bureaucracy will not let them be helped in any other way. Which isn't consent at all. I imagine that must be pretty traumatizing for them, too, sometimes.

If it were easier to actually access medical care without tremendous delays in this country right now I would have much less trouble finding providers who are good at what they do and are not horrible people, and who have clinic staff who can do their fucking job.

Oh and I also don't appreciate how evasive and unwilling to commit they are out of fear of being held to an answer that turns out to be inaccurate, but I can't make an informed decision about my own care unless they give me at least some information about probabilities and trajectories and typicalities. Genuinely, how the fuck am I supposed to navigate that shit. I get that some patients are really fucking difficult, but I should be able to get a special stamp on my file or something that says I understand that sometimes medicine isn't an exact science and the best answers that my doctors can give may not always prove to be accurate in the long term. I know they don't like being in that situation either.

A lot of medical professionals are fucking assholes, and unfortunately the ones who are not are still hamstrung by a system set up to actively prevent people from getting care.

I miss my old doctor. He gave no shits about anything that wasn't the patient. He prescribed scheduled meds based on what the patient needed and not based on fear of consequences potentially being imposed on him by the punitive patient-hostile drugs-are-bad moral panic machine developed to force suffering people into buying more dangerous drugs off the street in order to prevent far fewer people from maybe getting high off of drugs that at least weren't laced with lethal substances. (The purpose of a system is what it does.) Did he get sanctioned and become locally unhireable? Unfortunately yes he did. Does he now provide concierge care to rich people? Yes he does. He found a way to make it work, God bless him.

Everything about the medical system in this country is fucked. Hospitals, doctors, nurses, pharmacies, pharmacists, pharmacy techs, phlebotomists, clinic administrative staff, insurance companies, medical schools and schooling, licensing boards, drug advertising to both providers and patients, pharmaceutical reps, researchers, research, publishing, medical trials, pharmaceutical companies, manufacturers and distributors, medical equipment, charting software, billing and billing codes, diagnostic criteria, charity and low income services, accessible transportation, home care, the lack of independent individual patient advocates, dietitians and nutritionists, access to physical and occupational therapy and physical and occupational therapists, the massive bigotry of every kind rampant in every corner of the medical field, social work, senior care and assisted living, deprioritization of informed consent and harm reduction, disability applications, inaccessibility of medical records, especially psychiatric notes which are specifically allowed to be withheld from patients, lack of continuity of care for disadvantaged people, care that is equitably accessible to disabled people, telemedicine, patient portals, phone systems, clinic hours, every single aspect of inpatient and outpatient psychiatry, facility security, all sorts of things going on with therapists who are nevertheless probably the least malicious group of people in this entire charade, aaaaaand patients themselves.

Also hospital toilets that are too tall and make it literally physically impossible for me to poop while I'm there waiting for somebody to come out of surgery. I just needed to take a crap, guys. You didn't need to make the toilets so tall that my feet didn't even touch the floor. It is very clean but there is no shitting for short people at St Francis.

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bonefall · 26 days

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BONES WHERE ARE YOU

I'm here I'm okay! Sorry I went radio silent for like two months LMAO I've been a busy boygirl.

I have been doing A LOT of things. The embarrassing truth is that I noticed I was going a while without posting, figured I'd stay quiet a little longer so I'd have fun stuff to share to "make up" for the fact I was quiet, but then things got delayed and I felt guilty I had nothing to show for being gone so long, and before I knew it it was like 2 months. Girl help

I've always got a ridiculous amount of irons in the fire, but mainly 3 big things have been keeping me quiet;

Thing 1 is, unfortunatly, a super secret, non-WC related game project. You have NO idea how badly I want to blabber about this, but my team asked me not to :///

It's so fucking cool and I've been working so hard on it. I have been able to research so many cool environments and cultures. OHH my god, did you have any idea that Iran has cloud forests?? Or that you can trace Mayan trade routes based on the color of obsidian you find in archeological sites??? I want to spill beans so bad.

Hopefully we'll make more progress on this project in a few months and then I can share details, but at the moment I'm honor-bound to silence OTL

THING 2 I've been doing is graduating college and finding a good job, which naturally is time consuming. I finally did though, so hopefully I'll have some cash to burn soon on commissions and such. I actually have a couple Clan Culture posts essentially completed as drafts, but I want them illustrated before releasing them.

Aaaand THING 3 is that I started playing the demo for an Indie game called Critter Cove. I apologize that this reason's kind of mundane, but it is only a demo for what the devs call "the first 2 hours of the game" and I've already got 40 hours logged.

It's a good game, man. I'm obsessed with the character creator. It's got fat bodies, squid-faced options, hyena ears, lots of tails, even TVhead options, everything. The devs are also super responsive on the Discord. I have made so many fun designs lmaooo.

It releases into Early Access on the 10th and you save your progress into the main game. It's like Animal Crossing meets Windwaker. Can't recommend it enough if you're into these sorts of games.

TL;DR I've been up to non-WC things.

Doesn't mean I'm gone though! I'll be back soon. As soon as I have some time, I'm going to catch up on the Ivypool's Heart stuff so I can formulate an opinion about it.

#Life update #Bone babble #Sorry to everyone who got worried about me #I'm fine! I'm just all over the place #My ass will get in situations inconceivable to the average man

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bumblebriez · 22 days

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Love Stricken (PT.1)

(Gojo Satoru x Chubby!Fem!Reader)

(PT.2)

⚠️⚠️⚠️: Smutty smutty smut, Swearing. Drinking. Gojo in loooove

Never in a million years would you think, you'd catch the eyes of a certain jujutsu sorcerer but you did and with that came alot of consequences. That you would eventually find out the hard way.

Your parents vanished a good couple of years ago with no knowledge of why and where, leaving you; the eldest, to care and provide for your younger siblings. Being responsible and forgetting about the life you used to live, you felt lost. Struggling a lot with your self worth.

Your best friend took it upon herself to finally get you to live your life a little more by taking you out on the town for a night.

But you found that night was the start of your downfall.

I plan to turn this into a series eventually and this is also the first time I'm writing in a third person, so there could be a few mistakes not to mention the spelling and grammar might be a little baaad. I'll try to fix them when I can. I'm also not the greatest at writing descriptions.

********

"See? Didn't I tell you, you would have fun." Your best friend shouted over the loud booming club music and the noises of the on going clubbers.

You rolled your eyes slightly, head lightly bobbing to the music as you took a sip from the straw in your drink, vodka and cranberry was your drink of choice. It definitely wasn't your first but after the persistent nagging from your bestie to actually drink something alcoholic, you went with the safe one.

"Yeah I loved the fact that I already have a migraine!" You shouted back, eyes squinting from the bright strobe lights.

From the moment you walked in on the party scene, you felt like you were being watched, as soon as your foot hit the concrete floor. You couldn't pinpoint where or who but you could feel their glaze burn holes into you, perhaps it was just the swarm that surrounded you, you couldn't tell.

"You are so dull now! You use to love going out!" You watched as Zariah downed the two shots she had ordered for herself, deciding it'll be better to not delay the inevitable.

"That was before I had kids to look after." She pouted slightly, her hand gripping your shoulder, moving closer to your ear.

"That's why you need to enjoy yourself tonight! Get fucked up, maybe even get fucked? Hmmm~" you shake your head, giggling nervously slightly at the continuous pressure. It was her plan all along. Getting you out there, finding a short distraction from what you were dealing with currently.

You twirled your straw around in your drink, pushing the Ice to the different sides of the glass.

"Stop thinking about them. They will be fine! Rast will be taking great care of them! He wants you to enjoy your night too."

Truth is.. Ever since your parents disappeared, leaving no trace behind except other children they forgot about for you to look after; to become their legal guardian. You have not had much time to yourself.

The years started to flicker by and the realisation started to set in that this was your life now. Your parents were not coming back. They were your kids now. It's a hard pill to swallow and frankly not one you were interested in but what else could you do? You felt obligated to care and provide for your siblings.

The more you worried about your siblings, the more you lost yourself. Your confidence had plummeted and your self image was shattered. Though you wouldn't let anyone know. The looks those skinny tan gorgeous girls would give you as you passed them on the street, did not go unnoticed.

The small remarks guys would leave you to ponder over, never far from your mind.

The comments you received from a previous ex, picking at your self esteem, your self confidence; resided in your core constantly.

You'd never show them that it affected you. You held your head high, trying to fake the confidence you once had.

But when you get home, it was a different story. In the privacy of your own bedroom was when the waterworks started. The constant peering in the mirror, pointing out all the differences between you and other girls. Comparing yourself and wishing for things that were in your eyes imperfections, just to go away.

You were happy alone. At least that's what you told yourself. You didn't need a guy. Especially when you looked like you.

Maybe sometimes you're too hard on yourself. Maybe.

"I don't mean to weird you out but that gooorgeous man has been eyeing you for ages." Zariah broke you out of your zoning, pointing slightly in the direction behind you.

"Consider me weirded out. Don't be silly. You mean eyeing you?" You didn't even bothered turning around to follow, he clearly wasn't looking at you. Maybe at someone who was further down the bar. If not your gorgeous best friend.

You can't seem to help yourself though, your eyes peek around before you could even react, a quick subtle peek.

You flick over the crowd of different people, trying to find the guy your best friend was talking about, until your eyes finally land on who you were looking for.

She wasn't lying.

He was *chefs kiss*

And he was already looking at you.

You couldn't see his eyes since they were hiding behind a pair of low sunglasses. His hair was almost pure white, reflecting off the neon lights that scattered around the room.

A white button up shirt with the a few of the buttons undone, sleeves pushed up to his elbows; drink resting in his longer slender fingers.

Your eyes widen as he tipped his glass at you, a devilish grin resting on his lips.

You quickly faced your best friend returning to raised eyebrows and a cheeky smirk.

"Don't even say anything." You growled, feeling almost foolish that a man of that pristine stature could be even interested in something like you.

Zariah held her hands up in defence "I wasn't gonna but he is fine." She took a slow gulp from her drink, eyes avoiding my glaze.

"You have a boyfriend." You watched her roll her eyes at you, placing her cup back down on the harden wood. "I can still appreciate a good looking guy or a girl for that matter." Her eyebrows wiggled aggressively causing you to sigh dramatically, resting your elbow on the bar; chin resting in the palm of your hand.

Just as you were about to take another sip of your drink, Zariah's eyes widen slightly before spinning around in her chair facing away from you; back in full view.

Before you could even ask what her problem was, you felt a presence appear behind you; them looming over you.

"What's a nice place like you doing in a girl like this?" You stifled a chuckle that tried to escape your throat as you turned to face the new comer, realising it was the guy you were previously checking out. Allegedly.

He leant against the bar, resting on his elbow, his full attention and glaze set on your form. That devilish grin still resting on his lips. Making you feel almost uneasy. Under pressure almost.

"Wow. How many girls have you used that one liner on?"

He tilted his head slightly, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, his eyes peering from behind them. They were stunning. The brightest blue you had ever seen. It was reflecting an ocean. Unnaturally glistening, the specks of colour flowing like a river. Maybe it was just the lightning or maybe you are already tipsy from one drink.

"Was waiting to use it on the right girl." You hummed before taking a sip from your straw, fingers pressed tightly at the tip, your eyes never leaving his as you look at him with doe eyes.

"How charming of you." You smirked moving the empty glass away from you.

"I'm Satoru Gojo but you can call me Satoru. What about you gorgeous?" He pressed with a light flick of his head, his tongue wetting his lips.

"Just Y/n." You felt a slight heat starting to form within your face, this Satoru was clearly flirting with you and you had no idea how to take it. This felt a little be overwhelming for you. He was drop dead handsome and he was showing some sort of interest in you.

"Well 'Just Y/n' can I buy you another drink?" You don't say anything as you look down at your empty glass before giving a nod.

You both sit there for a couple moments more, just small talking as you take your time sipping away at your drink. A laugh here and a giggle there as Satoru throws a joke your way; slowly opening you up, allowing you to get comfortable in his presence. Completely forgetting you did not come here by yourself.

Gojo quickly downs the rest of his drink before his eyes fall on you once more "Do you wanna dance?"

Your breathing hitched slightly at the invitation, Satoru was already moving before you could even respond, pulling you by your hand through the crowds and on to the dance floor.

He placed your hand on his shoulder, placing his own large hands on your hips, guiding them to the rhythm of the music. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, chest pressing against chest.

A small sweet smile made its way to your lips as you stare up at the much taller man through your eyelashes.

You started to feel a bit exposed, your eyes moved around the room, briefly looking at all the different couples that surrounded the two of you. You caught a few glimpses of a cluster of girls that weren't that far from you, noises scrunched up at you, giggling as they spoke to each other, watching you with envy. It was frankly very uncomfortable.

Fed up with the looks, you pulled back from Satoru abruptly "I'm sorry, I can't-." You muttered more to yourself than him.

But just as turned around, back facing the towering man, he grabs you by your wrist, pulling you back kind of aggressively into his chest.

Your ass press up against him, his hands resting on your hips, digging in slightly to hold you there.

"Don't think about them. Think about me." He whispered in your ear, sending cold shivers down your spine causing goosebumps all over your skin. A quiet gasp leaves your lips at the suggesting tone.

"Think about the way I'm pressed up against you." Our hips moved in a slow dance, his hands guiding me to grind against him.

"Think about the way my hands feel." Your eyes fluttered closed as one of his hands traced your prominent curves over the fabric of your dress, pulling it up slightly when he gets to your thighs, exposing some hidden skin.

"The way my lips feeling on your skin." His teeth grazed your ear lobe, moving to your neck to leave soft burning pecks on your skin, a very small whimper comes from you from the actions.

Your head lobbed back against his shoulder, allowing more access for him. Your skin was burning from the kisses. the touches.

You continue to grind against him, feeling more turned on by the minute. Especially hearing the shutters from his throat when you rub him the right way, making you uncontrollably wet.

"My god. You're intoxicating." He breathed out as he held you against him, tighter. His hand moving up your body, painfully slowly before gripping gently on to your neck, using a ringed finger to push your chin in his direction.

