#even though I think that I can write to a higher standard then I can draw

[in-asterism]

why oh why can't you delete asks after you send them

[rubys-domain]

sometimes i wonder if i'm the right amount of critical, or if i'm just really hard to please.

[doodlenoodleboi]

Senku l. (before & after the stone)

Headcanons, sfw,nsfw, suggestive…

Author’s note: Senku is a fictional character he is canonically 15-16 in the beginning of the series and 17-18 by season 3 not taking account for the manga which he is older. If in the future I make works on characters you deem unfitting for the roll of nsfw fiction or suggestive works of while aged up feel free to block me! Also a reminder that this is a fictional character, made up of lines/pixels. Do not waste your time writing petty hate comments which I will remove and are a waste of your life which you will not get back. I choose to be delusional about fictional characters for my own satisfaction, good day!

Word count: a lot

Before the stone

Sfw

Senku is a bit more less responsible before the stone as he is allowed to act like a kid. He often spends his time in the school lab or at home and can be seen with is small group of friends. (Taiju Oki and Yuzuriha Ogawa.)

Love and romantic relationships are something Senku has found himself uninterested in his teenage years. Dedicating himself to his craft and love for science.

You can take science away from the man but not the science from the man. (You really can’t do either)

Senku has found people conventionally attractive to a specific statistical standard but not to him personally and probably won’t ever given he doesn’t have a common attraction to physical attributes.

Though through statistics he can still find someone who he would be generally attracted to physically. Someone with glasses, makes their interests obvious ex: paint on body all the time, a lab coat or constantly wearing something of their special interest would be people he gravitates towards.

(As someone who is neurodivergent in the worst ways I think half the cast is autistic or a Shokunin if you will a person deeply dedicated to their craft.) So someone as such will attract Senku not romantically of course but they will be bound to cross paths.

There are a multitude of ways you could meet you might never meet but to keep it simple I’m going to give you a multitude of possibilities to have rot in your head.

Being apart of the school’s science club is one way always spending time with him constantly in the science room after school.

Being a dumbass needed tutoring friends with one of his friends but not with Senku directly, or competing for higher grades, a good enemies to lovers. Maybe you’re even apart of the school’s science club making you and Senku acquaintances if anything.

Senku doesn’t back down from competition when it comes to brains but quickly when it comes to fights. Being rivals to Senku is a good asset in the stone world getting you to be one of the first few people to be revived truly testing if you’re book smart (can do it in theory on paper in school) and street smart (do it for real and faster than the time given in school).

Senku was hesitant more than he ever has been getting in a relationship with you. Being shy was simply not an option for him, he thought it was a waste of time often making him coming off as stiff and blunt.

A relationship of romantic interest with Senku will never be said nor be official. He will never say he loves you or that he likes you even give he believes actions speak louder than words. If you give him time you will see through subtle ways that he is attracted to you. 

He will ask you about things that don’t matter much: like should I choose this or that color the small things…

He’ll allow you to touch his hair if your one for pda, he won’t reciprocated often at most leaning into the touch out of pure comfort. He won’t push you off understanding that this is a love language (that did take him a while to understand.)

Senku’s love language is quality time and gift giving. This is more often seen in the stone world but it expressed as well before hand even more so if you’re a science nerd along with him.

He’ll be willing to conduct experiments with you along with share materials with you which is a rare thing for him being an only child never having to share much of anything.

I believe that Senku is aroace or at the very least ace. He can still have platonic love and relationships but isn’t fond of romantic ones being in a romantic relationship from his perspective is his treating you like a best friend practically treating you like a mixture between yuzuriha and Kohaku.

Suggestive

Anything remotely romantic would have to be initiated by you and 9/10 you’re going to either get pushed off. Or he just sits there waiting for you to get over with it. Something like the (kohaku kissing Senku scene in season 3)

For your sake he has experimented once or twice before with make out sessions or kissing to get you to do something (like get you to do an experiment with him.) any kind of physical touch from him romantic wise once again if not initiated by you. 

He’s a responsible enough person to know better than to have sexual intercourse at his age nor is he interested enough to risk it not that questions about it don’t cross his mind but we’ll explore those much later down the line.

Though he’s more likely to tease you occasionally and lean his arm atop your head if you’re short. Expect this more often if you have curly hair

If you have 4c or curly hair in general he will be near you more often especially if you’re a foreigner. Have issues finding hair products for your hair type in Japan? He got you give him a couple strands of your hair next thing you know he has a whole list of products for your hair and product sample packets surrounding him.

Nsfw

Sorry there is none Senku was not interested in sexual acts before the stone nor very much after.

Though he will ask you a lot of “inappropriate questions” but i promise you he’s just genuinely curious. And he’s not trying to infer anything he promises.

After the stone

As I said Senku’s love languages are gift giving and quality time. This becomes more apparent in the stone world. If you had something you held close best believe he will try his best to make it for you. If you’re an artist he’s make brushes and paint etc…

He’s a bit kinder and softer after the stone. People he has known longer therefore care for more he unconsciously takes them on more missions with him around or in a safe space.

If he knew you before the stone you’re likely to be one of the first people out of stone. Though if not you are an important asset and he sees you for your skills and talents so be grateful for that.

If you’re a creative type expect to be paired with Yuzuriha often. A martial artist or athlete expect Kohaku and Taiju.

What Senku appreciate most is people interested in his work, he loves experimenting and explaining his process even to those a who don’t understand so please entertain him for a while if you expect at friendship let alone a romantic relationship.

People who are aroace can have relationships but they can often be on sided in the romance department. It’s not that they don’t love platonically you they just don’t know how to react to that romantically or don’t want romance.(yall can choose if Senku is aroace or not) As long as you’re ok with that your relationship with Senku will be fine. (I’ll just write him as dense to love for yall though.)

Senku if he does love you will occasionally indulge in your romantic behavior and take this a complent if it was a last resort he wouldn't be against procreating with you. (it took him a lot to admit that so you better take it.)

Romantic relationships are often seen as an inconvenience given he doesn't see the need for them and doesn't think he could would be the best fit for something like that.

He true for the most part but he is able to be in a romantic relationship. It may not be as romantic as a you like but if he has an interest in you he will unconsciously do these things. Don't expect any hand-holding and kissing though.

The only way you could get him to hold your hand is for technical reasons like you not getting lost.

Suggestive

I do agree with the fact that Senku would experiment on his significant other and I think this would be more common before the stone but in small ways.

An unexpected romantic act to see how you respond.

He will use this advantage if gen tells him you like him or something for free labor but we won’t abuse it he’s not that mean.

The only way I could see a “relationship forming” Is Senku using you for labor and “paying you” with physical touch. Kisses, hugs and stuff, he likes you platonically but as time goes on he starts experimenting with you first it’s his far will you go for each type of affection. Then it’s soon how will you react to this or that. He says it’s not you that he loves but the reaction you make like a chemical reaction in your mind. Knowing his autistic ass it might be true but the way he acts makes you unsure.

Or maybe finding a girl smarter than him would rial him up he might see you as arrival at first. You guys could be partners, he swears he doesn’t love you, but the science you create the knowledge you know, that wrinkly brain of yours.

He tends to have a love for things rather than people in a way he loves science and the things people are good at their talents but maybe not themselves, he swears but he does establish relationships with characters like Gen and Chrome as friends so I’m sure he can establish a romantic relationship if we take this route.

Then I could actually get into how Senku would “experiment” with his “friend” this would create an friends with benefits kinda situation but it’s not like Senku sees it like that he just doesn’t have time for labels and probably wouldn’t care about it. Just don’t call him pet names because he doesn’t like it. The relationship would be private so the villagers don’t make a fuss, for as far was that would last with Gen around.

NSFW - ish

Let’s talk about Senku’s experiments

Of course you consented to this but you might know what your getting into 100%

It’s basically just a very handsy check up while he asks you questions you may or may not be able to answer.

Ex: “Are your breast sensitive? There is a high concentration of nerve endings present in that area, making them one of the most sensitive parts of the body. While he’s over here playing with them in every way imaginable. He’s going to continue to do this for every inch of your body and take an analysis writing how painful each part is and or sensitive.

So I’ll let you guys imagine that

Thank you for reading!!

[lily-bisque]

having two supervisors wasn’t the worst thing in the world, at least that’s what most people thought.

two higher-ups to go to when you needed help with a clientele profile, or to toss ideas to for the corporate presentations.

but in this case, you were not most people.

you see, as a brand new journalist to one of the most influential magazines in japan, you had your work cut out for you. from high-profile phone calls, to pages upon pages of writing to edit, to coming up with new and flashy features. so to have not one, but two infuriatingly hot supervisors breathing down your neck at every turn had your skin simmering with frustration and... something else you didn't want to address.

"need a hand?"

that husky, resonant voice trickled all the way down your spine, a full body shutter as you kept your eyes fixed on the copy machine right before you.

“no, sir. thank you but i’m quite capable of figuring this out,” you curtly replied, pressing a million buttons on the stupid box so it could give you your papers instead of standing around and making small talk with one of your bosses.

toji fushiguro, co-executive and chief of marketing, and the guy who knew how to keep you on your toes. he was organized to a fault with accounting to the point it made you question if he had OCD or was recovering from a gambling addiction in a past life.

he also lingered around you quite often, catching you off guard when you’d least expect it where you’d turn a corner and run into a broad chest and spill the contents of your binder across the tile floors. you’d scramble to the ground in your pencil skirt and heels, apologizing profusely through gritted teeth, even though he was at fault there.

what were you going to do—piss off your boss?

“you sure you got it?” toji quiered, eyeing your flimsy handiwork around the copier and obvious exasperation. you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

you glanced past your shoulder to arch an eyebrow and had the wind knocked from your lungs at the sight.

god, he looked annoyingly handsome today. crisp black dress shirt with his cuffs rolled up to his forearms, ID hanging lackadaisical from a lanyard across his neck and grey dress slacks that hugged his thighs snugly.

he was holding a mug, lifting it to take a sip of his bitter coffee and keeping his eyes trained on you before he set it down.

as you opened your mouth to assure him that you were entirely content on working this out on your own, someone cleared their voice from the doorway, disrupting your train of thought.

“i think she can figure it out on her own.”

kento nanami, annoying boss #2. he was the other executive director and managed the editorial department along with circulation.

he was… slightly more tolerable than toji. he was quiet, always in readiness, and answered your questions concisely.

but where you felt at odds with him was the amount of times you’d find him either lingering around you just like his colleague, or calling you to his office.

occasionally, you wondered if this was considered workplace harassment with the way he had you doing jobs that the interns could handle or brought you along to presentations to take notes or as a learning experience.

on more than one account did your coworkers complain that you were getting special treatment and you were fed up with their incessant prodding. in all honesty, you didn’t even understand why he was so adamant on keeping you around and even enraging you when he’d call you into his office to point out a typo you made in a column.

something he easily could have fixed himself or even sent an email to you about.

you broke your gaze from the blonde who was carrying his briefcase, clad in his standard tan suit. what went unnoticed to you as you began to smack the side of the copier in impatient frustration was the way his knuckles whitened against the clasp of his case.

“well, i think she can speak for herself,” toji cooly replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he admired you from behind.

you prayed that someone else would walk in here and the palpable tension would dissolve, but no. your prayers went unanswered. just your luck.

“i’ll just, uh. i’ll use the copier on the fourth floor,” you whispered out, voice squeakier than you would’ve liked but with the gazes of your bosses beading down on you like you were a germ under a microscope at the hands of a curious scientist, you wanted to get the hell out of there.

“we can order a new one if it’s not working,” nanami firmly stated, peering down at you from the rim of his glasses.

you waved your hands and shook your head, aware of the fact that the copier was totally fine and you were, in fact, incompetent to figuring it out, much less when your brain was in a dizzy with your supervisors questioning you.

“nah, this one is totally fine. c’mon, try again.” toji answered for you.

it took every ounce of your wavering resolve not to shoot a glare at your boss who was smirking at this humiliation ritual of yours, so you lowered your head and nodded, turning around to stand before the machine and cursing under your breath. “ugh, please work.”

your eyes dialed in on the photocopier, watching as the little mossy green screen illuminated and you began tapping away.

the two men exchanged a glance you weren’t privy to behind your back and slowly began inching towards you.

“nope, not like that,” toji whispered, and you realized how quickly he closed the proximity behind you. his warm breath fanned across the top of your head, making you squirm as he caged you between his form and began typing something in.

you were stockstill, quiet as a mouse, as he worked his magic and you heard the machine come to life, thrumming as it began to copy your sheets.

a breath of relief left you, nearing the finish line that you could be out of here within moments, until you realized that toji hadn't moved, only gotten closer as his nose brushed against your hair.