You let out a soft noise as your lips were in proximity of each other, you could feel the essence of where his lips need to be; hovering.

"Think about how our lips feel..." he press a soft peck on your lips before capturing your bottom lip in between his teeth. You couldn't help the noise that flowed out of you. This was so.. hot. He was hot. He was making you hot.

You leaned up to press your lips to his, nearly almost fed up with the teasing. Both of you move in sync with each other, Satoru's hand still holding your neck with no pressure. Keeping you aligned with him as your mouths explore each others; His rings leaving a cold sensation as they graze your skin.

"Wanna get out of here?" He mumbled against your lips, kissing you after each word. You smiled slightly as much as you could.

"Yes please Satoru." A slight groan came from the milky skinned man, pulling you even harder against him. "I'm loving hearing you say my name baby." A little giggle escaped your lips as he nuzzled his nose with yours.

As you both rushed through the bodies on bodies, you leave Satoru alone for just a minute while he ordered an Uber, leaving you to remember why you were here and who you were with.

"Damn. I mean damn. You better be coming over to tell me, you're going home with him." Zariah exclaimed already holding out your belongings as you made your way over to her with a bright smile on your face.

Without saying too much, you quickly lay a fresh kiss on her cheek "I'll see you tomorrow." Your best friend let out a squeal of excitement, watching your retreating form.

"Fucking finally. He better fuck her good." Zariah mumbled to herself before downing the rest of her drink. Accomplished her mission and ready to go home.

You and Satoru walk out of the club, fingers intertwined. Immediately spotting our ride. He leads you towards the SUV, opening the door open for you. Like a gentleman.

You express your appreciation before hoping in and moving over to the other side, mumbling a quick greeting to the driver.

Gojo closes the door behind him once he jumps in, scooting closer to you, not even bothering to put a seatbelt on; which the driver doesn't enforce either.

Frankly he wasn't all too bothered with keeping a conversation but that didn't seem to stop the man who was inviting you back to his.

"Had a busy night so far?" Gojo asked the driver as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, his other hand resting on your thigh.

You couldn't focus on both of the men conversing when Satoru hands was rubbing patterns into your skin, starting to go high and closer to where was needed to be touched. Teasing you.

You tried to control your breath, ignoring the neediness you were currently experiencing. You pressed a hand on his chest, coming to rest your head. Your eyes still stuck on his dangerous hand.

Your jaw clenched as his hand did in fact go higher, biting your lip as you feel his index finger press against the fabric of your panties; causing you to seize up.

Your eyes look to Satoru, witnessing a cheeky smirk resting on his lips as he continues to chat with the Uber driver. Feigning innocence.

Your eyes started to roll to the back of your head when he continued to rub at your clothed cunt. Your panties becoming wetter and wetter the more he pushed. You started to bite your finger knuckle to hold in any noises that might try to escape you.

You couldn't believe he would even try to do this right in the middle of this car ride, thankfully you were out of view. At least you hoped..

You started to bite harder when his finger pushed aside your panties and swiped at your slick folds, subconsciously you opened your legs wider for him. Scooting down so you were hanging off the seat.

The biting got harder when he plunged a finger past your walls, pumping in and out slowly. Curling in the right spot. His other hand was ghosting over the skin on your shoulders, causing you to shiver while being fingered in the backseat of this strangers truck.

"Ahh shit. Sorry guys. Just gotta make a quick stop. Didn't realise I was low on gas."

"No worries man. You do you." Gojo spoke up still pumping his finger into you, slightly picking up the pace but still managing to conceal you.

The very moment the man jumped out of the car, letting you guys know he'll only be a few minutes, Satoru turned to you, pushing your legs apart further "Two minutes, That's all I need."

You let out the moans you had been holding in, gripping on to his forearm as his pace became aggressive. Nothing you have felt with any man. He was hitting the right spot over and over again with his long fingers. One you honestly didn't think you had. If he kept at this, you were definitely going to cum. Which shocked you to your core.

"Who knew you were so dirty. Letting me do this to you at the chance of getting caught." He moan slightly, adding another finger to the mix. Curling up wards, pulling a quiet cry from you.

"Holy shit-" you whimpered as you felt electricity spreading throughout your body, his fingers felt so nice inside you. Gliding in and out of your wet pussy, the squelching noises were more prominent now.

"You're already so wet.. probably making a mess on these leather seats. I turn you on that much huh? God you're fucking hot." A deep growl erupted from his throat as his fingers continued to plunge deeper. Faster.

"You gonna cum? You gonna cum on these fingers? I want you too. Cum for me baby." Not only was the pleasure on a whole another level, the shock was too. How was it possible that this guy could very much bring you to the edge in five minutes? This was nothing you had ever experienced before and you are only just getting started.

You couldn't even form words, that's how bad the effect was, they only came out in moans and whines. You were nearly over the edge, stars were appearing in your vision. You squeezed harder on his forearm, nails digging deeper as you started your ascent.

"Oh fuck- I'm gonna- shit." You babbled out, your legs started to quiver as you felt yourself approaching the high, Satoru had brought you too only using his fingers.

"That's it baby. Cum all over these fingers, all over the seats." His words quite literally brought you to the edge, you felt your walls clenched around his fingers, starting to flail against him. He let out a low groan feeling you tighten around his fingers, his cock was becoming uncomfortable hard through his pants; just at the sight of you alone. The thought of you cumming on his cock. Squeezing him so nicely. Gojo was excited.

Excited to fuck the shit out of you.

Your mouth formed an O as you felt the orgasm wash over, leaving you a panting mess. You were left with no words. Completely and utterly stunned. You've never came so fast or so hard in your life, not even by your fingers and certainly not by a man.

Satoru pressed a sweet kiss on your temple before pulling his fingers out, a small sob leaving your mouth at the bareness. He lifted his fingers to his mouth before eagerly sucking your juices off.

"Mmm. So sweet." You honestly thought you would cum again. This was so embarrassing to you. You were so hot and turned on. You honestly just wanted to fuck him right here and now, not even caring if the driver came back or not. You were becoming inpatient.

It seemed Satoru felt the same way, once he caught a glimpse of your dilated pupils, your face covered in need, he knew he was in for a long night. Satoru smirked dangerous before pressing his fingers up to your lips, not needing to wait too long when you didn't even hesitate to open, sucking contentedly on his fingers. Loving the feeling as your tongue twirled around them.

"Oh fuck-" Satoru shuttered with a slight roll of his eyes, you were something else.

Thank goodness for blacked out windows..

The driver came back, finally for what felt like hours to you, returning on the path to the destination in question.

You sat there completely dazed, thinking of what had just transpired. Trying to ignore your juices that were oozing out of you. While Satoru was whispering sweet nothings in your ear, his hand was lying in your lap and you were just playing with his fingers, his rings. The fingers that just made you have possibly the best orgasm of your life but you definitely knew that was going to change. Real quick.

But a thought couldn't help but sneak in and ruin your buzzed feeling.

How many girls has he made cum with these hands. Said the same shit too. You weren't special. You were just that, another girl to get his dick wet.

But you shouldn't care, this was only fun. This is only suppose to be a hook up. No matter if he made you feel like the only girl in the world for the night. He was good at was he does. He was good at making you feel good in more ways than physical.

The drive felt like hours, you felt like you were losing your mind as Satoru's hands were exploring your body. Trying to push aside the unsettling feeling when he brushed over your extra layers.

From the outside it seemed he didn't even care that you were a larger woman but what worried you was what he was thinking. Your head was full of intrusive thoughts.

Did he really find you attractive?

When he looked at you did he see something more?

Was he disgusted?

Was he regretting this and just being nice?

Far far out of your league.

Little did you know, Gojo Satoru found you absolutely beautiful. All six of his eyes spotted you as soon as you stepped foot in the establishment.

You were positively delicious.

He just had to have you.

And now he does. He couldn't be more happy.

"I can hear those cogs turning in that pretty head of yours." You looked towards Satoru, forcing a smile as he gently brushed his knuckle across your jaw. A small sweet smile resting on his lips; his face close to yours.

"You're really attractive." You simply said, taking in his features properly, getting a clearer picture. Away from all of bright and flashing lights.

His eyes were more sparkling than before, you found yourself looking away every now again, afraid you'd be put under a spell. Not that you'd would mind anyway..

His bone structure was out of this world, it's like he was sculpted by a god or maybe he was just a god.

He was uncomfortably ravishing.

"Mmm I get that a lot. I'm pretty hot. But you." Your eyes widen a little at his comment, not sure how to take it. His hand cupped your cheek, his eyes peering into yours.

"You are crazy fucking hot. That curvy body is going to be the death of me. I mean.. I'd die a happy man in between those thighs." You bite your bottom lip, completely speechless. This man was turning you to putty and no matter how much your body was trying to tell you he was lying. You knew deep down he meant every word.

You were shell shocked.

And unbelievably horny.

The wait was over, you had arrived at the destination. Your eyes glazed over the very large and lavish apartment complex. A completely different place to where you resided. A decently ran down 4 bedroom home that you were pretty positive was still full of mold, no matter how hard you cleaned.

Your mind immediately went into autopilot, as Satoru lead you out of the truck, muttering a quick 'thank you' to the Uber.

Satoru pulled you with him as you both stride towards the entrance, your fingers intertwined. He lead you into the lobby, towards one of the many elevators and as soon as those doors closed. As soon as he had pressed the button, you were pressed up against the glass wall. Your leg hanging loosely over his hip, hand placed securely behind your knee.

"Satoru.. they have cameras.." you whispered as he placed sloppy kisses along your neck.

"Mmm say my name again." He grumbled against your skin, having no care in the world for your protests. The only care was to hear you scream his name, no matter where you both are.

"Satoru stooop, we can't. Not here." You giggled a little as he ran his nose over your jugular. A smirk appeared on Satoru lips as he listened to your laugh.

He was compelled to hear it again and obviously since he was like the funniest person HE knew, it wouldn't be hard.

"But whyyy. You're too sweet. You taste like candy." He whined slightly pulling away to stare into your eyes, quite like staring into your soul. If it was anyone else, you probably would recoil, cringing.

Buuuut he was also kinda adorable. You thought.

You leaned forward pressing a sweet peck on his lips, Satoru dropping your leg, allowing you to correct your posture.

"I do not." You giggled yet again, pressing your hands against his chest, moving them up and down his torso.

"Do too. I can't wait to gobble you up." He pressed, your giggle pierced his ears again, causing his smile to brighten as he stared down at you, basically inhaling your beauty.

"You've got such a way with words." You sarcastically say as you give him a playful eye roll, trying to push him back slightly but to no avail, he stood strong.

"That's not the only thing, Baby." And god did you believe him.

You jump once you hear the ding of the elevator, realising you are so close to getting the life fucked out of you and that put a bounce in your step. You were nearly stepping on the backs of Satoru heels as the both of you wonder down the halls.

Your breathing started to pick up, feeling almost inpatient. You couldn't even blame it on the alcohol because realistically you only had two, you were definitely drunk on something else and you'd only experienced it briefly.

You watched as Satoru's long slender fingers, played with his keys; trying to find the right one.

And as soon as that door was opened, you couldn't even process how fast you were inside, immediately locking lips.

Satoru kicked the door shut with his foot, his hands never leaving you as he pushed his tongue past your lips. You let out a low moan as your tongues started to dance with each other.

The kiss was sloppy and ferocious. You didn't believe when people talked about sparks but in that moment, you started to believe. He left your lips tingling, nothing you've felt before. It sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. Your pussy aching, needing for this man.

You were nearly tripping over each other, bumping into things, lips never leaving each others as you both made your way through the apartment. Letting out a low whimper when your back hit the soft mattress, spreading your legs to allow Satoru to press himself against you.

"I'm fucking you. No more playing. I need to feel you around me." Satoru growled against your lips, before resuming sticking his tongue down your throat.

His hands left you, reaching down to work at his belt, he was quick and efficient, pushing his pants down his legs with one hand.

He broke from you, pushing up your dress past your hips and literally ripping off your panties, exposing your wet and dripping cunt. You'd worry about your panties later.

Satoru let out a low groan seeing you now bare beneath him, your pussy glistening for him. And only him.

You were his for tonight and he was going to rock you until you were cumming for him.

He didn't dare waste anymore time, aligning himself up at your entrance, his head bowed to watched himself push against your pussy, a moan leaving him when he felt how wet you really were, he could just slide in and you'd take him perfectly.

But he knew better, you'd need to adjust.

You were a moaning mess already, grabbing at him, bucking your hips against the ghosting tip of his cock, it was too dark to see have big he was but you soon found out as he pushed himself in.

"Fuck." He let out a staggering breath as he felt the beginning of your tight walls, you let out a sharp gasp as you take him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The pain was real. He was huge.

You felt the pop as he finally pushed past your boundaries, a synced moan coming from both parties. Satoru moved his hips slowly, his fingers digging into his expensive sheets; restraining himself.

You were mewing lowly as he pumped into you, grateful he was allowing you to adjust to his size.

The more he felt himself able to go further without any resistance, the more he sped up.

"You feel amazing." He huffed out, rocking his hips in a steady pace. Your eyes fluttered as moans flowed effortlessly from your mouth. His cock was rubbing against your walls in just the right way. Tickling that itch you never knew you truly needed.

But you were becoming even more impatient, you wanted him to use you. You knew he was holding back and you wanted him to show you just how much.

Your hand moved up into his hair, gripping at the roots "I want you all. Don't hold back. Please Satoru."

At just the moan of his name, sent him. Before you knew it, both of his hands gripped your hips aggressively, slamming into yours.

You cried out loudly as he repeatedly did it again and again. Fucking his cock into you, hitting right into your cervix. You gripped desperately onto his forearms as he continued to plow into you; bouncing at every thrust.

You squeezed Satoru better than he imagined, you would. He stared down at your form with hunger, watching you arch your back, your beautiful mouth letting out cries of pleasures from his cock. You were taking him so well. He wanted you to scream for him.

"God. You look so good taking my cock. Taking me so well." He purred, placing a hand on the pudge of your stomach, pressing down firmly. He wished he had taken off your dress so he could see your beautiful tits bouncing from every time he fucked his cock into you.

"Satoru! Fuck. Holy shit-" You cried out, throwing your head back against the mattress, arching your back even more.

"Keep saying my name baby. Just like that." He leaned down, resting on his forearm just above your head, not before using his other hand to push one of your legs up, allowing him more access to your addicting cunt.

"AAHH fuck! Satoru!" You screamed out, feeling your body start to shake from the continuous pounding. His cock deeper inside from the new position.

"Fuck yeah. Holy fuck. You're so beautifult." He groaned, your little noises were music to his ears, his fingers digging deeper into your supple skin and you knew it would definitely leave marks.

Your lips crashed against his, teeth clashing together. Satoru swallowing each cry and moan that would try to escape.

"You gonna cum for me? You gonna cum on my cock?" He moaned in your ear, followed by hallowed panting as he pounded into you. You couldn't rely on forming any words, they were just coming out as sobs and cries. You were putty underneath him, no one has EVER fucked you this good before. You were on cloud nine.

And just as you thought it couldn't get any better, you started to feel the familiar build up. You were close. You felt like you were going to explode from the pleasure as it flowed through your body, you couldn't even warn Satoru before you released around his cock, screaming out in pure bliss as you felt yourself gush over him.

Satoru quickly pulled out and watched as you released a great quantity of liquid. Your legs shaking from the overbearing orgasm that shook your core.

He let out a breathless chuckle, realising you. HE had just made you squirt, all over him.

Your hands trembled as you brought them to your mouth, trying to control your breathing.

"Oh god. I'm sorry." You were shocked that you could even squirt and this man had not only brought you to a full penetration orgasm but he made you squirt.

"Hah Sorry? No. That was fucking hot. So hot. fuck." Satoru's breathing became heavier, his pupils dilated as he watched your trembling form, without anymore words, he slammed back into you, pulling a louder cry from you. Having seen you squirt on his cock, brought him closer to his own climax.

His thrusts were becoming sloppier and more desperate as he chased his own high. You were completely dazed, stars in your vision. Being fucked harder into the mattress. An uncontrollable moaning mess.

You tugged at his hair, yanking his head back slightly "Cum in me. I want it."

He couldn't believe his ears, as if you could get anymore sexier.

"You want it. You want my hot load inside your juicy pussy?" Your hands travelled down his back, leaving long and deep scratches, marking him red.

"Satoru- please. Cum. Please. I want it. I want you." He growled from the stinging sensation and from your voice. He was so close. So close.

"Anything for you, baby." He angled his hips and thrusted harder, until he felt it. He shoved his face into the crook of your neck as he felt his own orgasm approaching, his cum shot straight into you, causing a guttural cry from your throat as you feel it coat your walls. Satoru pumped into you until he was dry, slowing to a stop. A complete panting mess above you.

You were trying hard to catch your own breath as he lowered himself onto you, carefully trying not to crush you.

Your hand brushed through his pure white strands, as you both laid there together, in pure bliss. Panting excessively.

Satoru sat up slightly to place a sweet kiss on your lips, you of course accepted happily. He hummed softly before resting his face on your tits.

"I've never squirted before." You panted out, your eyes staring up at the ceiling. You felt embarrassed, more so for the fact you had made a mess but you also felt bewildered. You didn't think you could and you didn't think that any man could pull an orgasm out of you, let alone two, It started you thinking. How many could he make you have?

Every boyfriend you've had, NEVER made you feel like how this man did here. They were all so more selfish for their own desire than satisfying you. Even getting to the point where you would just roll over and let them have their way, sucking the enjoyment out of sex completely. Making it feel like a chore, so you wouldn't have to constantly hear their whines and moans about 'why you didn't want to fuck?'

Tsk.

"Never?" You shook your head lazily, feeling an overwhelming sense of drowsiness.

You felt him vibrate from the low chuckle he let out, his head lifting up to look you in the eyes "Well. I can't wait to make you do it again and again.." his voice was mumbled against your skin as he peppered you with wet kisses.

"And again." You felt Satoru cradle your ass cheeks, his fingers massaging intensely. Hoisting you up, angling himself up with your overstimulated cunt.

And here you thought you could sleep.

Nah. You're in for a long night.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #female reader #reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo saturo #gojo #chubby #chubby reader

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randomshyperson · 11 months

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Lacy - Werewolf!Reader x Wanda Maximoff - Kinktober #07

Summary: This Halloween, Wanda receives a surprise visit from her favorite werewolf. The problem is that it's very difficult to keep a crush hidden during mating season.

Warnings: (+18), mutual pining, semi-public, very vague allusions to omega verse, beefy!reader, power!bottom wanda, a bit rough but they are actually sweet to each other, some praising and dirty talk. | Words: 3.144k

A/N-> First, I know nothing about werewolves. It was never my thing growing up (I’m a witch type of person I suppose) but I know about omegaverse stuff and since it’s wolf-based I tried some references from that lore. Also, I was totally thinking about Wednesday's show (and Wenclair ship tbh) when writing the school but you all be free to image whatever you wish. Also, the name is from Olivia Rodrigo’s song, ‘cause it’s such a friends-to-lovers/mutual pining coded lyrics. Good reading folks!

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

The mating season was always the most tiring part of the year.

Even as a child, her days were marked by hard work and running errands - her mother was always very busy with orders, and somehow, the twins were obliged to finish the tasks in record time, so as not to delay the calendars and keep Natalya busy when her customers needed her.

As the largest and most respected apothecary in the country, Natalya Maximoff was also one of the biggest dealers in magical items - and this also included natural suppressants. Her customers wrote to her from all over the world, many famous packs like the Romanoffs or the Howletts only bought her products, and the witch was always very busy at this time of year.

So when their mother told them that she would leave the Maximoff Magical Articles Boutique in their care for two whole days, while she delivered packages around the world, none of them were surprised, as this had been done dozens of times before.

Wanda's indignation stemmed from the fact that her twin brother, as soon as there were no more magical remnants of the portal his mother had conjured to travel through, put on a jacket and told her he was leaving.

"But you can't leave me alone!" Wanda hurried away from the counter. Pietro chuckled, adjusting his hat on his silver hair. Since he had turned 18 last month, he had grown a good few centimeters, and even with her best serious expression, Wanda, who hadn't grown much since she was 15, no longer succeeded in frightening him. That, and well, like his father, Pietro had a bastard heritage of lycanthropy, and with his new skills, he had also gained extreme confidence.

"What, you gonna tell me you're scared of some little wolves?" He sneered, his fangs protruding from his smile. Wanda huffed angrily, her cheeks slightly red. "Don't be silly, Wanda. You're a witch. Nobody's is crazy enough to mess with you."

He tries to pat her on the shoulder, but Wanda pushes a finger against his chest. "I'm not afraid of any wolves, you selfish idiot! Mom says the store is our responsibility. And you're sneaking off to do who knows what! I don't want to spend all night looking after this place on my own. Apart from the season, it's Halloween, and kids go apeshit and-"

"Jesus, Wanda, I'll make it up to you!" He cuts in, already pulling away and ignoring the other girl's protests. "I've got to go, I'm taking Crystal to the movies, then we'll settle up!

"Pietro!" But the call was ignored and the store door was slammed in her face.

Wanda huffed to herself. She could survive a Halloween night, but her brother would owe her a lot if he didn't want to be snitched on. She returned to the counter, texting him another dozen curses before texting to her mother that everything was under control.

And lucky for her, that's how the evening actually went.

Most of the few customers who showed up were locals, a few sorcerers in need of ingredients, and even a traveling vampire who needed to replenish some reserves for a long trip. Some children also asked for candy, and tired of getting up so often, Wanda decided to leave the jars outside.

It was almost at the end of her shift, when she was ready to close the shop, that a delicious smell wafted into the room. Wanda, who was distracted by the holiday lessons that the institute where she studied always offered when there were short vacations or not, was snapped out of her concentration by the fascinating smell. She looked up just as a figure stumbled into the store, covered by a school uniform hood.

She didn't need you to remove the cap to recognize you, and yet, when your face became visible, Wanda felt her heart unlearn how to beat properly.

"Good evening?" You looked between the shelves, approaching the cashier, only to hesitate as soon as you saw Wanda. "Oh, h-hi. Uh, is Madame Maximoff around?"

You looked uneasy, adjusting your hair and fiddling with your fingers. Your flushed face must have been due to the walk from the Institute to the store.

Wanda shook her head as she replied: "She had some orders to place. How can I help you?"

The color of your face deepened, and you couldn't look her in the eye for more than two seconds. "Hmm, I kind of need... suppressants." And it was the turn of Wanda's face to heat up. You continued talking anxiously. "I thought I still had some, but my reservation ran out, and since I'm in the dorm, I wouldn't want to... well, would you have any left? I know it's very short notice but I really need it."

Wanda nodded quickly, equally at a loss for words. You see, if you were any other of her werewolf colleagues, the situation might even be comical. She wasn't like Pietro and didn't make friends very easily, but she shared the same taunting nature. One horny wolf in the store and Wanda would have jokes for the rest of the year. But it was you, her longtime secret crush, emanating a very pleasant scent and in need of something so intimate that Wanda could barely control her own thoughts about what other ways she could help you if there were no other suppressors in the store.

"My mom usually sells everything before the season starts, but I can look in the warehouse to see if we have any leftovers. I'll be right back." She says, smiling softly at your anxious figure.

Wanda has never seen you in heat before; the mating seasons for new wolves begin at the end of puberty, between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, and the vast majority of her werewolf classmates at the Institute return to their packs at this time of year, already matched with their partners in the traditions of the lycanthrope. Wanda only knows about the rituals from her father's family, because each clan, from the Vampires to the witches, is very private about it all. Witches like her mother, who specialize in all kinds of products, are the exceptions.

Wanda tries the storeroom next to the counter, but after a few boxes, she snorts in frustration. Her mother really did sell everything, and she almost reprimanded you for not planning properly. For older, mismatched wolves, being without suppressors could be really dangerous. For you, a new werewolf, it would only be quite painful. It was easier for her to feel sorry.

And while she tried the last few shelves at the back of the storeroom, you grew even more restless outside. Wanda had no idea how intoxicating the essence of a witch, especially a witch one cared about, was. If you hadn't been so desperate, you would have given up going into the store as soon as you could smell her from around the corner, but then again, your brain wasn't working very rationally right now.

And there was also a scarf on the counter, Wanda's most characteristic item since she had received it as a gift so many years ago. Many of the times you've noticed her, she's worn the item around her neck and it made sense that her scent was so strong in the room, even though she was upstairs.

Your limbs moved by instinct, you didn't have to think much, just let yourself be guided by the urge to exhale that distinctive smell more deeply.

Your face was pressed against the scarf when Wanda reappeared, and her confused giggle made you jump away mortified.

"Are you all right there?" She ventured, receiving a very quick and embarrassed nod. Wanda chuckled again in amazement, and without caring much about your current condition, she approached. "I looked upstairs, but my mother sold everything, sorry. There's something else you might like to try, maybe a calming potion so you can sleep while... well, this happens to you."

You quickly agree, still embarrassed at being caught. Wanda doesn't mind, if anything, she always found it very entertaining how different you were from the other werewolves she knew; loud and confident to the point of being idiotic. Pietro was a prime example. And if it wasn't for your distinctive stature, she could easily have assumed from your shy and careful personality that you were just an ordinary human, perhaps a mermaid from the way you seemed to bewitch Wanda's attention all to yourself.

"I'm sorry." You mutter suddenly, while she is searching for a sleeping potion on the shelf under the counter. Wanda turns her face up in confusion, but you're looking away. "From the scarf, I know it's... weird. But my body seems to be acting on its own. Just forget about it when we get back to school, okay? I'll be normal when it's over."

"Don't worry, I don't mind." She assured meekly, before finally finding some bottles that could help you and taking them back to the counter. She bit her lip at the way you were panting, and the way your trembling fingers pulled some notes and coins out of your pocket. "You can take these two vials today, and this one in the morning if you're still..."

"Horny'?" You joke, and take Wanda by surprise, but she manages to return the short laugh. Your hands push out the money and she turns away to pack the vials into a small bag. "So, one now and two tomorrow."

Wanda quickly denies it. "No, darling, two now and one tomorrow. Are you... are you sure you're all right? You're sweating-"

"Just give me a minute." You interrupt her with a gasp, the sudden wave of heat catching you completely off guard. The room starts to spin, and for a whole moment, all you can feel is your own arousal and the way you want to touch the witch in front of you. Your body gives way, and your hands force down on the counter, disastrously strong enough for the wood to crack. Wanda jumps in fright, worried, but you grunt quietly. "Shit, I'm really sorry-"

She hurries around the counter, and her soft hands make you jump away. "Hey, it's okay, I just want to help you stand up."

But you gasp in despair, wrenching your body away from her. "Don't touch me, Wanda, for God's sake." You grunt, and if you hadn't sounded so affected, Wanda would have taken offense. Instead, she stands ready to catch you if you lose your balance again, and that's exactly what happens. This time, your weight falls forward, and Wanda's body serves as a barrage.

Your wolfish weight is almost too much for her, and it doesn't help that your face is buried against her collarbone, and your arms embrace her clumsily. "Hm, so soft." She hears you sigh, as she struggles to drag you over to the reading area of the store's bookshelves, where there's a sofa to put you on. When you fall into the cushions, you look up with dreamy eyes and an easy smile playing on your lips. Wanda gasps softly from exhaustion.

"Wait here a moment, okay? You feel like you're burning up with a fever. I'll get you some water." She explains, but it doesn't seem like you're listening very much, disconcerting her with the way you're looking at you so discourteously, your pupils dilating. Wanda adjusts a strand of hair, self-conscious under your gaze. "I'll be right back."

She practically runs out of there, and alone, realizing her own hands are trembling as she remembers the sensation of having your body against hers. She shakes her head to push the thought away, you were clearly in a vulnerable moment right now, and Wanda doesn't think she'll survive the shame of being rejected once the heat wears off.