“uh, sir…?”

his breathing became heavier, and you could feel his chest bump against the back of your head.

“it’s working again,” nanami tersely stated, his jaw twitching as he clenched it.

toji blinked a couple times, allowing the scent of you to waft away as he took a couple of steps back.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, finally able to take a full breath as you gathered your papers and tried to make it out of there.

and of course, you had to be halted again.

nanami spoke out your name and you stopped in your tracks, clutching your belongings to your chest as if they were your only lifeline.

“meet me in my office at noon.”

you glanced behind you, to see that not only was nanami not even looking at you, but his gaze was practically piercing through toji, the two of them in a heated staring contest.

there was some sort of unspeakable communication being relayed between the two of them, something you couldn’t decipher, so you simply muttered a reluctant “okay” before slipping out of there before they could make you victim to another one of their ego battles.

[queenofmorningstar]

Can you write a one-shot of Alastor x fem! Sinner! reader who he finds out is even more evil than he is and he helps her to become an Overlord?

Alastor x f! Reader

Notes: I was really in predicament, like how to make someone more evil than Al lolol

CW: Canon-Typical Violence

Alastor hummed as he walked, his polished cane along with him. A familiar tune from a long-dead jazz standard escaped his lips, broken only when he tuned into the conversation echoing from a nearby.

“—saw her rip the guy’s tongue out and laugh while he choked on it—didn’t even blink.”

Many whispered, almost reverently. “Not even the Exterminators wanna mess with her. She feeds on fear, they say. The more you scream, the more powerful she gets.”

Alastor stopped mid-step. His grin, ever-present, curved a touch higher at the corners.

“Oh?” he murmured.

The voices as he walked, laced with both awe and dread. The streetlamp above his head fizzled out as he passed beneath it. "A fellow artist," he mused aloud, twirling his cane. "Now that’s rare."

He didn’t care much for Hell’s current crop of Overlords. Too loud. Too desperate. Too predictable. But this... her legend didn’t reek of overcompensation or bravado. It was spoken in hushed voices.

The kind of fear that couldn’t be faked.

The kind of evil that couldn’t be taught.

"I do love a woman with a streak of violence," he whispered to himself, stepping into a thin puddle of blood that reflected the neon skyline in ripples. His eyes flickered crimson, glowing brighter for a moment.

Perhaps it was time he introduced himself. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about, shall we?”

*

He heard it before he saw it: wet, meat-tearing sounds; metal scraping bone; a ragged gurgle of someone desperately trying to scream through a shattered jaw.

And then—A woman’s voice. Your voice.

“You wanted me to smile for you? Come on, darling, it's your turn now. Smile! You’ve got such a pretty mouth. Or had one.”

Alastor turned the corner and paused, one brow arched in silent admiration.

There you stood, knee-deep in blood, elbow buried in a wailing demon’s stomach. Your dress, once white, was now soaked red. Around you, the remains of what had once been a high-ranking crime boss’s entourage were strewn across the alley like broken marionettes, limbs twisted into artless, agonized shapes.

Alastor clapped. A slow, deliberate, entirely amused clap.

“Well, well, well,” he said, stepping out of the shadows. “What a show! You’ve got talent, darling. True, unfiltered horror. You made me stop walking just to watch— now that doesn’t happen often.”

You turned, your eyes sharp and dangerous. “Who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

Alastor didn’t flinch. In fact, he beamed wider. “Oh, don’t be modest—you know who I am. Everyone does. But I’ll play along. Alastor. Though some prefer The Radio Demon.”

You rose from the corpse in a slow, graceful motion, blood dripping from your fingers. “And you’re here why? To interrupt my fun?”

“Oh no no no,” he said with mock offense, stepping closer. “Quite the opposite. I’m here because I think you’re magnificent.”

You stared at him, lip curled. “You got a thing for women who gut people like fish?”

“No,” Alastor said smoothly, “I have a thing for potential. And you, my dear? You’re practically screaming with it.”

He twirled his cane, boots crunching over broken teeth as he stepped closer. “You have rage. You have vision. You’re feared, which is good… but fear only gets you so far. You’re wild now—unrefined. No strategy. No influence. And if you want to become an Overlord, that won’t be enough.”

You crossed your arms, head cocked. “So what, you came to give me a pep talk? Or are you here to kill me?”

He grinned wider. “I’m here to offer you guidance.”

You barked a laugh. “Why the hell would you help me?”

Alastor's smile didn’t waver, but something in his voice dropped an octave. “Because I’m not blind. In Hell, power shifts always. And allies are so very important if you want to remain on the top.”

He paused, then leaned slightly forward. “And I wouldn’t mind having you by my side.”

Silence. Your eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust you.”

“Oh, good!” he said, delighted. “That means you’re smarter than most. But consider this—if I wanted you dead, you'd already be. I’m offering you tools. Connections. Tactics. The game behind the blood. You’ve conquered the battlefield.”

He tapped his cane. “Now I’ll teach you how to conquer the board.”

You didn’t answer immediately. You looked back at the mutilated bodies, then at your blood-soaked hands.

Then you looked at him and smirked. “…Fine. But the second you try to play me, I’ll tear your spine out through your mouth.”

Alastor laughed. “Perfect! Let’s get started.”

_______________________

Years passed in Hell.

Alastor taught you the invisible language of Hell: how to navigate the backstabbing etiquette of Pride; how to make sinners bow with a smile instead of a blade. He taught you to wield fear like a violin—fine, deliberate, haunting.

Together, you wiped out other weaker Overlords, rewrote territory lines, made many fall on their knees.

It was on one such night.

Alastor stood beside you, his hands behind his back, eyes half-lidded with amusement. “I must say,” he murmured, “you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

You smirked, sipping from a wineglass filled with something thicker than wine. “What, didn’t think I’d survive?”

“Oh, I thought you’d survive,” he said with a chuckle. “But I didn’t expect to enjoy your company so much.”

You turned your head. He didn’t look at you but his smile had softened, just slightly.

"You always talk in riddles," you murmured.

"And you always see through them," he replied. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “You’ve become… remarkable."

“I had a good teacher,” you said quietly.

That made him pause.

He turned to face you fully, and for the first time in a long time, the space between you felt different. Like a wire pulled taut.

You saw it in his eyes. There was curiosity still, yes, but now layered with something harder to name. Something hesitant and warm and real.

“…You don’t need me anymore,” he said, not with pride, but something heavier.

“I know,” you replied. “But I still want you by my side.”

He blinked. Then he laughed, short, startled, almost genuine. “Well. Isn’t that dangerous?”

You smiled, stepping close, your fingers brushing his fingers. “That’s the fun part.”

For once, he didn’t pull away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Main MasterPost>>>>

[roscgcld]

hello! i have been reading ur blog since 2021 when u started the daydreaming!reader series! i am SO happy ur well and ur back and i cant wait to read ur works! can u write another daydreaming!reader fic that can be anything but focuses on her relations with nanamin and sukuna?

DAYDREAMING!READER || nanami and sukuna with her

note: honestly, that is such a slay idea of you. also, thank you so much for following alone for so long 🥺🥺💓 it's wild to think that you'd find my little pocket of the internet, and choose to spend your time here as well. I send loves and kisses lovely!! i also tried to write a fic, but I found writing a headcanon split between the two characters easier, so i hope you don't mind!!

pronouns: she/her

daydreaming!reader masterlist  |  buy me a coffee?

NANAMI KENTO - Mr Gentleman

say it after me - nanami is just husband, okay? i am not hearing anything against that

Sure, he can seem cold and uncaring, but he is still a gentleman, okay? It's especially noticeable if he is comfortable around you

from carrying your bags and jackets whenever you are tired, holding onto your drinks when you want to go shopping, and getting offended if you try to pay when he is around - just GIVE ME THIS MAN-

anyways - when it comes to daydreaming!reader and nanami, nanami really does set the standards in the sky. Poor Yuta tends to worry that nanami is pushing y/n's standards higher than is humanly possible

whenever they go out - nanami is waiting by the college entrance with some baked goods and whatever drink that she likes at that moment waiting for her to drink

he always makes sure she is holding onto his arm so she doesn't get lost, and always makes sure to push a path forward for her, letting her get on the train first so no one is shoving her from behind

He has hand sanitiser and wet tissues on standby whenever she wants to buy makeup. wordlessly letting her swatch shades on his hands without as much of a blink

has a list of restaurants in his phone that she has mentioned that she wanted to try amongst the ones he wants to try as well. he even noted down the most ordered items in case she wants to pick the dishes instead of picking a restaurant

gets offended whenever she tries to pay for anything - what man would allow a woman to pay?

does not care that people are whispering and staring, assuming that he is a sugar daddy. he doesn't really like people anyway, so if having y/n hanging off his arm as she babbles about whatever show she was watching means that people would potentially leave him alone, he will take the opportunity

while he is monotoned and straight to the point when he talks to others, he has a much more gentle tone whenever he addresses y/n. and usually has this soft smile on his face whenever he watches her interact with the world

if they are going on a mission together, nanami is watching her like a hawk.

trains with her, making sure that her movements are clean and that she is aware of all of her surroundings when she is fighting

he will make sure that she returns without a scratch on her person, letting her sit out the mission if she wants, but not stopping her if she wants to do it

he is very critical, though - he will correct her form mid-battle, reminding her to hone all her senses so she does not get hurt

he would step in and correct her, but only if she is about to get physically hurt, because at the end of the day, she needs to be strong enough to protect herself

even if she pouts with tears brimming in her eyes as he lectures her, he would sigh and bandage any scratches up, letting her cling onto him like a sad child as he brings her to get a sweet treat

lets her be in the kitchen whenever he bakes; something that he has never let anyone else do. She always leaves happy with extras for everyone in Jujutsu Tech (and yes, gojo has some as well)

is the one who taught her how to cook, actually - she knew some basics from her parents, but nanami was the one who taught her how to do things like sharpen a knife, how to slice veggies julienne style, etc

does skincare with her whenever he stays on campus - he has his own headband (a doggy-ear one), and always does face mask night with drinks and baked goods

He definitely has his own skincare routine at home, so both of them will go out shopping for the skincare bits together to make sure that it 'does not irritate his skin'

yes he is the self-care king - i am not hearing anyone else against that fact

would body double a lot - nanami reading a book or doing a wordcross puzzle, and y/n playing a video game quietly beside him on her switch. silent but enjoying each other's company

nanami is, and always has been, a gentleman. he loves peace, and somehow the chaotic y/n is peaceful whenever she is around him.

basically she is just his training daughter that he one day will have (and that baby mama is gonna be me ladies)

RYOMEN SUKUNA - Meanie

(in this story, i am making him yuji's uncle. it is just easier this way - idk how to write sukuna as a parasite inside yuji lmao)

When people think about ryomen sukuna, they cannot imagine how he is at all blood-related to itadori yuji at all

known as the 'king of curses' because of how well he channels curses to his advantage, to his deadly curse technique - he was a strong sorcerer that no one wanted to anger

saying that, however, it is a known thing that the men who look the scariest love the cutest of things

gojo, can't count how often he's seen Sukuna's dark fingernails painted with cute designs in different colours - flowers, glitter or sparkle decals, nail stickers. he swears he's seen sukuna with chrome nail art before as well

sukuna's desk, while bare bar with some neat stacks of paper and his laptop, has the cutest little toast plushie sitting on the highest shelf

ijichi asked him once about it, curious why he had just left the doll sitting on his desk

"that? the pipsqueak gave it to me - gonna cry a storm if i tossed it away."

while he hates when people look at him, even more so if they dare to talk to him, he would wander around to look for Y/N after her missions to ask how it has gone

he hates when students disturb him - he is known to be that one lecturer that no one goes up to after class to ask for questions unless you want to be ripped a new one for not 'paying closer attention'

yet y/n would randomly come skipping into the office and plop herself on the free seat next to sukuna's chair and start yapping, with sukuna just humming as he graded the papers before him

had forced both yuji and herself to study after class together - the two of them sitting in the empty classroom with sukuna glaring down at them, trying his hardest to not smack either of them

while he is understanding, he is firm, he never makes any paper easier for y/n - making her get out of her comfort zone and try as hard as she can

but he would never let her push herself too hard - whenever they were on a mission together, while he would step aside to let her fight her battles, he would always be 2 steps behind her

watching her back and letting her make her own mistakes, but would immediately step in and protect her if she falters, making sure that she is not hurt

whether she was or not, though, he would let her whine and give her a piggyback ride back to the car after their mission, grumbling the entire way as she giggled and happily kicked her feet

he definitely has snacks on him all the time because of how many calories he needs to eat to keep up his physique, so he would so pick up her favourite snacks and keep them on him

whenever the Kyoto school visits, he makes sure to keep an extra eye on Todo - not to prevent him from chatting her up, but more so, he can film the interaction and send it to Yuta with no extra message

he lives for the drama. he knows y/n and yuji are the two who keep up to date with everything that is happening, and would always ask them for updates whenever he can

"so Maki punched a guy just because he looked at her weird? ...Did she at least break his nose?"

demands for a plate of food whenever y/n is on cooking duty. i headcanon that he can burn water if you let him, so yuji does most of the cooking. but he loves y/n's cooking a little more

always gets her to order an extra seasonal drink for him - no matter how glittery or pink the drink is, he is going to order it

if he is going to spend money on a drink, he is ordering the most flamboyant one. and no one dares to question him for it

late night snack run buddies - just a single text ('snacks?') and the two of them would be dressed in their coats and shoes, both of them making their way to the nearby convenience store as they

the two of them, plus yuji are avid game chasers - would be those people who sleep outside a shop to get their hands on a copy of a game on launch day

then they would stay up for at least 2 days just finishing the game together, and everyone hates it because it would be silent before the three idiots start screaming from the adrenaline they are feeling at a boss fight scene

sukuna has style. so y/n and him definitely go thrifting and shopping together in harajuku. definitely had pictures taken of them about their outfits

basically he is a softie behind a very frostie character - but he does have strong love for his students. but he definitely has a favourite, and it is not at all secret that it is y/n

wanna read more?  daydreaming!reader masterlist  |  buy me a coffee?