When Wanda returns with the water, she almost drops the glass on the floor. You haven't moved, but you've changed position, limp against the sofa, evidently rubbing yourself down the item as you whimper.

"Oh, detka, let me help you." Wanda abandons the glass on a shelf, and rushes to your side, kneeling beside the sofa. You gasp in embarrassment, trying to escape her gaze, but Wanda's hands grab your warm face. "Let's go upstairs. I'll make it better." She whispers the invitation, but the thought alone is enough for you to grunt in affection and pull her face towards you.

It's a hungry kiss, and the position doesn't help. Wanda has to grab your shoulders to keep from falling to the floor and ends up breaking into a giggle when a moment later it's you who's throwing yourself at her, desperately kissing her as if she's going to disappear.

The lightness disappears quickly. She feels very hot and bothered, especially when your tongue slips into hers as if you already knew exactly how to kiss her, and your hands touch her entire body with determination. Her plea for you to slow down turns into a moan when your knee pushes between her legs.

It's almost primitive the way you seem willing to have her right there on the floor, angrily trying to pull her clothes off while your moans mingle. Wanda's face burns and she struggles to match the kiss, losing that battle all too easily when your palms begin to stimulate her nipples.

She can feel the wetness begin to bother her through the fabric of her panties, and perhaps, you can smell it too, because you grow more impatient, and begin to murmur disconnected compliments into her skin, your hands reaching down to unzip her pants. Wanda chokes between moans, practically whimpering when your fingers find her so ready.

You enter her, all at once, without a second thought. You suck on her tongue as she squeezes your fingerprints and soaks your hand. It's dirty and rough, and Wanda couldn't hold back even if she tried. Yet the store door opens, and she has to bite down hard on your shoulder to muffle her own noises.

Whoever the customer is, asking if there's anyone there or if the store is open, Wanda makes sure they don't see her. Her eyes are scarlet, and it's never been harder to do a concealment spell than it is now, with your fingers thrusting inside her as if the world around you hardly mattered. Finally, the customer leaves and her magic plays its part in locking the door before Wanda digs her nails into your back and comes against your fingers.

It's not enough - Nothing seems to be. You continue your movements inside her until Wanda is spasming again, begging for a pause. Your hungry mouth finds its way into her most intimate place then, just to tear more pleasure out of her. She loses count of how many times she comes, on your fingers and tongue, until the whole store smells of sex.

Fuck, she has to move you before Pietro comes back.

It's only when you let her breathe, retreating like a wounded wolf, that Wanda notices the puddle of moisture on your pants. You came at the mere act of watching and touching her.

"Hey, are you okay, sweetheart?" She coos gently, propping herself up on one elbow now that you're lying on your back, one arm over your face. Your clothes are as torn as theirs, but there are many more marks on her body than on yours.

You sniffle quietly, and Wanda looks at you with concern. "Why didn't you stop me?" you ask upset, and Wanda stares in shock for a moment. Then, swallowing dryly, she works up the courage:

"You didn't want this?"

But your reaction is to laugh incredulously. "Of course, I wanted it, Wanda! But I'm talking about you. Why didn't you stop me? You're a witch, you could have knocked me down, look at you! You're all purple, and I... God, I can't believe I... hurt you."

She climbs into your lap before you can despair, ignoring your soft protest and grabbing your crying face. "I haven't stopped you because I've wanted you to since we met." She assures you determinedly, caressing your cheeks. "I'm in love with you, you idiot."

Sniffling softly, you raise hopeful eyes. "Really?"

Wanda smiles, her weight against your chest. "Really." She assures you. "And don't worry about the marks, I... like it rough."

You groan in embarrassment, looking away and amusing her. There's a moment's pause, and then finally: "I like you too."

Wanda bites back a smile. "I got that impression, you know? When you were all whiny on me."

Your laugh is sincere and shy, and Wanda kisses you as your hands grip her thighs. But before she can deepen it the way she'd like, you break again.

"Thanks for helping with the heat... but I'll take you on a date after this. I promise."

She pulls on your bottom lip with a provocative bite. "I'll charge." She assures you in a naughty whisper, and you sigh contentedly as she presses your hips together. Smooth movements, and you're already seeing stars again.

Your breathing becomes shorter, and Wanda traces her fingers along your jaw, while her other hand moves down. "I bet you're all warm and tight."

You sigh, closing your eyes and nodding in agreement. Wanda kisses you leisurely, also taking time to slide her fingers into your pants and assess the effects of everything so far. She's not surprised by the immense wetness, but the sensation of sinking into you is overwhelming. She can feel ready for another when she starts to stimulate you and watches you squirm beneath her.

"So good... don't stop..." You moan helplessly, and the grip on her thighs is almost strong enough to hurt. Wanda makes a mental note of how to make you lose control of your strength, before curling her fingers inside you and being rewarded with the sweetest sounds in the world. "W-Wanda!"

She decides she likes it very, very much when you whimper her name like that. She continues her motions a few more times until you come hard on her fingers. Wanda thrusts a few times, before removing them and bringing them to her mouth, sucking them clean while you try to catch a breath.

Your murmurs are labored, and Wanda kisses your cheek a few times. "Come on upstairs, sweet baby, I'll take care of you." She tries to get up, but your hands steady her on your lap.

It's almost ridiculous how easily you lift the two of you, and Wanda has to hold onto your shoulders, chuckling softly at your uncertain stumbles on the way upstairs.

She'll have time to look after the store when you fall asleep. Right now, she's more focused on kissing you again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff oneshots #kinktober 2023 #wanda maximoff smut #marvel imagines

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reiding-writing · 8 months

Note

hiii, i hope you're well! i saw that you are taking requests for spencer and i really like your angst fics so i was wondering if you could write one with unrequited love?

preferably bau!reader who has feelings for him but he doesn't and she watches him get with someone else and everybody knows how she feels about him but he is oblivious, ending is up to you but i love me a sad ending heheh 😸

transgression [ s.r ]

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. He’s in love with somebody else.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAEVE ARC, LOTS of misunderstanding, Spencer is kind of a bad friend, lots of arguing, major character death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 8.2k || masterlist!!

a/n: sorry for the delay, but i did warn you it was gonna be long so- also i listened to ceilings on repeat whilst writing this so take that as you will 🫶

did i bend the maeve arc to my will for this fic? yes. yes i did.

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @babyspiderling @marsxoxo2 @vytvyvy @hpstuff244444 @frostooo @ohmysw33 @radioactiveinvisible @devilsadvcte @the-local-pendeja @kakashis-formal-simp @robinswrld

You suppose you did it to yourself.

Spencer’s migraines had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and after a few consecutive days of hounding him, he’d finally decided to go and see a medical professional about it.

You’d expected him to come back with news about how his brain stem was too active from how hard he was working himself, or that he’d managed to raise his blood pressure to an unhealthy high from all the stress he was under.

Instead he’d told you that they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him and that he’d been referred to a geneticist to check if the cause of his sudden mind-numbing aching was due to an underlying condition that might have been passed down from his mother.

He’d come back and forth to you for weeks about his phone calls with the doctor.

How she was helping him with his sleep deprivation.

How she was helping to manage his diet.

How she loved classic literature.

How she and him had spent four consecutive hours on the phone debating over the logistics of a novel they both enjoyed.

You could see the change happening before your eyes, and you weren’t the only one either.

“Pretty boy’s chipper this morning,” Morgan joins you at the kitchenette, his eyes following Spencer as he takes a seat at his desk with all of the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy who’d been let off his leash for the first time.

You hum with a nod, focusing your attention on the two cups of coffee you were making, heaping tablespoons of sugar into Spencer’s Doctor Who mug to satisfy his insatiable need for sweetness. “They’re reading a book together,”

“Really?” You respond to Morgan’s raised eyebrow with a short nod and another hum.

“Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, apparently she finds the religious analysis ‘fascinating’,” You can’t help the small contemptment that seeps into your tone as you reiterate what Spencer had told you to Morgan, and you can practically feel his pitiful gaze as he watches you make your coffee.

“I’ve heard of that book before from somewhere,”

“I tried to get him to read it a few months ago,” You take a sip of your coffee at the end of your sentence, barely able to taste it over the scolding water but not finding the mind to care.

You leave your conversation with Morgan at that, taking the two mugs in your hands and walking back into the bullpen, placing Spencer’s mug in front of him and walking around the cluster of desks to reach your own.

He’s sure he doesn’t need to verbalise it, but Morgan feels increasingly sorry for your situation, noting how you skirt past Spencer’s “thank you” without a response as you bury your head in your files.

he can’t imagine how much the fact that Spencer had seemingly formed a crush on his geneticist ripped you apart.

And the worst part? He’d never met her in person.

All scientific laws of attraction be damned, Spencer Reid had fallen in love with someone he’d never met in the span of three months, and you we’re resigning yourself to sit on the sidelines and watch as the man you had been in love with for six years find the happiness that you longed for with somebody else.

How you managed to keep up your facade you didn’t know.

You’d offered him change for the pay phone he’d call her from when he was running short. You’d let him rant to you about her opinions on a novel that you had failed to get him to read. You made excuses for him to leave the office early so that he could spend his time on the phone with her.

You were the one that sent him to the hospital and caused him to meet her in the first place.

He never hesitated to remind you of that fact, thanking you vicariously every time he relayed his conversations with the doctor back to you.

As the weeks progressed he stopped calling her that. She wasn’t ‘the doctor’ anymore. She was Maeve.

He didn’t call you by your first name and you’d known him for ten times longer that he’d known her. He didn’t even call Morgan by his first name and those two were practically brothers.

And that part was probably what hurt the most.

Maeve.

A name of Irish origin meaning ‘intoxicating’. How fitting.

Apparently the Irish goddess of love and desire was named Maeve. You could see the glimmer in Spencer’s eye that told you his Maeve was just as important as the mythological goddess he was describing.

His Maeve.

“So why haven’t you two actually gone on a date or anything?” You take a sip from the mug in your hands, swivelling your chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot. “You’ve been talking for what, four months now? Surely it’s about time you actually met her in person,”

“It’s complicated,” Spencer sighs as he collects the loose papers he was working on in a pile. He didn’t want to divulge Maeve’s issues without her permission.

“You’ve been saying that for the last six weeks Spencer,” You roll your eyes as you discard your half-empty mug on the table. “If I didn’t know any better i’d say you’re putting it off,”

Spencer shook his head adamantly at your suggestion. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He did want to meet her. Desperately. He’d wanted to meet her since the end of their first phone call. But he also wanted to keep her safe.

How do you meet up with somebody who’s hiding from a stalker without endangering them?

“I do want to meet her. It’s just- she’s dealing with something personal and it’s put a rift our plans, that’s all,”

“So it’s her not wanting to meet up with you then?” You raise an eyebrow at him over your desks.

“Look it’s- You don’t get it okay? It was a mutual understanding from both of us.” You can hear Spencer’s tone become more defensive as you spoke, and you raised both of your hands in surrender.

“Okay, i’m sorry for prying-” You ended your apology with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite feeling your heart deflate in your chest at the way the friendliness his his eyes fizzled out the longer you looked at him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer’s late to work this morning.

It’s 8:06 when he finally walks through the glass doors, the coffee you made him stone cold after sitting lamely on his desk for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t so much as offer an apology as he picks up the mug and makes his way over to the kitchenette to pour the coffee down the sink.

You follow behind him in a mix of intrigue and a want to refill your own mug, swilling it out with some water as you watch Spencer load a coffee pod into the machine. “Phone call last longer than you expected?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, we were discussing the literary analysis of Annabelle Lee,” Spencer’s demeanour seems to brighten immediately once he’s given an opportunity to discuss the details of his phone call with Maeve, although the beginning of his ramble is quickly cut off by the beeping of the coffee machine.

You wait patiently for his coffee to finish before you begin making yours, raising an eyebrow as Spencer pulls out a regular teaspoon instead of the usual tablespoon he’d incorrectly use to load his coffee with sugar.

Your intrigue only heightened when he pulled a carton of milk from the mini-fridge. Not even normal milk. Soy milk.

“Since when do you drink coffee like a normal person?”

His eyes flickered from his mug to your face as he tipped a single teaspoon of sugar into his drink before replacing the bag back where it came from. “It’s a part of my managed diet, Maeve thinks that my increased sugar intake might be one of the risk factors for my headaches,”

“Did she tell you to put soy milk in it too?” You don’t know why you have the urge to be petty, Spencer had long since needed to change his coffee drinking habits for the sake of decreasing his sugar intake and Maeve’s suggestions were beneficial for his health.

It was just the fact that it was her that ticked you off.

“She did actually, it provides the same amount of riboflavin as cow’s milk, which acts as a soothing agent whilst also helping constrict inflamed blood vessels, but without all of the excess fats in regular milk that might make my migraines more frequent, it’s genius really,”

He thought that her ideas were genius. Him. Mr ‘I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187’, thought someone else’s ideas were genius.

You’re sure that he already knew the benefits of milk alternatives, and yet he attributed the ‘revelation’ of what they could do to Maeve. Of course he did.

“When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?” The question comes out much harsher than you intend it to, and you can tell by the way Spencer furrows his eyebrows that he’s taken offence to it.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” No it didn’t. “I’m just a little surprised that someone as independent as you is so… willing to follow blind instructions,” Your attempt at saving yourself half-works, that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and you can see that the glimmer in his eyes is returning slowly.

“She’s a doctor, of course i’m going to follow her suggestions,”

You give him a soft nod as you pick up your mug from under the coffee machine. “Yeah, no, that makes sense, it’s just a little surprising is all,”

You don’t give him a chance to respond to you before you’re walking away from the kitchenette to retake a seat at your desk, fearing you might say something out of pocket if you continue the conversation any longer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You were really pissed off now.

You’d arrived back in Quantico three days ago, and you were still piled up to your neck in paperwork.

Maybe you would’ve had it finished by now if Spencer would stop talking about the fact that he was “-finally going to meet Maeve in person,”.

You had half the mind to snap and tell him to just shut up, although by the saving grace of Morgan you thankfully didn’t have to.

“Reid, give their poor ears a break man,” Your thankful for Morgan in times like this. He knew you were knee-deep in your feelings for Spencer, and he knew that every time Spencer so much as spoke Maeve’s name it carved another hairline fracture in your heart.

You were close to shattering, and Morgan could tell.

“Oh- right, sorry,” Spencer offered you an awkward smile which you mirrored back at him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” You shake your head in a polite dismissal of his apology before turning your head back down towards your files.

“I take it you’re nervous then?” Alex’s voice cut through the beginning of an awkward tension between the two of you as she entered to bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Well- I mean- you know…” Upon being unable to find a sufficient response, Spencer resorts to shrugging into his chair. “I just don’t want to ruin anything,”

“But aren’t you curious what she looks like?” Alex raises an eyebrow with concern like Spencer was he son going on his first ever date.

“it doesn’t matter what she looks like I mean- she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me it’s just-”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

You sudden upheaval from your desk stops Spencer’s sentence as his eyes follow you across the bullpen and out of the glass doors, followed shortly by Morgan as he jogs after you.

“Hey- Wait up a minute-” Morgan catches your arm before you have a chance to get in the elevator, and as you turn your eyes towards him he can see the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this..”

Morgan can do nothing more than pull your head into his shoulder and wrap his arms tightly around your back with a soft mutter of your name. “I know kid, I know…”

“He thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” You turn your head up from Morgan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, a single stray tear cascading down your cheek, illuminated under the florescent lights. “How am I supposed to compete with that..?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Incidentally, Spencer’s date with Maeve didn’t end up happening. Conflicting work schedules or something, you weren’t really listening.

Maybe all of your subconscious thoughts had leaked into reality and finally gave you momentary release from the crushing defeat of having Spencer go on a date with someone else.

Maybe it was them punishing you further by forcing you to sit through him rant about the book she’d left him at the front of the restaurant.

It didn’t help that you already had a headache that made it feel like your eye sockets were being kicked by an annoying kid sat behind you on an aeroplane, leaving a dull ache in it’s wake and making you just want to bury yourself in a hole and hibernate.

“And right at the back she wrote ’Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another’ it’s a quote from-”

“Thomas Merton. Yeah, I know.” You dig the knuckle of your left thumb into cavity of your eye socket over your closed eyelid, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s lingering there and disrupting your thoughts.

“Thomas Merton’s ‘Love and Living’ specifically,” If Spencer noticed your discomfort he didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a collection of his essays on the importance of love to live, so for her to have written it specifically knowing that I would read it means-”

“Reid.”

Your tone stops him from continuing any further, and he blinks at you with that sweet puppy-dog expression that would usually have you weak at the knees.

“No offence, but I don’t care about your over-the-phone girlfriend or the quote that she wrote in your book.” Your tone carried a harshness to it that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing from you. It was cold and detached and not like you at all.

“Are- you okay?”

“No, Reid, I’m not, and if you’d bothered to ask about my life every once in a while instead of using me like a human diary maybe you would’ve realised that already.”

You practically slam your file closed as you speak, pushing your chair out from your desk and leaving him sat in shock at your sudden change in attitude.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After a bit of introspection, Spencer did realise that he hadn’t been treating you very fairly. He hadn’t asked you how your life had been in 3 months and 26 days. Four of those days he’d spent in damn near radio silence. He wasn’t sure he could take it much longer.

He missed you.

It was a bit ironic considering you sat directly opposite him for almost eight hours a day five days a week, but after you’d snapped at him last week, he truly realised just how much of his day he spent socialising with you, and just how much he missed talking to you.

So he decided that he was going to apologise.

And what better form of an apology for being dismissive of your feelings than putting a personal effort into something for you.

He walked into the office that morning with a leather bound copy of The Parasite by Arthur Conan Doyle stored cautiously in his messenger bag, pages scrawled with annotations from Spencer’s own reading of the novel that he hoped would be insightful to you as you read it yourself.

He’d remembered you saying how much you wanted to read the novel a few months ago, so he figured giving it to you as a personalised apology would show that he really did care about you and had listened to what you’d told him.

“Are you busy?” Spencer asks, though he already knows the answer to the question.

He’d been watching you from the other side of the room all morning, hoping for a moment or two of eye contact to see if there was a possibility of a conversation. A look from one to the other; even a smile would’ve been enough to make him feel validated and content. And he would have been willing to settle for that.

But you never looked up. Not even once.

"Mhm," You continue to not spare Spencer so much as glance as he speaks, turning over the page of the file you were working through.

“Can I take a minute of your time?” He tried to catch your gaze again, only to be met by your continued focus on your work. The last thing he wanted to do was disrupt your work routine, but he also knew that he needed to talk to you sooner rather than later.

“Please,” he said softly. “It’s important.”

You exhale heavily through your nose, exasperation written clearly in your expression as you leave your pen as a page marker to close the manilla folder on your desk. You turn your head upwards, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands to agitatedly indicate for him to continue.

You wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt being so openly cold towards Spencer, but you’d reached a breaking point, and you couldn’t bare sitting idly on the sidelines and letting him tear your heart to pieces anymore.

Spencer was relieved that you’d granted him your attention, but the look you directed towards him was enough to make him wince. You weren’t looking at him through a lens of indifference but rather cold, hard disappointment.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather the right words for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,”

He seemed almost breathless as he spoke, like he’d just finished a tangent about something without taking the time to breathe. “I know that I’ve been spending too much time talking about Maeve and not enough paying attention to you.”

"You don’t say," You mutter the words under your breath to yourself, but your sure that Spencer heard you based on the way his eyebrows knit and the small gleam of hope in his eyes dwindles to barely a flicker.

He was trying not to react to your snide comment. Spencer knew that your tone didn’t leave any room to deny your meaning. He’d been selfish in talking exclusively about his relationship and hadn’t realised how it was affecting you.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated. “You mean so much to me and I haven’t been showing that.”

"Thank you," Your thanks are polite but dismissive, like you were acknowledging his apology but choosing to not actually consider it as one, and it left Spencer with an expression of clear frustration.

He was used to being able to read your facial expressions and emotions in the past, but now you were just an unreadable wall of disappointment. He had hoped the apology would've been enough, but it was clear that you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

Time to pull out the last resort.

He bent over and fumbled with his bag for a few moments before pulling out the novel he’d brought with him face up.

“I uh… got you this,” He holds out the book towards you. “You said you wanted to read it right? So I uh.. annotated it for you to make it more enjoyable,”

You take the novel from him with a raised eyebrow as your eyes scan the cover, a clear flicker of confusion in your expression.

Spencer noticed your expression and furrowed his own brow in confusion. You didn't seem to recognise the book. In fact, the look on your face made him wonder whether you even knew this book existed at all before this moment.

“I hope you… like it,” he said nervously. “I was going off what you'd talked about before. You mentioned the book was a classic?”

"I… have never seen this book in my life,”

“B-But…” Spencer knew this was going to be awkward at some point, but he'd hoped not this early into the conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it was only getting worse as he searched your face for an answer to this awkward situation.

“I… swear I heard you mention it once.”

You give him a short shake of your head and a pursed smile of awkward thanks as you put the book down on your desk.

Spencer looked away, embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn't even been able to deliver an apology properly, let alone make you feel special like he'd originally intended to.

How had he gotten it wrong? He had an eidetic memory for god’s sake.

When you put the book down on your desk, his eyes flicked back to the book. He'd spent almost 4 hours annotating and researching it and now it felt like all that effort had been wasted.

If you hadn’t mentioned it then who had? Someone must’ve. Someone he obviously equated with you to the point where he’d somehow managed to override his eidetic memory to mix the two of you up.

It takes him a few moments before you hear him whisper out a name under his breath, the palm of his hand dragging down the front of his face at the realisation.

"Maeve…"

The mention of her name had your eyes flickering away from the leather cover and right back to Spencer’s face, awkwardness completely rid of your features and replaced with a mix of negativity that Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to dig into.

"Are you serious?" Your words come out less questioningly and more accusatory, and you hold the book up so that he can see it once more, the gold embossing on the cover glinting under the overhead light as if to only taunt Spencer further for his mistake.

“You apologise for continuously disregarding me for your girlfriend by giving me a book that she showed interest in?”

You could see Spencer's face fall as your words sink in.

He hadn't even taken the time to think over what he was apologising with. It was almost as if his brain automatically just reverted back to his girlfriend's interests as an escape from dealing with his own guilt and sadness.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself. And in that moment he realised he'd just committed the biggest crime someone could make when trying to apologise.

“Like you constantly flaunting your relationship in my face verbally wasn’t bad enough.”

"I'm sorry I-" he says again, voice teeming with sincerity and guilt.

"You are truly and utterly unbelievable Spencer Reid." Your words didn’t carry anger as much as they did disappointment, and he could see the astoundment in your eyes as you pushed your chair backwards to stand, dropping the book straight in the trash bin by your desk before walking off.

It’s where it belongs; Right alongside the small sliver of respect you still had for him.

Spencer could've said so much more: he could've admitted how ashamed he felt for his careless actions and he could've apologised again and again a million times if it meant you'd stick around and give him a chance to make it up to you.

But you had already made it clear that you weren't in the right state of mind to discuss this matter further.

The best thing he could do now was give you space as he watched you walk away, a deep pain in his heart that slowly ate him alive from the inside.

He’d well and truly fucked up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were bordering tears by the time you reached Garcia’s office, unintentionally interrupting her lunch break with Alex in the process, though the two seemed to care less about the interruption and more about the fact that you liked like you were about to cry your eyes out.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you try to tape together the cracks in your composure, although with every one you seal three more seem to appear in it’s place.

“I-” You can barely get the first word out before the tears start rolling down your face, and Alex immediately stands from her seat to guide you to sit in her place.

“Hey, you’re alright, slowly,” Alex’s hands find your shoulders and rub reassuring circles against your shirt. The slow breath you take in doesn’t stop the flood of tears that’s blurring your vision, and you only manage to get out a single word, but it’s all the two need to understand what’s got you so overwhelmed.

“Spencer-”

“I swear I am two seconds away from smacking that boy over the back of the head,” You can hear the clear frustration in Garcia’s tone. “Surely he’s got to realise how much he’s hurting you by now,”

“He does… I lashed out at him and then left to come here…” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand alongside a small sniffle, trying to rid your vision of it’s blurriness from your tears.

“Good, the boy deserves to have some sense knocked into him,” You appreciate Garcia taking your side, but you can’t help that small lingering feeling of guilt that invades the back of your mind.

“He’s just in love, it’s not his fault…” The words almost physically pain you to say. The verbal acceptance that Spencer Reid was indeed in love with somebody. Somebody who wasn’t you.

“That doesn’t mean that he should be disregarding you though sweetheart,” Alex’s tone is soft and almost maternal, and your sure that it doesn’t help how emotional you are.

Garcia’s right hand reaches forward to straighten out the collar of your shirt, unintentionally crumpled as you try to wipe your face of your emotions. “You’re his friend, and you have been his friend for longer than he’s known this girl he’s talking to, it’s not fair for him to completely push you to the side,”

Garcia was right. It’s not fair. Nothing about how Spencer had been treating you since he’d started speaking to Maeve had been fair. And you were done making excuses for the boy just because you knees deep in your feelings for him.

You didn’t deserve to feel guilty. You didn’t deserve to feel bad for lashing out at Spencer for apologising for not showing interest in your life by further proving just how little he’d actually payed attention to you. You didn’t deserve to cry because he was the most stupid genius to ever live and couldn’t see that you were hopelessly in love with him. You didn’t deserve to suffer by his hand.

It wasn’t fair.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Maeve’s been kidnapped.”

You have to consciously suppress the small voice in the back of your head that celebrates the possibility that she might not be a part of Spencer’s life for much longer. It’s a horrible thought. You should never wish ill upon anyone, no matter how much you internally despised them.

Still, that part of you that was still petty, that was still infuriated with Spencer and Maeve, wanted you to tell Spencer straight to his face that you weren’t going to help him find her and that it was karma for how he’d treated you.

But you weren’t a bad person.

As much as you might hate her, she was still important to Spencer.

“I have a wealth of knowledge i should be applying to this case, but- i can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time… which makes me the dumbest person in the room-” Spencer’s eyes are full of desperation as they scan across your teammates.

“So please help me… Please help me find her…” The desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, the remnants of tears staining his face as he explains the context of the situation through broken sentences.

“We don’t have an official case, so we’ll be working on personal time,” Hotch’s voice is much quieter than you’re used to. Softer, more considerate. “Does anybody want to leave?”

You can feel his eyes linger on you as he asks the question, and you subconsciously purse your mouth into a tight line to stop yourself from impulsively pulling out of the investigation.

You might be detrimentally frustrated with him, but you did want to help. Even if it ultimately resulted in your downfall.

Hotch gave you a short nod before turning to the rest of the team. “Good, let’s get to work,”

It didn’t take Garcia very long to track Maeve down, mostly attributed to her unique name and specialised job.

Dr. Maeve Donovan, a professor at Mendel University who took a sabbatical leave 10 months ago.

The group split into different groups once they’d found her, JJ and Morgan heading off to a loft her parents owned, Alex and Rossi heading to the lab she used to work at, and you and Hotch, accompanied by Spencer, going to speak to Maeve’s parents.

“Reid,” Garcia’s tone is soft as she looks over her laptop screen towards him as he begins to stand from the conference table. “I have a picture of her, do you want to know what she looks like?”

“No,”

Spencer’s answer is immediate, joined by a shake of his head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You and Spencer watched from behind the one way mirror as the interview progressed.

They’d last spoken to Maeve five days ago. Her mother had cancer. She was also a geneticist. They were suspicious of her ex fiancé Bobby.

Her fiancé?

You can see Spencer’s face drop at the words despite the low lighting in the room, and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows yourself.

She had a fiancé?