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform

[lightlycareless]

Naoya as our bully ?🤭

If you can, can you write something about it with dubcon and all those things

( feel free to ignore if you don’t like it ❤️)

Hello!!

Heheheh bully naoya is most likely to happen if I were to be realistic; however, I do not think it'll be as sweet as we would've liked—but that's ok, it's good to explore other things :)))

warnings: non-con; it's not explicit but it is implied so proceed with caution. minors DNI. I know you asked for dub-con but wow I just let my imagination go I am sorry I still hope you like it though 🥹 also, naoya is a prick. but that's expected. minimal proofreading, excuse the weirdness.

Happy reading!!

Naoya being your bully is, hands down, the worst thing that could’ve happened to you.

Or more likely the precursor of the most horrific thing you’d ever suffer.

Your expectations for Jujutsu High were big—and for good reason, for everyone around you made sure you’d always look to your first day at school as the biggest, most important thing to happen in your life and career. You were to obtain the first glimpse of this amazing society you were part of, how could you not be thrilled?

But perhaps what enthralled you the most was the possibility of meeting the love of your life, after all, you were a hopeless romantic at heart.

Sure, it was somewhat of a selfish, if not baseless goal when compared to your duty… but there was no harm in dreaming, right?

And as if God had willed it, you’d soon catch the attention of someone in particular not so long after your arrival.

Unfortunately, not the type you desire.

The other thing you’d quickly come to learn about as days went by were the rumors and gossip surrounding your fellow classmates; just about the usual information you’d need to survive—who’s the popular one, who to go to when struggling with schoolwork—but primarily, who to avoid.

Naoya, the heir of the Zen’in, as on top of that list, though you were already aware of such cautions since his reputation… precedes him. Thus, it didn’t make it hard for you to simply walk the other way whenever stumbling in his path.

Not that it was any difficult, since he always seemed to be entertained by other things, other girls. And since you never considered yourself comparable to them, it was safe to say that you remained under the radar.

Until the day you didn’t.

Your efforts thrown out the window when accidentally bumping into him, a seemingly innocent act that transpired in the hallways, when you were in a rush, anxious to arrive to your next class on time that you barely had taken a sip of your drink—the weapon that perpetrated your transgression, soiling his pristine uniform.

To you, the beginning of your nightmare.

To Naoya, the moment he was waiting for.

“I’m so sorry, I—I didn’t mean to do that!” you fret, hands trembling as you frantically looked for a way to clean up your mistake. “I’m so so so sorry, please, let me pay for the cleaning service, or I can—I think I can even get you another one—”

“Do you know the level of stupidity you’ve committed?!” Naoya would belittle, cornering you into feeling worse than you already were.

“I—I didn’t mean to.” You cry, shaking your head. Seems that the rumors were true regarding his personality were true after all, if not worse. “It’s just that I—I was in a rush, and you came out of no—”

“Ah, so now you’re blaming me? Is that it?”

“No—No, it was an accident! I really didn’t mean it, I swear!”

“Then you better show me how regretful you really are if you don’t want me to take this to the higher ups.” He threatens, and while a part of you doubts this incident is worth their attention…

His patience is not something you want to test, nor the limits of his wrath.

And so, your servitude begins.

First, he has you fixing the immediate cause of your despair, which seems you could never achieve thanks to Naoya’s impossible standards. You either missed a spot, didn’t use the cleaner he ordered you to (they always change) or it wasn’t as nice as it was before. The excuses go on and on, such as your debt to him, and all you could do was comply.

Of course, Naoya didn’t really care much about the uniform. In fact, he got one as soon as the other was spoiled, but what reason did he have to ignore the adorable way you fretted to fix your mistakes? Always eager to please him, it was the kind of entertainment he could not miss!

After growing bored of the endless back and forth relating to his uniform, he decides to move you onto doing his schoolwork, the boring, theory side of jujutsu nobody could care less about, to compensate in some way.

Which, once again, never fits his criteria. He just had to find something wrong, a small slip-up for him to nitpick and embarrass you.

A somewhat hard endeavor given how good you were at doing these things, Naoya that much could admit. But, well, he always preferred the teary look in your eyes when ripping apart the work you presented that day, even if it meant he’d end up doing it later himself.

“I was only—I was only doing my best—” you silently whimper, picking up the pieces of your efforts from the floor.

“Your best isn’t good enough.” Naoya coldly declares, and though your heart is sharply pierced by his crude, cold words, enough purpose to finally take a stand and leave—

You still don’t find it in yourself to stray away from him.

Because at the slightest hesitation, Naoya always found a way to pull you back in. Remind you of your mistakes and how far you really are from redeeming yourself.

Perhaps he knew of those deep, hurtful insecurities you’ve carried along since you were a child; those that made you doubt your aptitudes, if you were worthy of being a sorcerer, your family’s relative…

It would’ve been easier if you simply remained as an errand girl. The type of person to fetch him something to drink, or snack on… instead of dwelling on the old wounds of your upbringing that only worsened with his targeted frustrations—

His so called “jokes.”

Naoya’s approach didn’t take long to escalate into denigrating, personal acts against you, from cruel exchanges between his friends, pointing out your supposed flaws both physically and personality-wise, to pulling your hair whenever passing by, sneering at the stupid bow you decided to decorate your hair with—how childish it made you look—to lifting your skirt just to see what a prude girl like you could wear.

“Not that anyone is dying to know, but I thought I’d do you the favor of knowing what it feels to be desired for once in your life.”

Amongst other nasty things that just made you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

You didn’t know what hurt the most. That there was a group willing to mock you, enough to do so whenever he wasn’t around… or that Naoya didn’t have the decency to ask them to stop.

After all you’ve done for him, that was the least he could do.

Whatever business you had with him solely pertained to the two, there was no need to bring others along, less to incite him to do that…

But expecting such was too much, and so, you simply did your best to ignore him and move on with your life while anxiously waiting for whatever humiliating task you’d be graced with soon. Praying that one day, he’ll be merciful, or perhaps forgetful enough, to set you free.

…

…

…

Unless you weren’t to deliver anymore.

Unless you were to simply… disappear.

Just now show up after class to hand Naoya all his assignments, like always. Making him wait for a few more minutes before accordingly preparing himself to scold you in the nastiest way he could imagine when you finally arrived—but you never did.

At the peak of his anger, he decides to hunt you down instead and directly confront you. Figure out how your small, stupid brain convinced you to betray him, and subsequently make you regret it.

Which there were too many ways to do so, really. But as long as you suffered, as long you experienced a fraction of his shame, he was indifferent to the methods.

But of all the things he expected to find when facing you, he never once considered the sparks of your rebellion starting by an outside influence.

A fellow student you were walking annoyingly close to, revealing his efforts of isolating as futile; of filling your mind with nothing but his presence easily replaceable by a classmate of his. That stuck-up blonde-haired guy that everyone seemed obsessed about just because he was a foreigner.

And now, you too.

He should’ve known that your gullible mind would be attracted to someone like that. It was natural that you’d do so.

Perhaps what he didn’t expect was for Nanami to grow interested in you; surely, there were far better options to set his eyes on than someone as mundane and stupid like you.

Far more intriguing to find enjoyment in, as seen in the warm smile he gives you.

His perception of Nanami undoubtedly crumbled given this advancement; but if that was the only thing that bothered him, then why is there a burning, nauseating sensation settling in the pits of his stomach? Far beyond anger at your defilement, or even disappointment, but instead something akin to jealousy?

Protecting what was his, something that he never intended to share?

Naoya would entertain his feelings for a few moments, even come to consider it wasn’t worth his time to get so worked up for someone all his friends (and himself) ultimately found replaceable.

But he stops believing such things the moment his blood runs cold upon witnessing the act that fueled his definite wrath once and for all:

You, shyly leaning towards Nanami and kissing him.

What you had with him was more than a simple friendship, that much was obvious now. Far more intimate that he would’ve liked to imagine—

And far more infuriating as well.

Is this how you repay him? After all he’s done for you, acting like a whore was the best way to show your appreciation for him, after he’s given you a purpose in life? Saved you from becoming the useless, weak sorcerer you were fated to be?

…Perhaps you do need a reminder of who you belonged to.

“What are you—what are you doing in my dorm?!” You cried the moment Naoya barged into your room, the perfect location for him to corner you; keep you away from the intruding eyes of your friends, and so-called boyfriend, and finally confront you. “You can’t be here—get out!”

“Drop the act, this rebellious façade does not fit you.” He scowls; you frown. It was evident you were always nervous whenever he was around… but today, there was something different about your trembling voice. About your hesitating movements.

It was if you were pushing yourself to remain through all your fears and put an end to his tyranny or at least die trying.

That shy, people-pleasing girl was long gone—Undoubtedly, the work of someone whose mere remembrance only made his blood boil.

“I—I don’t care what you think, Naoya, you cannot be in my room!” you cry back. “Get out or I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Call your boyfriend?” You blink; he lets out a mocking chuckle. “Think I wouldn’t notice? You’re awful at keeping secrets, you know?”

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t keeping a secret.” You continue. “I just—I just didn’t care anymore about you!”

“Excuse me?” he responds, offended. “Did you just—"

“Shut up! For once, just shut up!”

Naoya flinches, taken aback by your sudden outburst, as if it had come out of nowhere; and not the exhaustion of his mistreatment, his constant disrespect towards your persona and all your acts.

Had it been the you from before, you wouldn’t have even dared.

Yet, just as you confessed, you simply stopped caring about him. What he had to say or what he thought—if he were to lash out at you or dump you with more work.

And all thanks to Nanami’s company; his affection. A supporting figure that reminded you of your strength, of your value and importance. Of how you were still deserving of being cherished and respected, without having to go through these endless ordeals to prove your worth. Those worthy to keep around wouldn’t make you go through that, anyways.

But most importantly, he showed you the power you had over your own life. How you were capable of putting a stop to the tyranny that pushed you to this bottomless ocean of self-doubt, and leave all your pain behind.

“You’re the most despicable, disgusting, horrible man I ever had the disgrace of meeting in my life!” you begin, letting out all your bottled-up anger through tears and yells. A cathartic occurrence that your heart so desperately needed. “You’re—You’re a monster, I don’t know how I tolerated you for too long!

But I won’t allow it anymore, because—I—I have Kento by my side and he’s—he’s showed me all these wonderful things I’ve been completely unaware of thanks to you!

He taught me to be strong, to be—to be fearless. To appreciate what little I have and cherish my loved ones!

To—to be honest with myself, and to—and to never let anyone else hurt me ever again!!

So today—today I denounce you! Whatever agreement we had, whatever it is that I was supposed to make up to you, it’s done! I refuse to keep being your slave, the center of your mockery. All I’ve ever did was try to please you but it’s obvious I will never commit to that, and you—you never had intentions of letting me go; if it were up to you, I’d simply remain miserable all of my life as long as you remained happy!

But… but that is finally over. It’s done. I won’t allow you to ever hurt me, to ever treat me like I was beneath you!

And I really do hope you get all you deserve. All that someone as despicable as you could ever hope to get!

I—I hope I never get to see you again, I hope that after today, you’ll walk out of my life once and for all!

Because I really, with all my existance—

hate you!”

The last thing Naoya remembers from that point forward was feeling irritated by your obnoxious rambles drowning in with burning rage. An overwhelming need to make you eat your words and apologize; so grave that it blinded his sights, his memory.

There were only brief moments here and there that managed to make way to his thoughts, such as the stinging pain on his palm after striking you across the face following your words, continued by the deep betrayal you’ve inflicted in his heart as he pulled you by the hair to force you to listen and reflect on the stupidities you’ve just spewed upon him.

“Did you really think I would allow you to disrespect me without suffering the consequences?! Did you really think I’d sit by as you preached things you don’t even know what they mean?! All because a silly, stupid man managed to convince you were deserving of them???” Naoya berates, bringing your face close to his and imposing you to see him—the anger you caused, the gravity of your actions.

“Na—Naoya—!” you squirm, trying to break free from his grasp, but he only holds you tighter in place; painfully subdues you to become responsible for your life for once.

“You’re nothing but a stupid, foolish whore that got placed in a pedestal simply because someone wanted to fuck you.” He chuckles. “You think Nanami likes you? Really?? Don’t you think that if he did, he wouldn’t have pushed you to do something stupid like this?? He ought to know better, but I suppose that for a stupid girl like you, you’d do anything to obtain a man’s favor, even if it means betraying those who care for you.

Fortunately, I know exactly what to do in situations like this, how to deal with people like you.

I’ll show you that all I’ve done came from a place of compassion, of pity.

That I’m the only person that would ever dare to do so.”

It’s clear what he intends to do once he throws you onto the bed, once he begins to strip you of your garments and ignore your pleads of mercy. A possibility of reconsideration—how you didn’t mean to offend him as gravely as you did.

“But that is long gone, and now, I will make you see the error in your decisions. I will make you regret ever crossing me.”

And overall—

“I will make you see I’m the only man you need.”

Naoya’s defilement does not stop no matter how much you beg him to.

No matter how much you weep, you beg for his forgiveness, profess your regret and promise to do better… he was simply uninterested in what you had to say.

Instead, he succumbed deeper into his emotions, allowing them to control his rationale and do all kinds of horrifying, disgusting things to your body with the sole purpose of branding you with his anger, with your transgressionsso that you’d never forget.

You’d never dare to insult him the way you fervently did.

You’d never dare look onto another man, when he was there to be the object of your sole veneration.

Of your affection.

To keep you solely focused on him, and eventually, get you where you deserved to be.

It’s a shame things had to end this way, he manages to muse as he continued to desecrate you. But some people could only understand the hard way, the stubborn, stupid, naïve way. You just had the misfortune of falling into that category.

And he did just that. He drilled that notion onto you, both mentally and physically, what you should’ve known the moment you crossed paths with his.

The moment he set eyes on you, you were his, and it was always meant to be that way.

“St—Stop it, Naoya…” you gasped, tears in your eyes as you tried for the nth time that moment to fight him off. But too weak after his aggressions, all you could do is weep. “Please—please… I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Naoya only stops once he believes your lesson to be learned. From there, he barely gives you a second glance as he composes himself and leaves your dorm; far too indifferent to oversee your wellbeing or if someone were to find you in a broken position.

He simply goes on with his day as if it were any other, occasionally reflecting on your absence once realizing you went missing for the rest of the day, but outside of that, nothing.

Because ultimately, that is what you deserve.

Nothing.

Naoya allows you to keep your distance for a few days more after… his act. Whether because he didn’t feel in the mood to see your face, still resentful of your words, or because he was busy… It didn’t matter much; for he kept on with his life as if nothing had transpired. Treating you like an occasional remembrance, the junior he’d grown somewhat close to but eventually outgrown when another came along.

Even when his friends pestered him to find out about your situation, Naoya dismissed them. He had far bigger matters to attend to, after all, silly little Y/N was just another fish in the ocean; if they were so desperate to know, why don’t they find out themselves?

However, he wouldn’t be able to continue putting on this act once his classmate, your disgraceful boyfriend, began to mope. Becoming even moodier the longer you went on without attending school, even enough to go around asking if anyone had seen you after that fateful day—no one had.

Except your friends, the only few that somehow were able to place the pieces together and know what occurred to you; or at least, make a theory out of their findings—which eventually led for the whole school to gossip about.

“Did you hear?” Someone would begin. “Y/N has dropped out of school.”

“What? Dropped out? When??”

“Not too long ago, it seems. Just a few days ago—”

“What makes you think that? She could just be sick…”

“Come on, why do you think her siblings are all moody nowadays? If anything, the question we should be asking is why? Why would someone drop out in the middle of the school year? It’s not like she a bad student…”

“Are you sure she didn’t just transfer?”

“No, she didn’t. I saw the records, she dropped out. But you’d never know why… and honestly, I didn’t think she’d have it in her.”

“Have what in her?”

“More like who.”

“What—what are you implying?”

“Oh, and she seemed so innocent too…”

“No—no way you’re…”

“Yeah, I am. Y/N’s—”

Pregnant.

In other words, a child grows inside you right now.

And Naoya knew just who the father was.

What he didn’t know is why the idea seemed to thrill him enough to seek you out. Why he didn’t just… force you to take that damned pill, as he’d done countless times before, and move on.

Instead, he decided to travel all the way down to your home and demand the presence of your family; of your distraught parents he could see were disappointed in their seemingly promiscuous daughter, yet respectful enough to receive him. Perhaps because deep within, they knew he was related to your situation.

Or because it was one of the many perks of being the heir of the Zen’in.

Like being given the liberty to do as he pleases, painting a story that greatly deviated from the truth: making them believe you and him had a relationship, but given the nature of his position, he couldn’t divulge it. His family were… traditional, in some sense. They would never allow their heir to approach women in casual settings.

But love proved far stronger, and such demonstration now came in the small life nurtured inside your womb.

The same one he sweetly promised to take care of—as long as you married him.

Everyone had a price, and it seems your parents’ was prestige and honor; things easily obtainable through his titles, but at the sake of your happiness.

“What—what is he doing here—” you stammer, frightened to see the face that troubles your thoughts, your dreams, in the last haven you got. “How did he get in here?!”

“Oh, Y/N, this is wonderful!” your mother would cry, rushing to your side to take you into her arms. “All of our prayers were heard!”

“What—what are you talking about?!”

“You no longer need to worry about your future now, pumpkin. Naoya here will take care of everything!” Your father continues.

“Wh—what?” you breathed, sight blurry and head dizzy at the sound of their delirious words.

“He told us of your situation.” Your mother adds. “About your relationship with him.”

But not the true one, is it? For their reactions didn’t correlate to the horrors you were haunted by.

“What—what did he say??”

“Our truth, Y/N.” Naoya responds. “About our love, and my commitment to provide for you.”

Naoya painted himself as your savior, as the sinner than changed for the sake of love and was now willing to do everything necessary to give you, the mother of his heir, a suitable life.

Through a divine vow.

A life sentence.

You wept. You wailed, screamed, begged your parents to set you free from the hands of your tormentor. Exclaimed that his acts were far from a lover, but rather, an abuser. A demon—all that he had done was with your suffering in mind, not the other way around!

But even if they were to decline his offer, your family were far too eager to cling at the opportunity of returning to relevancy. Of getting into the Zen’in’s good graces and bask in the prestige they once lost to time.

Your eager nature could’ve not come sooner, what they once condemned, now they welcomed as a blessing.

And such, amidst poisonous congratulations, your new life was set: permanently bound to the man that had broken your spirit, defiled your body, and now, claimed your future.

No one would come to believe the atrocities he had inflicted upon, no matter how much you tried to convince others—it was simply easier to assume that he acted such way because… well, women were difficult, were they not? And you weren’t exactly the prime example of a proper woman either. If anything, you should be glad that you’ve managed to catch a man as devoted as him; any other would’ve bailed out on you.

But Naoya didn’t; he may not have the greatest reputation, nor the best temperament, but he still stepped up—and if that’s not worthy of admiration, then shame on you. Many women would’ve killed to have a partner like that, so, it’s best if you comply and stop being ungrateful.

Do what you’re supposed to do as his future wife—this is the life women of your status were expected to do anyways, don’t act like you didn’t know what you were getting into.

“I—I at least want to finish school.” You sadly lament, the last of your excuses before your fate was doubled down.

“You won’t need that once we’re married.” Naoya interjects. “All you’d need to learn is how to be a good wife and mother for our family, you’ll hardly have time for sorcery so just forget about it.”

Just like he always imagined the moment he laid eyes on you, only that he never professed it out loud.

It’s true: since the time he was aware of your existence, there was something that mesmerized him.

He just didn’t know what precisely; it could’ve been your beauty, your untainted image, pure in all imaginable ways—he couldn’t let anyone else get to you first.

And after all that happened, he can safely assume that this was his destiny. It was God putting you on his path while Naoya did the rest.

If anything, he laments it took this unwanted pregnancy to realize him so. Naoya would’ve liked something a bit more… traditional, but he supposes this will work too. Can’t complain much if he got what he wanted in the end: to claim you.

All that he’s left to worry about is drilling that defiance out of you. Something a baby ought to do the trick.

But if not, Naoya doesn’t worry much. After all, he’ll have all the time in the world to do so.

Naoya would be the type to find porn actresses that look like you and then show you a video or something, ask you if you'd make the same sounds/faces and such. Just had to get it out there.

Also, did I not tell y'all that in all universes naoya and y/n end up together? For better or for worse? lmao i'm sorry i'm just delusional rn. it's been a stressful week if i am being honest but coming back to these asks, characters, all of you, makes me happy :')

Well, I don't really have much to say, except that I hope it was to your liking 🥹💖💖💖

Now, take care and hope to see you soon. 💖💖💖💖

[homunculus-argument]

Come to think of it, I really like doing worldbuilding in common misconceptions caused by survivor/sample bias. I got too gleefully into infodumping about worlds I made up, so I'm going to be merciful and throw a cut-off right here:

(damn, you're still reading? Well, that's on you. Here we go.)

In The Book I Am Not Writing, the fisher folk have very strict concepts of ritual purity, being strict about seemingly arbitrary rules of cleanliness, and they simply don't do extramarital relationships. They are, however, polygamous both ways, so consulting the other spouses about introducing another wife or husband into the marriage is always an option. They also seem to have absurdly large flocks of children. Being both an unusual ethnicity who are commonly considered pretty, and also essentially completely off-limits for casual sex, they are often fetishised, and there's a myth that fisher men are so insanely good in bed that their wives simply cannot resist the temptation of their four sexy husbands even if they're otherwise absolutely done getting pregnant all the time.

The truth is a lot more complicated than that. First of all, in the multiple-spouse marriages, all children are raised between all parents and many clans consider it inappropriate to inquire which kids are biologically whose, so if one or two of the partners has fertility issues, nobody from the outside would know. And the seemingly arbitrary purity rules aren't all that random either - many of them actually ensure a higher standard of hygiene than what other cultures around them have. This, and restrictions about marrying within one's own clan to avoid inbreeding, ensure healthier children. They aren't fucking and getting pregnant more than any other peoples, they have more children because of lower infant mortality.

The Travellers are also "outsiders" living in diaspora, who are - as their name implies - itinerant and never stay in one place for long. Not by choice, though many of them will say they'd rather live this way than to ever settle down, but because almost all towns and cities have discriminatory laws explicitly prohibiting Travellers in particular from staying in the city for too long, or limiting how many of them can be allowed within the city walls at the same time. They don't call themselves Travellers, but refuse to tell outsiders what their own language's name is for their own people, out of fear that the name would be appropriated and turned into a slur. Secrecy is the only privacy that they are allowed to have.

An unusually large number of Travellers also have unusual physical traits, dysmorphic structural features, and congenital disabilities. This is used as xenophobic cannon fodder by citizens of the Empire, treated as proof that the Travellers are so morally crooked that it even deforms their bodies. This, of course, is bullshit. In truth, Travellers do not have any more disabled or deformed babies than anyone else - what they do have is a strong culture of NEVER abandoning one of their own. No matter what. So while people of the Empire associate health and beauty with moral goodness, and consider having "imperfect" babies shameful, Travellers simply don't practice the common peoples' common habit of abandoning or discreetly 'disposing' of children who aren't likely to survive into adulthood, or who will need support their entire lives. "What can be done to one of us, they will do to all of us" is how they live, so nobody gets left behind.

On the opposite end of society there are the Baronesses, the Empire's all-female army of trained magic-wielders. A military class, whose inherent magical powers do not even manifest in every child or even every generation, but when it does, it's always on girls. Daughters are trained for combat, they are the ones to carry on the family name. Since a woman does not need to be married in order to be sure that all her children are hers, sons are not particularly valued even as political tokens for arranged marriages. It is considered common knowledge that there's something in "wielder blood" that makes the male carriers of it weak just as it makes the female ones strong, and that is considered the reason why the male members of wielder families tend to be so dysfunctional, emotionally frail, rampant with substance abuse and more likely to die in the womb or in early infancy.