Spencer practically storms out of the office after the questioning is over, and Hotch has to remind him to calm down as they reach the apartment of Robert Putnam with Morgan and Rossi in tow.

When the door opens the five of you aren’t greeted by Robert, but rather a girl, a girl who looked very confused.

You invite yourselves inside at the girl’s recognition that Robert was inside the apartment.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Diane, his girlfriend,” She raised an eyebrow as the five of you looked around, confusion cut short as Robert rounds the corner questioning the sudden voices coming from his living room.

“Hey babe what’s-“

“Robert Putnam, FBI we’d like to-” Spencer’s voice cuts him off harshly as he rushes to speak, although he stops his sentence halfway as a flicker of recognition falls across his features and his anger turns to dread.

“Hey, I know you,” Robert doesn’t have the time to say anything else to Spencer before Hotch forces him out of the room, shutting the door behind him to speak to Spencer privately whilst you Morgan and Rossi remained inside.

Hotch returned a few minutes later. Spencer didn’t.

You end up taking Hotch’s place as you push yourself out of the apartment with a small “excuse me,” to follow after Spencer as he walks out of the apartment building.

“Spencer- wait up a minute-”

He doesn’t stop at your call, and you’re practically running down the stairs by the time you get to him, already out of the front doors of the apartment building.

“Hey-” You take a second to catch your breath before turning your eyes back towards him again. “Are you alright?”

You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he met your gaze.

The last time you spoke to him you threw away any remnant of your friendship with him in the bin alongside the book he’d given you, and now here you were, chasing after him to make sure that he was okay.

“Why did you agree to help?”

Your face falls from concern to surprise at his question, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I know that you don’t like her, so why are you here?” You could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, clearly overwhelmed with how the investigation was going.

“She’s important to you Spencer. Like her or not I care about you. So therefore I care about her,” You don’t think as you speak, words spilling out of your mouth with no conscious filter.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer’s apology elicits a sigh from your mouth, and you shake your head softly at him.

“Forget it, let’s focus on getting Maeve home safe alright?” He obliges to your request with a purse of his lips and a small nod, turning his eyes towards the ground.

“What’re you thinking about?” His eyes fall on yours once more at your question, round with confusion and glistening with the starts of tears. “I can see it in your face, you’re calculating something in your head,”

He exhales through his mouth in a small laugh. You’d always been able to figure him out, and not just because you were a profiler.

“2,412 hours,” His tone is uncertain, mixed between gratefulness for you observance and something far more upsetting. “That’s how long Maeve and I have contacted each other counting letters and phone calls…”

“That’s what-” You take a second to do the calculation in your head. “100 days?”

“100.5…” He runs his hand backwards through his hair, pressing his eyes closed like he’s afraid tears will spill from them if he doesn’t. “What if that’s all I get?”

“It won’t be Spencer…”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes Spencer, I do,” You have to consciously suppress the sigh that threatens to leave your mouth, pushing your lingering distaste for Maeve down with it. “She is going to be fine, I promise,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Turns out Maeve’s ex fiancé wasn’t the stalker. In fact, he was being stalked himself, and whilst JJ and Garcia were looking over the images posted to Robert whilst him and Maeve were still together they discovered something that changed the entire direction of the investigation.

Maeve’s face had scribbled out in eyeliner.

You and the team spent the next thirty minutes rebuilding the profile from the bottom up.

“Celebrity stalkers are usually non violent,”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon Rossi?” Spencer looked up from his lap towards the group at the table, having separated himself from the group to sit on a sofa lining one of the walls so he couldn’t bias the profile.

It wasn’t going too well.

“What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him?” Spencer stood from his seat, anger flaring in his nostrils. “‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided’,”

You could hear the rise in his tone as he worked himself up the more he spoke.

“Spencer-“

“Maeve is somebody. And this- bitch is a nobody.”

“Spencer.”

Spencer caught your gaze, and immediately fizzling out of his eyes and replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry- I can’t be very helpful right now I should leave-“

“Yes you can Reid, you have 100.5 days of communication with this girl and a recall everything verbatim,” Morgan’s gaze is entirely concerned with Spencer’s outburst.

“There’s too much of it, and I can’t sort through any of it clearly-“ Spencer is clearly on the edge of breaking, and you can tell he’s not going to be able to keep his composure for much longer.

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through it with you,” Hotch leaned his elbows against the table, his voice again portraying that soft, parental tone that said he knew how overwhelmed Spencer was getting.

Spencer didn’t even say anything, his eyes just silently flickered over to you and you knew you couldn’t refuse him.

You return his silence as you get up from your seat and pat your hand on his shoulder for the two of you to exit the room together.

Time to torture yourself for the sake of Spencer’s wellbeing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Diane Turner, a research assistant working for her PhD in the same lab as Maeve. A student who had her thesis rejected because it contained a heavy sample bias that included both of her parents.

It took a while, but Garcia eventually managed to track down a loft that was owned under Diane’s parents’ names, less than 10 minutes away from Maeve’s apartment.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Diane’s voice is harsh through the receiver attached to the front of the building, and Spencer’s eyes flickered up from the silk blindfold in his hands to the metal box.

He doesn’t question the orders as he immediately begins stripping the vest from his torso, dropping it and his gun on the floor.

“Now come in alone.”

“Spencer.” You call out to him as he reaches for the door handle, and he gives you that look that makes your stomach do flips in your torso. Except this time it’s not that pleasant fluttery feeling, but instead an existential dread at the fact that he might not walk out of the building alive.

“I’ll be okay,” He gives you a nod of reassurance as he pushes the door open, and you find yourself clenching your hands around your gun to stop yourself from following after him.

The six of you wait outside for what feels like hours, and you lean back and forth on the balls of your feet as you become increasingly restless with the situation.

Then, a gunshot.

And a second.

And your heart drops in your chest.

You’re not entirely present as you rush into the building with the team following behind you, gun raised at your eyes.

Spencer had to be okay. He had to. He was going to be fine. You were going to walk into that room and he was going to be perfectly fine.

You hoped Maeve was alright too. As much as she was unintentionally causing you literal hell, you knew that she meant everything to Spencer.

You knew that he’d choose her over anything. He’d choose her over you.

And right now you don’t care. You just want him to be okay.

You force the door open to the loft with your foot, gun pointed straight ahead at the first person you see.

“Stay back-“ Spencer practically shouts from where he’s half lying on the floor, right hand clutching tightly at his left bicep, trails of blood cascading down his fingers and onto the floor.

“Stay back stay back don’t shoot-“

You let out an audible sigh at the fact that Spencer wasn’t critically harmed, although upon a whimper of his name from further across the room you turn your eyes up to the noise.

And you finally meet the girl that’s caused you ten months of hell. Held at gunpoint.

That small voice in the back of your head tells you that this might be your chance to finally rid her from your life, to let her succumb to whatever Diane had planned and leave Spencer to you.

But you take one look at the desperation in her eyes and any loathing that remained in your mind immediately fizzled out.

It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. She was just a girl that happened to be in love.

“Diane,” Spencer pushes himself to stand, and you can see the pain in his face as he does. “There’s still a way out of this,”

“You never wanted me. Never!” Diane pushes the gun she’s holding hard against Maeve’s neck, and you can see her eyes squeeze closed as she attempts to keep herself from crying. “You lied!”

“I didn’t.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, and you glance over at Hotch as you spread across the back of the room, guns raised in Diane’s direction. “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it,”

“Me for her. Let me take her place,”

You only have a view of the back of Spencer’s head now, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that his expression is a pure display of desperation, one that you’re happy you can’t see because you’d lose your composure in an instant.

“You would do that?” Diane’s question is angry and accusatory, tears rolling down her face as she presses the gun against Maeve’s neck once more.

Spencer nods with no threat in his tone. “Yes,”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

You practically feel your heart stop.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve’s voice is almost exactly as you imagined it to be. Soft, smooth and, as Spencer had called it all those months ago, ‘dipped in honey’.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane’s tone contrasts Maeve’s tenfold, pitchy, uneven and overrun with manic anger.

“He knows,” You can see Maeve’s eyes flicker, and you assume that they meet Spencer’s as his shoulders drop. “He knows.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane shakes Maeve in her grasp as if to intensify the urgence of her question, and you tighten your grip on your gun in instinctual response. “Who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve’s voice is confident and defiant despite the clear tears in her eyes.

Thomas Merton could’ve been something between Spencer and you.

“No.”

You can see a clear change in Diane’s expression at Maeve’s words, and she lowers the gun from Maeve’s head only to hold it up against her own, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes.

“Wait-”

Spencer barely has time to shout the word before the gun fires, and you flinch at the sound as you watch Maeve and Diane both drop to the floor, dark red blood pooling around the two.

You can feel the tension in the room as everyone computes what just happened, guns lowering slowly as their eyes lock onto the two women on the floor.

You’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the tightness of Spencer’s shoulders as he takes sharp breaths in and out of his nose.

The way he seems to forget about the bullet wound in his arm as his legs give out underneath him.

The way a sob that leaves his mouth despite the fact that he tries to muffle it with his hand.

The way that Spencer broke.

He's crying. Big, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs.

His shoulders are trembling.

His hands are shaking.

His head is hanging downwards so that his hair is covering his face.

You approach him slowly, kneeling down at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly shift from Maeve, his sobs only seeming to amplify as he meets your gaze. His eyes are red and closely with tears, his cheeks running hot and his lips trembling.

You don’t speak, knowing that you’ll break if you do. Instead, you guide his head into your shoulder and let him crumble in your arms, grieving the loss of the love of his life.

You’re sure you’re going to cry yourself to sleep when you get home, but right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

“I’m so sorry-“ Spencer speaks through broken sobs as you hold him, the rest of the team moving to secure the scene.

“Shh,” You shake your head against his softly, rubbing the palm of your hand up and down his back as you let him cry until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“I treated you so horribly-“ He pulls away from your shoulder to look into your eyes once more. “I’m so sorry- Please don’t leave me…”

You purse your lips into a line, your expression full of so many emotions Spencer can’t distinguish any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You pull his head back into your shoulder, leaning your head against his. “I promise…”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #mgg #asks 🫶

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imagining-in-the-margins · 1 year

Text

Tipsy (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer can’t handle his liquor, or how much he loves Reader. Request: Tipsy Spence asking for kisses and cuddles? - @smutmecca

Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Fluff (16+ for sexual themes) Content Warning: Alcohol mention, drunk Spencer, flirting, kissing, heavy petting, sexual themes Word Count: 750

MASTERLIST

Everyone knows Spencer can’t handle his liquor. Regardless of the reason he prepared to give, most people wouldn’t question why he abstained altogether. They all just assumed—correctly—that it was for the best.

But there were still those rare nights, the ones punctuated with only happy calls home, where even he felt compelled to celebrate.

On one those nights, you let him. You sacrifice your own preferred celebratory activities so that at least one of you can be on your best behavior.

That was a good decision, too, because while you were behaving, Spencer decidedly was not.

From his position next to you in the booth, your boyfriend is pressed against you so tightly he might as well be sitting in your lap. Even with almost no air left between your bodies, he keeps inching closer until his face is mere inches from yours.

“You’re sooo pretty,” he slurs.

You hate how cute it seems.

“Really?” you answer with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Because, while flattering, it was the fifth time he’d said it over the span of an hour.

“Yes, really. It is a fact,” he confidently replies.

Just as quickly, though, his lips turn into a pout when you don’t seem impressed by his astute observation.

“Because—,” he hiccups, “—I’m a genius, actually, and I know for a fact that you are really, really pretty. Actually.”

You can’t stop the laugh from sputtering between your lips. Spencer, partially heartbroken, also can’t help but to join you in the laughter.

After all, you look so beautiful when you smile.

His attention gets caught in the crinkling of your eyes and he is immediately lost in his admiration.

His hands are burning hot when he grabs your face, but you accept the heat. You lean into his palm and watch as his pupils dilate in response.

Your reflection shifts in his eyes, and just before he can kiss you, you whisper, “I’m not a genius, but I’m pretty sure you’re drunk.”

Downtrodden by the second rejection in a matter of seconds, Spencer is quick to (attempt to) correct you.

“Mmmmno I don’t think so,” he slurs.

Needless to say, you aren’t convinced.

But he looks so beautiful when he is hopelessly in love with you, and so you let it go.

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

The surrender ignites a fire in your silly little boyfriend. In an attempt to quell his desire, you offer him a slightly tighter embrace.

Spencer drops his head against your shoulder without delay. His barely-there stubble tickles you when he starts to nuzzle against your neck. Instead of pulling away, you just return a dreamy sigh.

The sound was either the very right or very wrong thing to give that foolhardy boy. As soon as the noise leaves your lips, he turns his face and begins a series of feverish kisses against sensitive skin.

You bite back a moan at the feeling and thank the stars that no one else can see his blatant display of affection.

Half-heartedly, you push him away. You immediately regret it when it has the opposite of its intended effect.

Spencer’s hand begins insistently sliding up the inside of your thigh until he hits the edge of your bottoms.

You jump with an audible squeak. Your knees knock against the table, and, with both arms, you fully shove him away.

“Whoooa—oh my god! Okay, time to go home!”

When you turn to face him, however, the embarrassment is replaced with a more primal feeling.

Because Spencer is looking at you like a man starved. With blown out pupils and a scratchy voice, he growls, “Finally.”

The sound causes goosebumps to ripple over your skin. You try to seem a little calmer, cooler than you are.

“Come on, genius,” you sigh.

On the short walk to your car, your mind immediately starts to wander with what you might do to punish him for the scene he’d caused. Spencer notes your little smirk as you help him into the passenger seat.

“Just wait until we get home,” he taunts.

For a moment, you are excited.

That feeling is fleeting, though. Because by the time you get to the driver’s seat, you turn to find that sweet, silly boy already fast asleep.

You laugh—quietly, so as not to wake him. You find a silent victory in the simple sight of him happily at rest.

In a different kind of way, you can’t wait to get home, because as soon as you do, you know you’ll never get his sleepy figure off you.