It is politely never questioned how downright convenient it is that it just happens to be the less wanted sex who are far, far more likely to simply perish away for no apparent reason, especially when it comes to the most harsh, highest-ranking, and most competitive wielder families.

Far across the great ocean, on the opposite corner of the map of the world that the Empire knows of, are the Northlands. Almost mythical mystical lands, that are the source of the various types of thick white pelts and some other exotic goods, commonly supposed to be populated by completely wild, savage people. Northmen are all lumped together, as most people of the Empire would find it hard to believe that the Northmen have even one civilised culture, not to speak of consisting of several cultures and creeds with their own languages and customs. The only few Northmen that the Empire has seen have been foreign sailors in port towns, or perhaps someone's unit of rare exotic bodyguards, undoubtedly a weird flex.

Northmen are considered feral, and the "civilised" ones a strange exception to a supposed rule. It is said that they are exclusively carnivores, eating only meat like tigers and drinking only alcohol. That they are nocturnal, with eyes like cats and wolves that gleam in the dark, and that sunlight hurts them. The sun never rises in their lands, so naturally the people are as pale as cave olms, just like the pelts of their animals are all white. And just like cats and wolves, their infants are all born with blind blue eyes, which either stay blue or turn yellow once they grow.

This, too, is a mishmash of myth and half-truth. Northfolk who venture this far south are more likely to eat meat than any fruit or vegetable they are offered, since they are more familiar with what goat or chicken taste like than any fruit of this strange climate. Northland alcohols are generally bitter ales and dry wines, and the sweet liquors and strong wines of Southlands are a treasured luxury for the ones who are familiar with them, and a very fast way to get shitfaced if one isn't. They aren't nocturnal at home, but having no other protection from the relentless sun, they do prefer to move at dusk to avoid getting sunburn. And The Long Night only lasts a few weeks or months, but that's difficult to explain to people whose common language doesn't have words for "snow" or "winter."

There are no Nothfolk with yellow eyes, but blue eyes are very common, and to Southland people to whom both eye colours are unnatural and associated exclusively with beasts and carnivores, they rarely notice that they've never seen a yellow-eyed one. And being born with blue eyes like wolf pups and kittens isn't a myth, that really is a thing that happens to white people.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi, an another prompt, because I love your writing. I understand it takes time to fill.

Prompt for stronger ties: Magus and Alec enjoying their honeymoon and maybe meeting Ragnor and Cat. Or The Institute, and Alec’s family panicking over his disappearance.

SFW/ NSFW

thank you for the understanding <3 and I appreciate the prompts! last part here

this was supposed to involve Cat and Ragnor but Malec are having too good a time on their honeymoon currently and Alec has decided that since Izzy and Jace are at least safe, they can handle the fallout along with all the people who have more authority than him (aka Lydia/Imogen/maryse etc).

Alec's tired, okay? Nothing has been going his way AT ALL, his whole family got implicated in treason (again) and then actually committed several flavors of treason and also implicated Alec. so Alec is tired. maybe he'd be less 'fuck them' if he'd been there to see Jace and Clary 'heroically try to save the day' except they didn't save the day and he knows that.

Suddenly one thing goes his way. he saves his sister. he might lose the institute but that's better than losing himself to a marriage that isn't doing anything to help his family when push comes to shove. Alec has a marriage now that actually gave him something worthwhile (Izzy not being deruned when Lydia couldn't do anything)

alec's like: this one thing? this is mine now. goodbye and ty for coming to my talk.

i hope you enjoy <3

-lumine

the stronger of claims

Alec wakes to silk sheets as soft and luxurious as he’s imagined Magnus’ many shirts are. Golden light dapples across his body and he groans, despite his muscles being fine he feels as if he’s been thrown through several layers of concrete by a demon.

The bed smells like Magnus.

That’s the only thing keeping him calm and then there’s a deep chuckle against his back and Alec realizes there’s an arm around his waist and cool rings pressed against the skin of his belly.

“We go' marri'd.” Alec means to be articulate but it comes out in a hoarse slurry of words and Magnus laughs again, louder this time.  His warm muscles shake Alec’s body with his humor and Alec presses back into his warmth greedily.

Whatever it is that has Alec unable to think straight, being closer to Magnus helps.

“We aren’t married darling, we’re bonded. Which is something far more permanent than marriage. In fact, even by Clave standards a bond like ours is higher than marriage. So give your pretty head a break, your attachment to Lydia is no longer viable.”

The small pulse of sadness that went through Alec at the thought that they aren’t actually married is swept away by relief at Magnus’ words.

“Good.”

That’s about all he’s able to say really and if he had more energy, Alec would turn so he can burrow his nose into Magnus’ chest.  Instead he just wiggles back, content when Magnus chin slots against his shoulder, stubble tickling Alec’s skin.

“Izzy?”

Magnus wouldn’t be here, calm and with the magic between them settled if she weren't okay but still, Alec has to ask.

—-

“Safe and sound though demoted for the next year and with a few other restrictions, shadowhunter business. Once I knew she was safe I didn’t pay quite as much attention I fear.”

A lie, but Alexander is too tired to listen beyond the relief of knowing his little sister is safe.

Alexander falls back asleep before Magnus can ask him anything important and while he’s already moved the loft, that doesn’t mean Magnus needs to be obvious about where they are and staying in Brooklyn is obvious.

Within half an hour Magnus is booked at one of the most private and luxurious selkie run resorts and is portaling both himself and Alexander to one of their private bungalows. The one half of a wardstone he’s been given is the only reason the coordinates even work, or they’d have to take a boat. 

After all, they can be tracked on land but on the water, they’ll be untraceable.

Instead it’s out on the ocean, magical stilts holding up water worn wood and crystal and ocean mined rock that create a paradise of beauty without interruption.  

Mundanes can’t sail through this area, it doesn’t exist to them and the wind wards will redirect their boats and bodies, no matter what.

It also means they’ll be completely impossible to track, which will be necessary once Alexander’s family remembers he exists and is missing.

Honestly, the fact that over twenty-four hours have passed since Alexander first came to him and yet Magnus has yet to receive so much as a text or fire message.  That kind of behavior says more than enough about his boy’s family.

They’ll need to make a stop at the Labyrinth after their honeymoon. Alexander’s new status will need to be documented and recorded and the vows he’ll need to swear as Magnus’ consort will need to happen as soon as possible.

But still, after this.

Alexander wakes to sunshine, cradled by both Magnus arms and the hammock he magicked them both into.  

There’s awe on his face as he looks around and almost knocks them both out of the hammock and into the water with a laugh as he sits up.

“Keep it up and I’ll let you fall in the water.” Magnus threatens and Alexander just grins cheekily at him, as if the pain of the new bond has finally faded and then his boy tips himself out of the hammock.

Magnus curses.

Not from the seawater splashing him, but from the fact that Alexander doesn’t immediately surface.  There’s a moment where concern and terror grip him, and then Alexander is surfacing further away, a look of delight on his face and he’s holding... Magnus deliberately drops his glamour to get a better look.

“Why are you holding a fish, Alexander?”

Alexander grins at him, hair slick and half in his eyes as he treads water.

“To eat? It seems pretty isolated out here. Aren’t you hungry?” While Magnus could eat again — he’s made sure to eat while Alexander slept — it’s not surprising that his boy is ravenous. What is surprising is that he caught a fish rather than just asking for something.

“Yes darling, but that’s what I have magic for.” 

Alexander looks dubious as he swims closer, somehow holding onto the slick fish with only one hand before pulling himself and the fish up onto the dock where he drops it pointedly in an empty bucket. Magnus resigns himself to losing this argument even before it's begun.

“But fresh fish tastes the best.” Alexander has his arms crossed and is pointedly staring Magnus down as Magnus tries to avoid looking at both Alexander and the suffocating fish he can hear flailing around the bucket .

“I can summon us the freshest of—” Alexander’s eyes darken with sadness and Magnus sighs and deliberately doesn’t pinch his nose. “Do you know how to dress and cook fresh fish?”

Alexander does it seems.  

He’s a little unsure and lacking in confidence once they get into the kitchen but it seems he knows how to clean and dress a fish.  Magnus even summons an apron for him, some dark purple piece he’d once gotten for Cat and Alexander just asks Magnus to help him tie it.

The real hiccup starts when Alexander summons a small blade to his palm, the knife glowing and bright as it unfurls.

“If I use an adamas blade to clean the fish, will you be allergic?” 

It’s such an absurd thing to consider but also an absurdly thoughtful check-in and Magnus has to kiss Alexander. Ignoring both the still wriggling fish and the small glowing blade his consort is holding. Magnus is also trying not to mention how there is an entire knife-block and drawer full of sharpened knives already in the kitchen that Alexander could use instead.

“I’ll be fine darling. Also I’m summoning bread and side dishes. We are not eating just fish, Alexander. There is a limit to my tolerance.”

There’s a huff of protest but when Magnus looks at him, Alexander is grinning down at the fish he’s cleaning, eyes soft and cheeks vibrant with delight.

It’s a look Magnus has never seen on Alexander before and while that shouldn’t be too much of a surprise — they barely know each other all things considered, it means something. Magnus doubts that this is a normal or frequent expression on Alexander's face and yet something as simple as this, teasingly arguing about dinner is enough to bring it out.

They eat on the dock.

So far Alexander hasn’t asked a single question about why Magnus portaled them somewhere else and seems to be ignoring everything else beyond enjoying himself.

Magnus summons a thick blanket and they sit in nothing but boxers with their feet in the water as they eat.  The fish is delicious. Flaky and succulent and with plenty of lemon and from Alexander’s smug face, he knows exactly how good it is.

However, Alexander’s face when he bites into the bread Magnus summoned is just as delighted and before Magnus can tease him, Alexander’s already recanted his previous statement.

“So from now on, I’ll fish and you summon everything else?” Alexander asks, almost eager as he eyes the now empty basket of bread and Magnus summons another, just because he can.

And of course for the way Alexander smiles at him, crumbs catching on his growing stubble until Magnus wipes them away.

“I’d rather not eat fish every meal, Alexander. The selkies running this place might consider your efforts an effective show and try to woo you away from me.”

Alexander scoffs at the thought and Magnus laughs, because while he’s not completely joking he also simply has no wish to eat seafood for every single meal.

Besides, he plans to keep them there for at least five days. That might be a bit long considering whatever crisis the shadowworld is currently going through, however Magnus kicked up a bit of a hornets nest for the Clave.

It will be days before Imogen Herondale thinks of anything besides her newly ground grandson, something Magnus will still need to explain to Alexander at some point.

AN:

Alec: i'm with Magnus and we're on water so we can't be tracked. I know nothing. i'm living my best life... oh fish. Magnus might like fish too.

Magnus: ... look I understand that fresh fish is best but that doesn't mean I want Alexander fishing with his bare hands when his hands could instead be on me?? is this hard to understand? I can summon fish still alive so they're the freshest of fresh but I want my consort's hands all to myself. this is not complicated.

Alec *wakes up in paradise aka Magnus' arms and in a really nice place*: so this is new- nice. I meant nice. this is totally normal and where I went to sleep. carry on.

Magnus: ... you don't want to know where we are? or how long we'll be here? or even why we are here?"

Alec: if I ask questions then you'll give me answers and right now, I just want to exist with you. reality doesn't exist outside us right now. that's my stance.

Alec: I don't have to marry lydia? I don't have to wear her rune? or kiss her? or make medically induced babies I don't want with her? I am on vacation and I don't care if the institute explodes or implodes or whatever. it goes to hell whether i'm there or not and literally everything is above my pay grade right now. that's what my mother, Lydia and imogen exist for. they can deal with it.

Magnus: darling, don't you need to return to the Institute at some point? i'm not complaining, you just haven't mentioned it once

Alec who is sharpening a wooden spear to use for fishing looking up, eyes glinting violently: what institute, Magnus?

Magnus: your... ah. well I suppose it's not really your institute anymore, is it?

Alec: no. no it isn't. therefore, are the problems mine?

Magnus wisely shaking his head: no darling, of course not.

Alec: when they want me back, they can contact me. I currently don't hold an active rank in the Institute. I'm technically just an off-duty Commander sometimes pulled onto teams. and while Lydia's been relying on me to run things behind the scenes, she can just do them herself or delegate. this is our honeymoon, isn't it? why are you trying to cut it short?

Magnus: you're completely right. forget the institute. I shan't bring it up again, now darling did you say you saw oysters?

*honestly i'm still not sure what path Alec's going to take in this verse. he's kind of at the point where he's not sure either

[writing-cins]

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐬. 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

(Alastor x f!reader drabble)

Masterpost | Part One | Part Two | Part Three (by @frostedclock-writes) | Part Five | Masterlist | AO3

Due to my ongoing interactions with @frostedclock-writes, we've decided to transform this fun little series into a collaborative project. Some drabbles will be written by me, while others will be created by her. Each drabble builds on the others but can also be read independently. However, we suggest reading all of them to better understand references to previous events. CW: acid rain bruises

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

   Your arm is linked with Alastor’s as you both stroll through Pentagram City. In his eyes, you’re on the right side of the street, safely away from the cars and any potential danger – because why should you be able to protect yourself from cars? You roll your eyes, recalling your latest argument. You’ve chosen to tolerate his insistence for the sake of your friendship – not because you gave in to his unbearable persistence.

   The sky is shrouded in thick clouds, completely obscuring the red sky and giving the afternoon a dusk-like appearance. As always, you and Alastor find yourselves wrapped up in a pleasant conversation, momentarily forgetting the ongoing competition for the title of ‘most chivalrous friend’ – or whatever that peculiar dynamic between you and him is.

   Suddenly, a growl echoes in the distance, and a surprisingly chilly wind for Hell’s standards announces an impending downpour. You let out a sigh and tilt your head back to glance at the heavy clouds, bracing yourself for yet another discussion as you pull the umbrella from your purse. You don’t even open it yet, but you can already feel Alastor’s glare – somewhere between curiosity about your next move and a disapproving anticipation, as if he already knows what you’re about to do. Ignoring him, you reach to open the umbrella and casually hold it over both of you as you continue your walk. The rain hasn’t started pouring yet, but you’d rather shield yourself before the first drops of acid burn your scalp.

   “My dear,” Alastor interrupts the silence, “I’d be more than happy to hold the umbrella for you.”

   You turn your head to look at him. “Thanks, Alastor, but you don’t need to,” you reply casually, brushing aside the quick flash of offense in his gaze as it vanishes just as fast. He raises an eyebrow, and a deep sigh escapes his lips.

   “Oh, darling, wouldn’t it be more reasonable for me to take it? I’m the taller one, after all,” he explains, though you suspect there’s more behind his intention than just the fact that you’re a whole foot shorter than him.

   You laugh. “Don’t worry, I can do it, see?” You raise your arm a little higher than necessary to prove your point, though the posture is as uncomfortable as it looks. Still, you brush it off with a smile, feigning nonchalance.

   Alastor raises an eyebrow, one of his ears twitching in irritation, but it’s so subtle you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t completely focused on him. “Please, just let me hold the umbrella.”

   “Why?” you retort, taking a deep breath. “Is it about courtesy again?”

   “It’s inappropriate for a man not to hold the umbrella when walking beside a woman,” he explains, his expression unwavering. Even though his voice carries a hint of irritation, it still drips with arrogance and his typical charm. 

   So, it really is about Courtesy again. Of course… you think, biting your lip to withhold a snarky comment. Then, suddenly, Alastor stops walking, and you follow suit.

   You groan, turning to face him, annoyance palpable in your expression. “Come on, Alastor. It’s not that deep.”

   “It is,” he quickly retorts, and you could swear he lifts his chin just a little higher, trying to look even more stoic.

   You take a deep breath, savoring the smell of the impending rain, and glance at him for a brief moment. “Alastor,” you say firmly, “I’m not handing you this umbrella.”

   His grin widens. “Well, in that case, I’ll just walk a few feet away so no one thinks I’m the kind of man who lets a lady carry the umbrella for me.” He steps aside, putting at least twelve feet between you.

   You blink, irritated by his pettiness. “Are you serious right now?”

   “I am,” he says, his tone unwavering.

   You blink again, starting to wonder if you're dealing with the Radio Demon or an immature child. “You're impossible, you know that?”

   “I’m well aware,” he replies, “but I’d rather let my skin burn than be seen as impolite in public.”

   A heavy silence hangs between you until you shrug. “Okay.” You turn to continue your walk just as the first drops of rain hit the umbrella with a soft, warning plop. Glancing back at Alastor, you’re curious if he’ll actually stick to his stubborn resolve. Steam starts to rise from his head as the acid rain makes contact with his hair, but he remains in place, not moving an inch, but his grin strained, and the subtle twitch of his eye betrays him. Despite his best efforts to appear unfazed, you can see the discomfort starting to seep through his facade. It’s obvious it hurts, not only testing his pain tolerance but also marring his appearance.

   You watch him in silence, concerned but saying nothing, waiting for him to give in like a mother silently making a point with her stubborn child.

   A minute passes with no words exchanged, the acid drops already burning tiny holes in his suit.

   Another minute passes, and the twitch of Alastor’s eye intensifies. His chest heaves as he battles the growing discomfort and the sting of the acid rain burning his skin. At last, he takes a deep breath, his resolve wavering, and finally, he breaks the silence, “Fine. But don’t think for a second you have the upper hand.”

   “I wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You lift the umbrella higher, making room for Alastor to step under it. Your eyes scan him from head to toe—his skin is slightly red and irritated, and his once-pristine coat is now riddled with tiny holes. But instead of mentioning it, you keep quiet, simply linking your arm with his as you both continue walking. It’s clear, however, that Alastor is anything but relaxed.

•~•~•

   “My dear, could you please keep the umbrella up?” Alastor breaks the silence. You’ve been walking side by side for a few minutes, both lost in thought as the rain pours around you, drenching the streets with its dangerous moisture. Your arm has started to weaken; the uncomfortable posture strains your muscles as you force yourself to hold the umbrella high enough to shield Alastor’s much taller form. Unsuccessfully, it seems, since you’ve been repeatedly poking his head with the spokes, tangling them in his hair, or scratching the side of his face.

   “Huh?” you retort, pulled from your thoughts. You glance at Alastor, noticing a pointy tip dangerously close to his face. “Oh, I’m sorry.” You raise your arm higher again, the burn in your muscles intensifying.

   “You know, you could just hand me the umbrella. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about gouging out my eyes,” he suggests, already reaching out his hand to take the umbrella from your grasp, but you snatch it away.

   “I am not handing you the umbrella, Alastor,” you repeat stubbornly, glaring up at him from the corner of your eye before returning your gaze to the sidewalk.

   “Why can’t you just accept my courtesy? You’re clearly struggling to keep your arm up,” he points out.

   “I’m not.”

   “Yes, you are.” He stops again, interrupting your walk for a second time. His arm slips from yours as he turns to face you completely, your chest almost brushing against his. You have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

   “Darling, I can see it in your eyes that it hurts. Please, just hand me the umbrella, and you won’t have to struggle any longer.” He looks at you with genuine concern in his eyes, the grin on his face replaced by a soft, caring smile.

   Your heart skips a beat at the way he’s looking at you, all warmth and sincerity. For a brief moment, you consider accepting his offer, handing him the umbrella and pausing your competition with a temporary truce. But your mouth is quicker than your brain, and you respond with the same stubbornness as before, “No.”

   Alastor lets out a deep sigh, his ears falling flat against his head for a quick moment before they perk up again and the both of you resume the walk.

   He stops in his tracks once more, turning to you with a bemused expression. “Some might think you’re doing this on purpose.”

   “I’m not,” you reply defensively, the irritation creeping into your voice.

   “Then why do you keep poking me, despite insisting you’re not affected by holding your arm up this high?” His eyebrow raises in challenge, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

   “Because I’m not!” you insist, even as the words leave your lips, the irony of your situation dawning on you. You struggle to maintain your composure, torn between stubbornness and the growing discomfort of your arm.

   “And I’m the stubborn one here?” Alastor quips, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

   You don’t respond. Instead, you let out a frustrated huff, adjusting your grip on the umbrella. “Come on now, Alastor. We need to return to the hotel.”

   Just as you say this, the umbrella jabs him again, the spokes poking into his eyebrow, barely missing his eye. In an instant, he dissolves into shadow, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the street. The rain keeps pouring around you, and the umbrella feels empty now – a hollow shield against the weather that only amplifies your sudden loneliness.

   You growl in frustration, muttering under your breath, “For fuck’s sake…”

[mono-dot-jpeg]

bad decisions - i. sae, b. meguru & m. reo

summary; let's make some bad decisions.

genre/extra tags; rambling post?/scenarios???, fluff but not really, diet fluff, and diet angst, late night thoughts combined with day light thoughts, might be ooc

a/n; im gonna go out on a limb here and say you dont want yandere obsessive tendencies in the relationship (i dont write yandere bc i hate that trope and i dont understand the appeal). i only did three bc this was all i can think of, im so sorry- hope you enjoy this either way. thank you for requesting and for your patience.

i think we all saw this coming when i say, sae probably gotta have some odd habits and thoughts when it comes to being a relationship. he's precise and serious in his soccer, and that bleeds into his relationships. it has nothing to you, no, not when he's so used to seeing into every detail and every possibility. he keeps trying to predict what you will do, and then you surprise him when it's not what he expected. most of the time, this happens when you're just doing something without much thought. he gets kind of weird about it though, he just blue-screens and had to take a moment before asking what is wrong with you because you didn't do the thing he expected. you have to tell him that this is just how you are, and he refuses to be outsmarted by his partner when he's usually the one with the brain cell between you two.

he feels the need to check on you a lot because he doesn't express it outright. he observes you like he's in a game match. it's cute at first but then you realize, "oh god he's really paying attention a little too well..."

he hates if you ever even try to interact with rin. he is one jealous little shit. if he's in a good mood [which is hard to tell with him], you have like a higher chance of talking to rin. but most days, he's keeping you away from him.

bachira is unpredictable and he's crazy. he loves you a lot. and i mean a lot. he's extremely clingy towards things he cherishes and that probably stems from the lack of friends he had back then and he's just scared to lose you. but sometimes he really impedes on the day-to-day routine. he needs reassurance when you're gone. he texts you a lot. very standard clingy person.

he feels the need to be a guard dog. he's possessive but not in the way sae would be with his jealously. no, bachira is possessive but he's confident that he will keep you protected from others. but also he loves to wreak havoc so he likes being loud about being clingy and protective. it can get overwhelming.

i'm gonna be real, this one is short because bachira's traits could probably be pretty amplified in a relationship and honestly, i would go as far as to think that most of his traits would just be either better or worse in a relationship.

overbearing. that should be enough to explain it.

he's got a weird complex with him. at least that is what i think. he really stuck with nagi a lot, and i think he would do the same in a romantic relationship. he's gotten too used to coddling nagi and he does the same to you. he spoils you. and it's great at first, but it can be a lot at once. and honestly i think he feels the need to compensate for something. what is the thing he's compensating for? i don't know, but he gives me those "compensating for something with money" vibes.

i think it's safe to say that all the boys have a pride to uphold and reo is no different. he hates being inactive. he wants to help you all the time. and i mean all the time. he wants to be useful but he goes at it terribly. he wants to be relied on.

is it crazy to say that i think reo is the worst out of the three here? probably but whatever.

[purplesannnieee]

Hi! Mine if I request? Can you do Reader who lost a bet and had to dress up as a dog? She has a cute and but flimsy maid outfit with the doggy ears and tail. I want this to be NSFW if you can, or you can make it where Jin likes it and he ends up demanding her to do a bunch of chores in his room. I choose a dog maid for her because dogs are known to be loyal and listens easily to their masters/owners.