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lovesuhng · 2 months

Text

fake

fake dating, strangers to lovers, fluff w.c: 4.5k

The college exams were really getting to Johnny, but another complicated situation was troubling his mind: his parents' pressure for him to seriously date someone. It was no secret that Johnny was focused on his studies, but he also didn't miss a chance to have fun with friends and even get involved with some people, yet he never started a serious relationship.

One of Johnny's cousins' wedding was approaching and his mother asked him to be there, once again bringing up the fact that he wasn’t dating anyone. In response, Johnny ended up saying he was in a relationship, which was a big lie.

“Why did you tell your parents that?” Jaehyun, Johnny's friend and classmate, asked him while they were in the cafeteria.

“To see if they would stop pressuring me so much, but now I have a week to find a girl to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

“But that’s easy, look at how many women you’ve hooked up with here.”

The fact was that Johnny was well-known and very desired at college. His charm, good humor, and his sculptural body attracted a lot of attention.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to and can’t just take anyone. It’s a wedding!”

So, Jaehyun started suggesting various possible candidates, but Johnny had very convincing excuses. Then Jaehyun looked around the cafeteria and spotted you.

“Why not talk to her?”

Johnny looked in your direction, seeing you laugh at something your friend was saying. You both were in the same major, but you started college after Johnny, making him your senior. You and Johnny had talked a few times, but you were far from being friends. You were known for being a dedicated and very reserved student, not fond of attending the college parties, which made contact with him rare.

“But how am I supposed to ask her? I can’t just go up to her and say ‘do you want to pretend to be my girlfriend for a few days?’”

“That’s not my problem. Think about it, maybe fate will bring her your way in the next few days.”

And it seemed fate was indeed on Johnny’s side. He had gone to talk to the professor of the subject he had been a teaching assistant for the previous semester to resolve some issues. Upon arriving at the office door, he found you talking to the professor, saying you had some questions and needed help to finalize the final project for the subject.

“Unfortunately, I can’t help you because I need to make a short trip to take care of some personal matters.” That’s when the professor noticed someone at the door, directed his gaze to Johnny and asked him to come in. “But it seems you’re in luck. I think you know Johnny. He was my TA last term, and I think he can help you.”

“Really?!” You said, quite excited and hopeful.

“I can help, we just need to figure out some days and times that work, so I can also study for the final exams.”

“Perfect. Are you free after classes tomorrow?”

And so, you arranged to meet in the library the next day for Johnny to help you with the project. He was already waiting for you and it didn’t take long for you to arrive, a bit flustered trying to balance your notebook and notes in your hands, which made Johnny chuckle.

“Sorry for the delay, but the professor wouldn’t stop talking.”

“It’s fine, I just got here.”

After organizing your things on the table and turning on the notebook, you started asking questions and sharing some ideas you were considering for the project. Johnny proved to be very helpful, definitely more than you expected. After some time in the library, you left together heading to the exit, when Johnny offered you a ride since he had a car and saw you were heading to the bus stop. Initially, you tried to refuse but ended up accepting with the condition that you would stop at a coffee shop near your house.

Once there, you placed your orders, which you insisted on paying for, and began talking about various topics, like the similarities of being only children, your tattoos and their meanings, the reasons for choosing that major, and so on. You were discovering more about each other's lives when suddenly Johnny heard someone call his name and recognized his mother’s voice.

“My dear! It’s so good to see you here.”

“You too, mom. What are you doing here?”

“I came to buy some things for your cousin’s wedding and decided to stop for a coffee.” She then looked at you with a very friendly smile. You stood up to greet Johnny’s mother.

“Mom, this is…”

“Don’t tell me she’s your girlfriend?!”

You were about to say you were just a university colleague when Johnny interrupted.

“Yes. My girlfriend.”

Confusion was written all over your face. While being pulled into a hug by Johnny’s mother, you looked at him, seeking an explanation, he just whispered, “I’ll explain later, but please help me.”

“I can’t believe Johnny is finally dating and with such a beautiful woman like you.”

“Ah, thank you…”

“I’m leaving now. It was a pleasure meeting you, dear. And I look forward to seeing you at the wedding.”

“Of course, mom.” Johnny hugged you by the shoulders, startling you a bit. “We’ll definitely be there.”

After saying goodbye to Johnny’s mom with fake smiles, you pulled away from him and demanded an explanation.

“Long story short: I lied to my mom saying I had a girlfriend and she wants me to bring her to my cousin’s wedding. I hadn’t said who it was yet and I was going to talk to you about it before, but then my mom showed up and all this happened. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.”

“And you think this will work?”

Johnny held your hand and kept his gaze on your eyes. That gave you butterflies, something you didn’t understand why it was happening.

“They say desperate times call for desperate measures. Will you help me?”

You took a deep breath and said, bringing a smile to the man in front of you, “You helped me, so… we have a wedding to go to.”

Since you had only a few days before the wedding, your meetings became more frequent, both inside and outside the university. Johnny helped you finish the project, which you presented impeccably and you also studied together for exams, each for your respective subjects, keeping each other company, thus forming a friendship between you.

Already on vacation and on the eve of the wedding, some final details were decided: the wedding and the reception would be in a neighboring town, so Johnny asked you to bring comfortable clothes for the trip and you created a story about your relationship in case anyone asked (you studied at the same university, Johnny always saw you in the corridors and fell in love with you, asked you out, and you had been dating for 2 months).

On Saturday morning, the day of the wedding, Johnny was already at your doorstep, waiting by the car and laughed when he saw you walking towards him with curlers in your hair, holding the dress and a small suitcase.

“Why are you like that?” Johnny laughed as he helped you put your things in the car.

“To speed things up, of course. We would be late if I did this at the hotel and I hate being late. And this isn’t the way to greet your ‘girlfriend’ on a saturday morning.”

“You're right. Good morning, my dear.” Johnny said, putting his hands on your waist and then laughing at the face you made. So, you decided to be as affectionate as he was. Standing on tiptoe, you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving him very surprised.

“Good morning, honey. Now let’s go, the road is long.”

That little kiss, innocent as it was, significantly affected Johnny, who took a while to process everything and got into the car.

A little over two hours later, you were at the hotel, and since you were returning the same day, Johnny only booked one room for you to get ready for the wedding. You checked in, ate something, and started preparing. You had already showered and were now doing your makeup. Johnny was in the shower but soon came out, complaining that he couldn’t put on the tie.

“I have no idea how to do this, I think I’ll go without it.”

“Calm down, Johnny, I’ll–” You stopped talking when you saw him with wet, messy hair, the first four buttons of his shirt open, giving a glimpse of his chest, and pants perfectly fitted to his body. Even like that, you thought Johnny was the most attractive man in the world and didn’t want to imagine how he would look when fully ready. You approached him, hoping he wouldn’t notice your blushing face, started buttoning his shirt and tied his tie perfectly. Unlike you, who was very “focused,” Johnny looked at every detail of your face, how your eyelashes were long, how your eyes were mesmerizing, how your lips seemed so soft that he wanted to kiss you right there, but he was snapped out of his trance when you patted his shoulder.

“How do you know how to tie ties?”

“I had to wear one for an event and watched some tutorials online.” You said, smiling. “I’ll add the final touches to my makeup and put on the dress.”

It didn’t take long for Johnny to get ready, so he waited for you until he heard, “Johnny, can you help me?” from the bathroom. He entered the room, seeing you struggling to zip up the dress, and quickly positioned himself behind you. This was your moment to hold your breath at his proximity as he slowly zipped up the dress. You felt your arm hair stand up when his breath touched your neck and when his hands touched your waist. You looked at each other in the mirror, and a smile appeared on your lips.

“So, how do I look?”

Johnny, even nervous, tried to talk to you more casually. “You’re so beautiful we might end up going from a fake relationship to a fake marriage.” He laughed at what he said, knowing he was trying to give you confidence. Johnny turned you to face him and said in a more serious tone, giving you goosebumps for the second time that day, “But seriously, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

Arriving at the wedding venue, Johnny extended his hand to help you out of the car. You held his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, after all, you had to appear as a couple from the moment you stepped into the wedding. You started to get nervous about it, but when you looked into Johnny’s eyes, you felt calmer. As the wedding was about to start, you only waved to Johnny’s parents, who were radiant with the fact that their son was “dating.” The wedding proceeded wonderfully. Mark, Johnny’s cousin, and his bride were happy, and from a distance, it was clear they truly loved each other. His speech made most people cry, including you, which Johnny noticed. In an unthinkable act, he wiped your tears and held your hand, caressing it afterward. You were startled for a second but then gave a subtle smile.

After the ceremony, there was the reception, where you had to really act like a couple. Johnny’s parents greeted you right away. His mother kept talking about how beautiful you were as a couple, made for each other, while his father said he was delighted to see that you made Johnny very happy. A few minutes later, your “mother-in-law” took you to meet Johnny’s aunts, leaving him alone with his father.

“I’m so happy for you, son. It’s clear how happy this girl makes you.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Just by looking at you, it’s obvious you’re head over heels for her.”

Johnny didn’t respond to his father, unsure of what to say. He just looked at where you were, cheerfully chatting with his aunts, fitting in like family. Your eyes crinkled as you smiled, your contagious laugh making him smile unconsciously. You noticed his gaze, smiled genuinely, as if to say everything was fine, and it was then Johnny realized he was actually falling for his fake girlfriend.

The party continued. You had already had a lot of fun with Johnny's aunts, talked to the newlyweds and even danced a bit. Now you were sitting next to Johnny, just waiting for the right time to head back to the hotel, after all, the weather was turning and you would need to hit the road before it started raining. That’s when the bride announced that it was time for the much-anticipated bouquet toss. You weren’t planning to join the others, but your “mother-in-law” pulled you in, you gave Johnny a look pleading for help, but he just gave you a "can't do anything" expression.

There you were, in the middle of some women, trying to give polite smiles but clearly not wanting to be in that situation. Then, you heard the bride’s voice saying that the next one to catch the bouquet would have to get married and soon started the countdown.

And by the irony of fate, the bouquet came your way and you caught it before it hit your face. Your wide-eyed expression made Johnny laugh as he rushed towards you. He was about to speak when his very excited mother arrived, saying:

“I knew that bouquet was yours! Now I want a photo of you two.”

You approached Johnny and whispered for only him to hear: “You two are the same, love taking photos of everything!” In the days you spent more time together, you discovered that photography was one of Johnny’s passions and that he was incredible at it.

When you saw Johnny’s mother positioning the phone for a picture of the two of you, you felt Johnny’s hand on your waist, pulling you closer and you felt a kind of warmth there. You posed for the photo, but you didn’t look like a couple. That’s when Johnny’s mother, quite cleverly, said, “Son, kiss your girlfriend!”

Johnny’s eyes widened. Now what? He couldn’t make you do anything like that. He couldn’t keep up this act. He was about to tell his mother the whole truth when he felt your hand on the back of his neck. There was a brief exchange of looks and you said, “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t have time to respond as your lips on his prevented him from doing so. It would be cliché to say that “it seemed like everything around had disappeared and only you two were there,” but that’s what was really happening. The gentle touch you gave to the back of Johnny’s neck with the hand not holding the bouquet was reciprocated by the way he held your waist. Johnny knew he was in trouble but didn’t want to think about it at that moment. For him, it was like a dream, but he was “awakened” when you pulled away, only to see the man in front of you with his eyes closed. You couldn’t help but smile when he opened his eyes and you ended up wiping the gloss that had stayed on his lips.

After a while, you decided to return to the hotel and, just as you arrived, a heavy rain started.

“It’s like we predicted this would happen,” said Johnny. He asked you to go to the room to start organizing your things while he settled a few things at the reception. The time you spent alone in the room was enough for you to think about everything that had happened, how much you loved being near Johnny, how welcomed you felt by his family, how nervous you got when you had to pretend to be his girlfriend and how much you loved that kiss. But, did he feel anything for you? Did he feel something with that kiss?

Some time later, Johnny returned to the room, and he didn’t look very happy. “The rain is getting worse and some trees have fallen on the road, so we’ll have to spend the night here.”

“Oh, that’s fine then.”

“You don’t mind us sharing the room?”

“Of course not, John, it’s okay. I’ll sleep on that little sofa and you can take the bed,” you said, pointing to the small sofa in the corner of the room.

“Are you crazy? I’ll sleep on the sofa and YOU can have the bed.”

“I think you’re the crazy one. Look at your size and the size of the sofa.” You were right. The sofa was too small for him, so you thought of a simple solution that made you nervous. “If you don’t mind, we can share the bed.” Johnny looked at you as if to say, “Are you sure about this?” You understood his expression completely and said, “It’s fine. We’ll put some pillows in the middle and it’ll be perfect. The bed is huge.”

After showering, Johnny was arranging the bed while you were combing your hair.

“Did you enjoy the wedding?”

“What? So much! Seriously, Johnny, your family is so lively and funny. I talked for ages with your mom and aunts.”

“I noticed. You even danced with them. You spent more time with them than with your boyfriend.”

“What’s up with that? You should have pulled me to dance.”

“Oh really?”

Then, Johnny picked up his phone and selected a song, specifically “More Than Words” by Extreme and, in a very exaggerated manner, extended his hand to invite you to dance with him in the middle of the hotel room. You couldn’t help but smile, which he noticed, and took his hand, accepting the invitation. The dance continued, Johnny made some exaggerated moves, leading you along with him. With each twirl he made you do, your laughter increased. It was amazing how, even in such a short time, you felt light and happy around Johnny, as he didn’t have to make any effort to make you smile, he just was… himself. The “exaggerated dance” went on for a few more minutes until Johnny lifted you and spun around, but ended up tripping and falling onto the bed, taking you with him. Despite the scare, you both laughed at the situation. But the smiles faded as you realized how close your faces were. You had been this close before, after all, you had kissed earlier, but it was all part of a “show”, now you were alone. Your mouths were almost meeting when Johnny’s phone rang, bringing you back to reality for the second time that day. You got off Johnny and went straight to the bathroom to catch your breath. Meanwhile, Johnny answered the call, discovering it was his mother, just asking if everything was alright.