Good luck with college though! I’m sure you’ll do great ❤️

Wolf Girl and Black Prince

18+, DO NOT INTERACT MINORS

A/n: yk what's crazy? the fact that someone I'm friends with literally is doing art of Jin with a dog leash, so I'm so on board with writing this 😭 (ALSO THANK YOU, I'LL BE NEEDING IT :D), also, if ya'll get the title reference, ifykyk ;), as it turns out, I think I just struggle with writing smut (considering that this is my first time writing one), 2.3k words, I gave up on why tumblr is formatting the images weird

summary: who the fuck told you this was going to be a good idea? it didn't help the fact that jin called you a servant. and yet, you had way too much confidence into making a bet with him, where if he didn't had to intervene in the next mission, he would no longer call you a servant. unfortunately, you lost, leading you to being a dog maid, while the tension between you and jin has rather...increased higher than usual warnings: this isn't in order, despite of the title, I promise you this isn't toxic (aka no angst!!), erm, a bit of bdsm? jin's a kinky mfer, i'm not going to make jin command reader to bark lol (it's funny tho), that mf's the type to do orgasm deny, and then fucking make you cum multiple times, creampie (please make sure to wrap it and use contraception :D, safe sex ya'll), idk why, he seems like the spanking type, that shithead degrades you, he'll call you names like, "my queen" (how romantic while you get fucked), aftercare king, I feel like this is going to be a bit messy, OH, mf's definitely a pussy sucker, mf's so fucking rough, oh yeah, that mf has a dick piercing too (it's canon), jin asks reader to light his cigarette in a rather intimate way (ifykyk), reverse prince albert(?) and standard ampallang(?), your writer was in fact sleepy asf when she asked this to her friend when asking what type of piercings Jin has 😭, I'm gonna be silly and let's just say Jin's revoking reader's v card, ig in this vers, reader's mc, but with ✨personality✨, SIZE KINK

Stupid fucking Jin. If you weren't walking around eggshells by now, you sure fucking failed at it. The two of you had recently made a bet, that if you were to succeed in your current mission without any intervention from him, then he would no longer call you a servant. Compared to if he did intervene, he would win, and you would have to do whatever he asked for a week without the intervention of Tohma. God, you were way too naive, as you were close to finishing, before fucking Jin intervened. While you did catch the anomaly…, that motherfucker gave you a smirk for only you to see, before walking away. What made it worse was that Tohma wouldn't be able to help you at all; so really, you were screwed.

Before you knew it, you were at your room for a moment, before hearing it rang. Picking it up, you groaned at the name, realizing that Jin was calling you. Not wanting to make a fuss about it, you sighed, before answering. "Good, you answered," he said, as you swore you could see him smirking, even despite not being in the same room. "In five minutes, meet me in my room, and make sure to knock five times," he added, before hanging up. You moved your phone away, baffled, before flopping onto your pillow, screaming into it. What the genuine fuck? You sighed, as you frowned, before walking out of your room and going to Jin's room. Arriving there, you knocked on the door five times, before hearing him say "Come in."

"You're fucking early," he gruffed from the same fucking couch he normally laid on. You could smell the hint of that rich classy ass cigarette he smoked on a basis. "Well, might as well get this over," you said, looking at his figure. You watched his arm move, and before you knew it, you could see him throw something at you, gasping, as you had to move forward to grab it. Looking at it, you noticed that it was a box, perhaps with something in there. "You have a minute to change into it," Jin said, as your eye twitched, being more annoyed. "You've got to be--," "Bianerus." Seriously? What the fuck Jin? "Change, now."

Almost immediately, your body reacted, as you started to take off your uniform. You frowned, as you would've preferred having your uniform on. Regardless, after leaving you to just your garments, you opened the box, only to turn red. It was…a fucking maid outfit? And dog ears too? Normally, you would've yelled at Jin, however, because he had to use his stigma, instead-- you changed into the rather flimsy maid uniform, along with putting the dog ear headband on. This almost reminded you of that anonymous dress you were sent (though you were sure it was Jin who sent it). The measurements were too accurate, granted, the uniform was a bit tighter around your curves.

"Wake me up when the paperwork's been organized," Jin said (practically ordered) before returning to sleep. You couldn't help but want to curse him out. However, instead, you looked towards the amount of paperwork, as you frowned, before sighing. You truly were going to regret this. What made it worse was that you probably wouldn't get any new missions, so this was a bad situation for you. You couldn't help but groan, as you started organizing the papers. You truly wondered how Tohma managed to deal with him sometimes. And yet, regardless, you continued.

Well, despite being mostly done with it. You were tired, way more than you would've preferred. "Fuck me," you muttered to yourself, at this point, annoyed. And well, despite how pissed off you were in the situation you were currently dealing with, part of you did care about Jin. Even with whatever potential weird fetish of his, sure, you might've complained a few times, but you were willing for him. Just him only. Unfortunately for you, while you were in deep thinking, you hadn't noticed Jin wake up and walk behind you, before hugging you.

"Jin!?" You became surprised, as you could feel his body being…surprisingly a bit warm compared to the dorms. However, that didn't help the fact that your face became flustered. Slowly, you could feel his hand tangle with your hand. While you weren't sure of what to make of this, this was rather--

"Bianerus." Jin used his stigma, as your body jolted against his. What did he want now? "Do you really want me to fuck you?" He whispered in your ear, his mouth close to yours. You couldn't help but shiver, your pussy clenching against nothing, before you said it. "Yes." Okay yeah no, you really were fucked. The two of you stood for a few minutes before you could feel him suddenly pick you up, as you were now carried again. Just like the last mission, he was holding you like his bride out of all things.

"W-Wait!" You yelled, flustered, and before you knew it, you were placed on the bed, before hearing another command of his. "On your knees," he said, without using his stigma. And yet, you still listened to him, getting on your knees and elbows, before he hummed. You could hear his steps farther away from you, as he seemed to grab something. Before long, you gasped, as you were immediately flipped onto your back, as Jin tied your wrists with one of your ties. You couldn't help but stay quiet, unsure what he would do now. You watched Jin disappear for a moment, before feeling your legs split apart. "What are you doing--," "Shut up," Jin said, as before you knew it, you gasped, as you could feel something warm and wet on your underwear. Before you could say anything, you let out a moan, as you could feel Jin sucking through your underwear, as his hands gripped your thighs tightly.

You tried to close your legs, as a mix of embarrassment and pleasure rose. However, Jin was firm with you keeping them open. "Don't you dare," he muttered between his laps, as you could feel your pussy clenching over nothing. "Jin….! You fucker…!" You whined, your hands writhed against the tie. He stopped momentarily, only to look up at you, smirking. "That's what I intend on doing," he teased, before moving your underwear onto the side. "I'm going to make you fucking beg me to fuck you until you cry," he said, before letting out a chuckle, noticing how you were reacting. "Such a pretty cunt…" Jin mumbled to himself, as he gave it a kiss, before lapping it. You couldn't help but moan, as you wanted to move, yet you knew if you did, he would probably command you to stop doing so.

You were too embarrassed to moan, the pleasure that coursed your body was too much. Your legs still trembled regardless, as you bit down your lip, though not enough to leave any blood. And yet, Jin stopped momentarily, as he moved up, holding your hand with his. "My room's fuckin' soundproof, so stop holding those pretty moans of yours back. Be loud as you can, my queen," he said, before looking at the uniform (that he totally forgot he told you to put on), his hands instantly ripping it. "I'll make sure to find a tailor later...," he muttered, though too quiet for you to catch what he said.

You couldn't help but cry out in pleasure as Jin ended up going back to sucking on your pussy. "Fuck fuck fuck— please...!" You let out a whine, throwing your head back against the pillow (funny enough, your headband fell off), as you desperately moved your body closer to his face. And yet, Jin suddenly stopped when you were getting close to your high, as you panted. "Why the fuck did you—," "Now I have to punish you," Jin let out a tsk, as he pulled your body toward his, while he sat up. To your realization, he placed you on his lap, your ass out. Goddamnit.

"Count," he said, and before you knew it, you gasped, as he slapped your ass. "One," you muttered, before receiving another. "Louder," he muttered, slapping it again before he gave you another chance. "Fuck—ONE!" You yelled as Jin smoothed over your lower cheeks, before slapping it again. "TWO!" You screamed as he continued until he reached ten. By then, your ass was red, your eyes tearing up, and yet, you enjoyed it? "So fuckin' wet..., are you into being spanked?" Jin teased, as two of his fingers spread your folds, as you were too stimulated to try and close your legs. "Jin...," you whined, as he hummed. "Wanna get fucked, please...!" That was probably the last thing you consciously remembered before you overdid yourself.

Next thing you knew, your back was back on the bed, as your binded wrists were above your head. You watched as Jin pulled his necktie off, stripping the rest of whatever clothes he had on the top off. His hands trailed down to the edge of his pants, unzipping them, as you noticed how hard he already was from his boxers. You could feel yourself clenching again, as he smirked at you. "Seems like my dear queen can't take her eyes off me," he teased, his hands slowly taking off his boxers, his cock sprung to his stomach. The only thought to yourself was, 'Oh my God, that's a big fucking dick with piercings!'

Of course, you were too focused on Jin's cock to notice your legs being moved onto his shoulders, only for the sudden surge of embarrassment to rise. "Wait! Please...be gentle?" You asked, though while you weren't planning on telling him, he would become your first. Jin looked at you for a moment, before he started rubbing the tip of his cock against your folds. "Only because you asked," he agreed, as the both of you could hear the lewd sounds your wet folds and his tip were making. "As long as you keep your eyes on me," he said, as he didn't give you a chance to respond, slowly thrusting his cock in, splitting you whole.

Your body tensed, trying to comprehend the fact that you were being penetrated right now. While you didn't feel much pain, you felt rather...stuffed. "Ya, tryin' to keep me inside of you forever...?" Jin groaned as he could feel your gummy walls clinging to his cock. "It's...not my fuckin' fault you're so big!" You whined, your hands desperate to at least hold on to something. You could feel how warm his hands were, as they caressed your body, before undoing the tie, your hands being free. Your hands immediately grasped his, as they intertwined. Thankfully, despite Jin struggling, he was patiently waiting for you. It took a few minutes, as while you hadn't noticed, he was only partially inside of you, and while he did want to ruin you; Jin would never forgive himself if you ever got hurt.

A few minutes passed by, as you slowly adjusted to his size. Jin did his best to stay still for your own sake, only to let out a groan, feeling yourself moving slowly. "Jin~!" You let out a whine, as his gaze softened. "Kiss me, please?" Without a second to waste, his lips immediately pressed against yours, as he gently bit your lip, asking your permission. You let your mouth open, granting him access to it, his tongue exploring yours. You could still taste a hint of your own juices, as you let out a moan. The way he was kissing you was surprisingly sweet, and definitely hungry (not like he wasn't sucking your pussy like a starved man just a few minutes ago).

Slowly, Jin started to thrust into you, experimenting with where your sweet spots were. Granted, the position you were in definitely helped him. Your moans sounded so sweet to him, he almost wanted to keep you like this for a while. But for now? He would make you a pretty mess— all for him. "Fuck! Jin…please…!" How your wanton moans sounded like music, and Jin would be the only one who would be able to listen to such beautiful sounds. It felt better, as you were feeling so good, and he knew you were feeling perhaps more pleasure than he was having now.

"Fuck it," Jin muttered to himself, as you were too dumbed to understand what he said. All you knew was that he slowly pulled out until the only thing that was in was the tip, before thrusting sharply. You let out a gasp, as Jin soon enough started to thrust at a fastened pace, your walls clenching from the sudden movement, and your hand's grip tightened around his hands. Before you knew it, you could feel a knot forming, as you broke the kiss, panting. "Fuck fuck fuck— I feel something weird…!" You whined as Jin chuckled. "Go on, cum my pretty slut," he groaned, as before you knew it, you felt yourself climaxing, your body trembling from orgasming.

The thing was? Jin quite wasn't done. "Don't hold it back, my queen," he said, slowing down a bit to let you recover before fastening his pace again. You let out a mix of moans and whines, as Jin's cock began hitting your cervix; which led to you orgasming more. Before you knew it, Jin's pace became irrational, as he was trying to thrust as possible as he could. "Fuck— gonna cum in ya and let you have my kids," he groaned, as you teared up from how overstimulated you were. It didn't take long before you came one last time, as Jin filled you up; you felt so warm and full, as Jin let go of your legs, before hugging you. "I love you," he muttered, as you simply hummed in response, before kissing him back. "Love ya too," you muttered, before poking him. "I'm never going to wear whatever the fuck that was that you told me to put on though." After that, Jin did not accept any advice about you from Tohma.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

The anon who's about to become glitter again. I appreciate your response it makes me feel so much more sane. The character I've latched on to is, for some reason, the SOUL itself- not as a self-insert, and only sometimes as a representation of the player.

I feel like there's so much potential to be explored there. Their relationships with the other characters, Susie and Noelle especially. Are those their friends? Kris's? How would they react to finding out the person they've been talking to for the last week wasn't actually Kris?

How does them being some kind of higher power (an in-universe god or the player, generally) affect the moral implications of their actions? Playing a violent route in a video game doesn't make you, the player, a bad person, and no matter how strongly you empathize with the characters they're still not real, their emotions still aren't of equal weight to our own. And isn't it the same for a deity? It's one thing to acknowledge the impact their actions have on you, and it's more than reasonable to resent them, but can you really hold something that exists so far above you to your own moral standards?

And of course there's the aspect of choice. I feel like the fandom consensus, whether it's conscious or not, is that in spite of the entire beginning sequence where their personhood is literally thrown away, the SOUL is somehow choosing to be in control of Kris, whether because they want to inflict pain (Weird Route, usually,) or just because they want to be part of the world and they don't care how they do it.