When you left the bathroom, Johnny was already lying on his side of the bed, ready to sleep, and you did the same, wishing him a good night.

Although Johnny’s mind was racing because of everything that had happened the day before and because of the new feelings in his heart, he had a great night’s sleep, except he felt some weight on him. Because of the sun rays entering through the curtain gaps, he slowly opened his eyes and realized that the “weight” was your leg over his, your head using his arm as a pillow and your arms hugging him like he was a giant teddy bear. Johnny noticed that the pillow barrier you had made to divide the bed had fallen and now you were in that situation. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw your squished face, sleeping so peacefully and comfortably in his arms. As much as he wanted to stay there, he had to get out of bed. He tried to do it in a way that wouldn’t wake you, but it didn’t work, and your eyes started to open.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Is this pillow comfortable?”

“Good morning, sort of, it’s just a bit hard…” The next second, you realized you were clinging to him and jumped out of bed. “OH MY GOD, JOHNNY, I’M SORRY! You must have slept all crooked because of me. How embarrassing!” You said while running your hands over your face, while Johnny, still in bed, just laughed at your “panic.”

As the days went by, you exchanged messages with trivial updates about what was happening in your lives. With each message you received, you could feel your heart beat faster just thinking it was from Johnny. All your friends knew when you were talking to him because you always had a silly smile on your face, like a lovesick teenager. Missing him so much, you decided to ask him out and he accepted right away.

You arrived in front of the chosen place: a homemade food restaurant where you had once worked and were still friends with Joe, the elderly owner. A few minutes later, Johnny arrived and he couldn’t help but smile when he saw you, especially because of the sunflower-patterned dress you were wearing. He didn’t miss the chance to joke, “Is that dress in my honor?” knowing that he had a sunflower tattooed on his forearm.

Upon entering the restaurant, you took Johnny’s hand to introduce him to the owner.

“Mr. Joe, it’s been so long!”

“Hi, my dear, I’ve missed you.” With a friendly smile, he turned his attention to Johnny. “Did you come to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

Lately, you two were so often mistaken for a couple that Johnny didn’t mind what was said but couldn’t help but feel sad when you stated that you were just friends.

“I see, well, enjoy the evening and maybe things will change tonight.” The elderly man shook Johnny’s hand, winking at him. Was it that obvious that he was in love with you?

You took the lead, followed by Johnny, who found it strange that you were heading somewhere other than where the customers were eating. He was about to ask where you were going when he was surprised as you reached the restaurant’s terrace. It was a rarely used place but very well-decorated and had an incredible view at night.

“Wow, this place is amazing!”

“I think so too. It was one of my favorite spots. I used to stay here during my breaks and sometimes came here to study or just think about life. The owner doesn’t use it much, but I asked a friend who still works here to set it up, just in case I brought someone here.

“And do you often bring people here?”

“To be honest, you’re the first person I’ve brought here.” Johnny gave a restrained smile, feeling special for some reason.

After placing your orders, you talked about various things. It was incredible how you always had so much to talk about. Then, a cold breeze passed, making you shiver and complain about wearing a dress and forgetting your jacket. Within seconds, Johnny promptly got up, took off his jacket and put it on your shoulders, making you momentarily forget how to breathe due to his sudden closeness.

When he returned to his seat, Johnny found it odd that you started laughing for apparently no reason.

“Please don’t get me wrong, I just think it’s amazing how you can sometimes be so sweet despite being so...” You gestured to indicate his height.

“Tall? Handsome? Hot? No need to be at a loss for words to describe me. They say that’s my charm: being sweet to balance out the fact that I’m extremely attractive” Johnny said in a charming tone and you decided to play along.

“For sure, and very modest too.”

After dinner and more conversation, you suggested to Johnny that you go to an ice cream shop near your place.

“What? But weren’t you cold?”

“No cold can make me refuse a good ice cream.”

And that’s how you ended up on your street, heading to your building with your ice creams, you looking like a happy child finally eating your favorite dessert and Johnny laughing at everything you said.

“Well, I guess this is where we say goodbye,” you said, but deep down you didn’t want the night to end.

“The night was amazing. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.”

“Oh! Before I forget.” You said while taking off the jacket and handing it back to Johnny. “I swear I’ll bring mine next time.”

“So, there will be a next time?” Johnny said provocatively while putting on his jacket. You pretended to be thoughtful for a second and replied, “Maybe… Wait a second.”

You stepped closer to Johnny to adjust his jacket collar, bringing you just inches apart. Your eyes locked, but this time in a more intense way. You could admire Johnny’s beautiful honey-colored eyes while he examined every detail of your face, which looked even more beautiful in the moonlight. You made a move to pull away, but Johnny placed his hands on your waist, preventing you from leaving. Your gaze dropped to his mouth as he said, “You’ve already kissed me once, what are you waiting for to do it again?”

“Now it’s your turn to take the initiative. Kiss me, John.”

Closing the minimal gap between you, Johnny kissed you. Unlike the first time, you felt the intensity of this kiss, and when Johnny’s tongue touched yours, you could swear you would explode with happiness, so much so that it made you smile in the middle of the kiss, causing Johnny to pull away, laughing. “Are you that happy to kiss me?”

“Of course. Because now we’re really kissing.” You kissed Johnny again, unable to believe he felt something for you too. “Hm, does this mean we’re really dating now?”

“Hmm, let’s see.” Johnny made a mock thoughtful face and listed what had already happened between you two. “I’ve introduced you to my family, we went to a wedding as a couple, we slept together… so I guess we are dating.”

“Good.” You threw yourself into Johnny’s arms, standing on tiptoe. “I won’t have to pretend anymore for your family because next week I’m going to play golf with your mom and your aunts.” You said, giving him a peck.

“YOU WHAT?”

“That’s right, I’m going to spend some quality time with my mother-in-law and show her that I’m the best girlfriend her son could have.”

Johnny’s laughter made you smile even more, he couldn’t believe how quickly you had won over his mother. He hugged you tighter, lifting you off the ground.

“Get inside before I end up kissing you all night, girlfriend.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from doing that, boyfriend.”

You both smiled and kissed once more, savoring the moment that was more real than ever.

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linkspooky · 1 month

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Love your JJK metas - apologies if I missed it, but any thoughts on Gojo feeling that he was "left behind" and has to "catch up" to Geto before slaughtering the higher ups?

I don't think the impact Shibuya had on him was really explicitly explored, except for that one panel where he said it was his responsibility, but him internally seeing it as following Geto's path in a way surprised me - it makes sense to me, but it doesn't at the same time.

This is a question I really wanted to answer, but delayed for a long time because I wanted to think it over. When the exhibition changed and Gege released his original draft for this scene, it helped clarify a lot of my thoughts on this scene.

"If you want to kill me, kill me. I wouldn’t mind if it were by your hand. But make sure mine is the only life you take.”

These lines become more meaningful if you think of them in the context of earlier events in Hidden Inventory. It sheds light on a lot of scenes from the flashback arc.

In particular this scene.

In his post-enlightenment high Gojo could kill the entirety of the Star Plasma Cult and feel nothing about it to punish them for Riko's death, but he lives the ultimate decision up to Geto.

In that moment Geto convinces him that killing these bystanders would be pointless, because society has other methods for punishing the members of this cult. Specifically he tells Gojo that it's not their job as Jujutsu Sorcerers to punish these people. He basically confines Gojo to the morality of a Jujutsu Sorcerer. Sorcerers kill curse users yes, but they never use their curse techniques on other people like the members in the crowd who don't fight back. Jujutusu Sorcerers aren't a part of the japanese justice system, they exist for one job and that is to deal with curses and curse users in order to prevent them from hurting normal people.

So Geto's lpong explanation to Gojo to talk him down from slaughtering the crowd that's applauding for Riko's death amounts to "That's not our job." He also emphasizes how killing these people wouldn't accomplish anything, because the group was going to disband anyway, and these are just rank and file believers the leaders of the cult are already gone. So in total two reasons, 1) it's not our job, 2) this murder wouldn't accomplish anything.

In the KFC breakup, Gojo parrots Geto's own arguments about killing right back at him. Notice that when they're having their argument Gojo never brings up the fact that killing is wrong, but that killing non-sorcerers is pointless because the sheer amount of number of people you would have to kill is so enormous it's impossible.

Geto's methods are wrong not because they're immoral but because they're impractical. It's not whether or not killing is right or wrong. It's meaningles killing vs. killing with a purpose. Geto's goal is completely impossible for him to accomplish, so all the people he killed in name of that goal died for no reason.

Gojo and Geto are specifically arguing about methods, not morality. Gojo is especially troubled because he's trying to appeal to Geto using the morality that Geto taught him, obligation as a sorcerer, justice, killing with purpose, but now it's all falling on Geto's deaf ears. I think it's poignant Gojo at this stage in his life can't really form a moral argument of his own just repeat Geto's words back at him, it shows how much Gojo was using Geto as a guidepoint.

Gege even says in the databook the reason Gojo stopped himself from killing the cult is that he was using Geto's moral reasoning and not his own.

So in a way, it's Geto's words that prevented Gojo from being a monster all the way back in Hidden Iventnory. Yet, we see in premature death Gojo's completely unable to talk Geto down from the ledge he was standing on.

Even though the words he's using are Geto's words. Perhaps, because the words he's using are Geto's words. Gojo's faith in Geto as a partner and a moral guidepost was so unshakable he's not capable of reconciling with the fact that the person standing in front of him right now slaughtered a whole village.

Geto leaves, and Gojo lacks the words to make him stay. However, in spite of the fact that this scene is called the KFC breakup this, Geto and Gojo aren't ending their relationship. In Jujutsu Kaisen Zero, Geto is surprised by the fact that Gojo still trusts him and feels the same way years later. In Gojo's dying dream, he states that he would have been satisfied losing to Sukuna if Geto was there to wish him good luck before he left. The Geto he pictures is the one in his Gojo-Gesa, the corrupted adult Geto, and not the one he used in childhood.

This is also after Geto expresses jealousy that Gojo wanted to provide a challenge to Sukuna and force him to go all out, because Gojo understood Sukuna's isolation from being the strongest. Because Geto and Gojo's relationship began from the fact that Geto was the only other special grade in their year and therefore the only one able to understand Gojo by being just as strong as he was. Only for Gojo to immediately say that he wasn't satisfied going all out against Sukuna, because Geto wasn't there. It wasn't Geto's power he needed, but his presence.

Geto wasn't leaving Gojo. He was leaving Jujutsu Society. However, since Gojo is such an integral part of Jujutsu Society, it's essentially the same thing. They're not breaking apart because their no longer friends, but because their morals are so different. Even if his attempts at reform wasn't so radical as killing all human beings, Gojo still wouldn't be able to leave with Geto because without Jujutsu Society there is no Gojo Satoru.

Gojo doesn't believe that massacring half the world is possible, but in a way he probably wouldn't believe even a less extreme reform is impossible as long as it was accomplished from the outside. Gojo has always been an internal reformist while at the same time being a radical. Gojo stated this early on he can just kill the people on top but that would make him a monster.

Remember what I emphasized above, Geto convinced Gojo not to slaughter the members of the Star Cult because it's not a Jujutsu Sorcerer's job to punish people like that. If he crossed that line he'd no longer be a Jujutsu Sorcerer. Gojo not only lives to be a sorcerer, but the time in his youth when he was with Geto was the only time he ever felt understood and that there was someone he could rely on.

Geto crossed that line and when he killed the people of Nanako and Mimiko's village (the way that Geto wanted to kill Riko's murderers that day), he was no longer acting as a sorcerer. Geto stopped being a sorcerer, but Gojo couldn't follow him because Gojo lives to be a sorcerer.

Gojo's plan is therefore create sorcerers strong enough that they can support each other the way that him and Geto should have. Create strong allies so that in the next generation no-one will be left behind.

Gojo's belief is that what he needed was stronger allies, not a systemic issue. When his attempts at reform fail, and he wakes up to see that all of his students have had execution orders placed on them by the higher ups he finally gives up on the notion of internal reform.

Gojo eventually ended up committing a mass slaughter for his perceived greater good. The same kind of mass slaughter that Geto prevented him from doing that day he avenged Riko's death. By doing that, he stopped being a sorcerer.

Now that we've finally come full circle I'm going to explain what I think Gojo means by "I can't do that. That day I was left behind, so I have to catch up."

The most direct interpretation is that Gojo is echoing Yuta's sentiment. Geto became a monster all on his own and left Gojo behind. Now, years after the fact Gojo is realizing that Geto's violent action was necessary and he's essentially leaving his role as a sorcerer to become more like Gojo. He's finally understood why Geto did what he did, years after the fact, and far too late.

In one sense Gojo is becoming Geto in this scene. In another sense, he's recalling how he felt years before when he watched Geto walk away. Geto is the one who kept Gojo from being a monster and kept him on the path of being a sorcerer, only for Geto to go off that path himself. Not only that though, but in their final conversation, Geto made sure to still try to keep Gojo on that path.

Remember this line from the original draft:

"If you want to kill me, kill me. I wouldn’t mind if it were by your hand. But make sure mine is the only life you take.”

This line is essentially the same as this, but look at the paneling.

Gojo is about to unleash a hollow purple on Geto, but when Geto disappears into the crowd of people he stops. In order to kill Geto, he would have had to kill several innocent people in the crowd so Gojo hesitates.

The original draft lines indicate that Geto did this on purpose. He told Gojo to be sure only to kill him and not kill anyone else because he still wants Gojo to remain a sorcerer. Geto was resolved to become a monster on his own and didn't want to drag Gojo down with him.

Geto is leaving and he doesn't want Gojo to become with, because Gojo is the happiest when he's a sorcerer.

In the Hidden Inventory Gojo is playing the role of Yuta, begging Geto not to become a monster alone only to be left behind. In the future Gojo resolves to become a monster like Geto. Even though he's finally trying to understand his friend, he's a year too late. Geto is dead and he can't catch up now.

#jjk meta #metasks #satosugu #gojo satoru #geto suguru

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