But I don't think that's true, even if you take the SOUL=Player concept to the extreme. Sure, we can just close the game and stop controlling Kris. But that's not. Really a choice. That doesn't free Kris. The game doesn't care if you play it or not- the story stops where you do with no in-universe acknowledgement. You have to keep playing.

And Chapter 4. Just.... all of it. The back-and-forth. The resentment from both parties for their situation. The introduction of a common enemy in the strange person on the phone who's probably definitely Carol Holiday. Kris literally being referred to as the 'cage,' complete with imagery of the SOUL trapped within another person's hands. Do you think Kris feels any particular way about that depiction of things? The parallels between the SOUL's freedom to control their body (but only within the confines of the Prophecy) and their brief moments of freedom, which they use to follow someone else's orders. The Weird Route. The SOUL making the first and only set of choices that actually have a tangible effect. The only time they can make a choice that matters is to choose to inflict suffering. Isn't that terrible? Isn't that fascinating?

But it feels like most people are content to write the SOUL off as simultaneously just a player insert and a malevolent, amoral being who exists solely as opposition to Kris's autonomy. Which is, if you couldn't tell by my enthusiasm, a little disheartening. (It is kind of interesting that people are so quick to hate their own self-insert but that's another matter entirely.)

But I appreciate your insights as a survivor of the Ralsei Hate Epidemic from back in the day. I will admit I was not too terribly interested in him back when Chapter 2 released, so I didn't really have an opinion one way or the other- I think I understand what that must have felt like, though.

Thank you for triggering my ramblings and also sorry if my ramblings do not appeal to you I will not take it personally. My glitter will remain on the inside for a while longer now. Bless.

Ah, that's very interesting! The SOUL is a toughie for sure, because I think the natural inclination is to see it largely as an extension of the player... not entirely without reason, of course, since that is literally the thing that allows us to exist in Deltarune's world in any capacity in the first place. But as a device to explore the way that players interact with game worlds and their characters - more particularly the protagonist they control - you're right that it's such a fascinating avenue of inquiry to go down, and you bring up some excellent points about it.

I have a few more for you: do we owe it to a game or its characters to get its "best" ending? Does a happy ending in this regard translate to the most engaging game experience for a player? And getting more meta still - to what extent does a game serve as a conversation between its creator/author and the player of that game? I ask this with things like violence/the Weird Route in mind because that too is a conversation we're having with Deltarune, regardless of how "subversive" or "wrong" it might be presented as.

The reactions that can be provoked by the SOUL's presence in the game is interesting, for sure. For one thing, I have determined that I'm not going to do the Weird Route under any circumstance, because I personally wouldn't be comfortable deliberately inflicting that trauma on Kris and Noelle, regardless of what interesting insights it might yield. That's a personal choice, and I hold no disrespect for anyone who DOES want to do weird route or finds it compelling - neither choice says anything about our morals, because as you say we're engaging with a fictional universe and fictional characters. We can care about them, feel emotions about them, but it doesn't make them real in the same way you or I are, no matter how compelling they appear to us.

You're correct again when you mention that we never chose to inhabit Kris's body, but were forced into them after our vessel was discarded. There's a degree of unwillingness there for both of us, and for much of the time it seems to be that we're just trying to make the best of a bad situation. But the tendency to moralise and self-flagellate over this angle is concerning, because when we do that we miss what the game is trying to tell us about the relationship between a character and the player controlling them. It's natural, I feel, to want Kris to be free from our influence and be able to make their own choices - I want that for them as well. But we don't get a choice in that matter right now - again, lack of choice in video games being one of Deltarune's core themes. And as you say, if the answer were as simple as turning the game off and refusing to engage with it... well, we wouldn't be having any conversation at all, and Deltarune would have failed in its aims. But the fact we're even talking about it at all shows how much people care about this world and the characters therein.

The tension you bring up between Kris's subservience to Carol/phone voice and their unwilling subservience to our influence is especially interesting, because as you say it introduces the potential for a common enemy for us to band together against... but it also speaks to the overwhelming pressure of obligation and promise. Kris is in this terrible situation so deep that not even an eldritch deitylike entity controlling their body like a puppet can stop them from carrying it out - they have a "promise" they need to fulfill, and the fact they can override our control to do so speaks to just how much of a hold it has over them. They need us, but only insomuch as we can help them achieve whatever goals they're pursuing. And we need them, if we're ever going to experience the world of Deltarune and achieve the ending game state... whatever that might end up looking like.

And finally, the prophecy literally calling them a "cage" - not even human, but a living cage. It's interesting to speculate on how they might feel about that, but they give no indication as far as I can make out. Perhaps they're that resigned to their fate that it simply doesn't register anymore. I couldn't tell you right now, and anyone who could is speculating - nothing wrong with speculating, but when that tips over into fandom gospel is when we stop critically engaging with what's in front of us. There are still three chapters left to go, we're only at the halfway mark. And a lot can change with even a single chapter's release, as Ralsei has no doubt proven.

Please don't apologise for rambling, by the way. I enjoyed reading your thoughts very much! I hope that the situation improves and you are able to keep the glitter on the inside :D

[cripplecharacters]

I have a character who is nonverbal, intellectually disabled, and uses an AAC device. I'm wondering how I would write down her inner thoughts and monologue? Would she think in full English sentences, in AAC symbols, or something else?

Hi asker,

I will start off by letting you know that there is no single definitive answer for this, but I still have thoughts and ideas.

So, as for the question of would she think in AAC symbols or English sentences, that really depends on your character. It could be either.

Some nonverbal people, but not all, don't think in words at all, but more in images or associations, so this could be the case of your character and might even be part of why they are nonverbal and need AAC. (Some people who aren't nonverbal also don't think in words either, but your character is, so that's what I'll focus on here!)

Your character could also think in words. They might think entirely in words, or partly. They might think in what you would think of as more 'standard' English sentences, or maybe more simplified sentences.

For example, it's common for people with ID to use simpler syntax and/or less abstract language. But language abilities are a wide range, and this can extend to AAC usage. Some people might use more complex sentences, while some might might only be able to use two words in a sentence. Some people might get the hang of pronouns, and some might not. Some people might get the hang of conjugating verbs, some might not. Some people speak more slowly or with more pauses. You have a lot of leeway in how to conceptualize your character's thoughts.

I want to add one thing: a lot of ways that people with ID people can speak are used to make fun of people. Slower speech, simple sentences, not conjugating some words, stuff like that. If you include this, you have to take care to make sure that the message you’re sending by including them is “some people just talk like this” and not “isn’t it so funny/weird/gross/weird that some people talk this way? Let’s make fun of it/focus on how weird and different (derogatory) it is”.

However, the limitations of a written medium is that at the end of the day you will in fact have to use words to write what is going on in her brain, even if she doesn't think in words.

So I would say: focus on figuring out how your character manages language, since there’s many different ways they can, and then once you decide that it might be easier to figure out exactly how to write them. Mod sasza has even more points below!

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

Hey, I'd consider how your character learned language. If her first exposure was a symbol-based AAC device, there's a higher chance she'd think in AAC symbols than if she first communicated via sign language or anything else that's not a symbol-based AAC device.

I'm fully verbal and actually mostly think in associations and other non-language ways like pictures (though when I'm imagining things like an actual conversation, I do use language). That's why for me and a lot of other people with ID (verbal or not) it can take longer to think of what to say; you need to translate your thoughts to language first.

With your character having much more severe language disability than me, I'd guess that she either used very simple sentence construction or that you'd have to describe her thoughts in a less direct manner (associations or visuals), which will be more time-consuming to write and more cryptic to readers (which makes it realistic, communication with people with significant language problems takes longer, if mind reading was real it would apply to it too).

You should definitely consider the things mentioned by Sparrow; whether she understands pronouns, conjugation, can she differentiate similar words correctly (e.g., love/like, handsome/pretty), etc.

Depending on her level of ID, she might think "I'm hungry" as anything between "Damn, I wish I was eating a burger right now" (complete English sentence) through "Yes food" (in which "yes" means positive rather than agreeing with someone) or "Images of her home kitchen flashed through her head" (simply associating kitchen with the feeling of hunger), to "Two symbols from her board; one meaning 'me' with the second showing an empty plate, went through her mind over and over". There is a big difference between a person with mild ID who might be unable to speak because they can't coordinate their mouth to make actual words but don't struggle with grammar at all, and a person with a profound ID whose entire AAC board is "yes" and "no" (or not even that, but I wanted an example to show what could be someone's existing-but-very-limited language ability).

Obviously some of these are more clunky, some are less so. But the way a lot of nonverbal ID people communicate isn't perfectly clear and direct, and there is a lot of variety in the manner that it shows.

I also wrote this post about speech in intellectual disability that you might find useful. I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[ma1dita]

ready your position

part 1 of 5 - SET IT UP!

spencer reid x gn!HRT!reader

summary: [3x9: Penelope] Sometimes second chances feel like shots in the dark. You just really wanted a cup of coffee. (set between seasons 3 & 4, loosely based off of set it up on netflix--reader is nicknamed ripley)

wc: 6k

content warning: signs of substance abuse, reader gets shot, side character death, unhealthy coping mechanisms & thinking

a/n: so sorry for the delay! i had a lot of insecurities about putting this out but well, here it is! lots of plot set up but pt 2 won’t take as long haha, please please please leave feedback or i might cry lol

—

[NOVEMBER 2007]

"So what are you in for today?"

A scoff leaves your lips in the dim light of one of the HR offices in the Employee Assistance Unit on the 6th floor of Quantico on a dreary Monday evening and it's intentionally disruptive, like you want the terse breath to catch your therapist off-guard. This routine of yours has you feeling like you're being examined under a magnifying glass but after countless hours of your ass getting pins and needles on the worn leather loveseat, you're still not entirely sure what else there is for Ms. Stevens to discover. Every psychological stone is never left unturned with her, but some burdens you still hold close to your heart. They feel like boulders that you choose to carry, and no one can take them away, lest you leave yourself exposed and vulnerable in front of a woman who can read you to filth.

"Agent?"

"Come on now, we're past the formalities, Miss. S'been more than half a year of us meeting like this. Think I deserve a reward at this point," the joke chokes itself out past your chewed bottom lip. Eyes scanning the ceiling, you mentally count the tiles until you can find a plausible enough answer to the question she's positively dying to ask about the monumental blow-up that could make or break your career, and maybe if you skate by with something noncommittal she'll let you out of here early. 30 salt and pepper sprinkled ceiling tiles, just like this time last week.

"Ripley, then," Ms. Stevens murmurs over a sip of her tea. The smell of ginger pierces your senses even from your spot against the wall. Your eyes meet over her FBI standard-issue mug and she's waiting for you to fill the silence and confirm her thoughts. You hate this game; being hyper-analyzed by the way you lean against the chair, or the tapping of your fingers on your thigh. 

Every move means something. Being a member of the FBI's Hostage and Rescue Team meant that you've been hardwired to always find a way out of any space you're put into, and somehow the job has translated into your day-to-day coping mechanisms as your eyes flicker towards the door.

Coping. Right. That's what you're supposed to be doing.

Sometimes you forget the reason why you're here every week— but no matter how painful or teeth-grating these appointments feel, they're the only constant you have right now. And they're mandatory, or else there's no going back to normal; any more time sitting at a desk makes you more anxious even if it's what's been prescribed by professionals like the one sitting across from you.

"You already know why I'm here. I know the big boss man already told you, and if not—office gossip spreads here like wildfire," you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. Ms. Stevens takes note of that and writes something down in her notepad. "It's not what you think."

"You shot an unsub point blank and cost the FBI $4000 in damages."

Chuckling lowly, you run your hand through your hair, "Sheesh. You'd think for glass that expensive it'd be bulletproof, huh?" She's not laughing though, instead scribbling down more words and you think she's signing away your rights to rejoin your team. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal— you were just at the right place at the right time, and although you haven't been in rotation since your mandatory leave and the higher-ups put authorization holds to stop you from being on operations, that didn't mean you were just sitting around doing nothing. You still knew how to do your job, whether Ms. Stevens believed it or not. The shot you took made the weekly newsletter. Agent Fuchs and his family sent you a fruit basket this morning. Agents Hotchner and Rossi know your name now, for better or for worse. 

It was a bit of an odd way to end the weekend.

If anything, it was proof that you were ready to get back in action. But the subtle frown on her face says otherwise, and you swallow harshly, a lump in your throat feeling heavy like the truth— Ms. Stevens probably won't let this one go.

You realize she's staring at you for a better answer now as your eyes refocus on her fingers tapping on her desk. Nodding your head, it prompts her to ask the question that she's been holding back since you sat down. One could almost feel bad for the amount of paperwork that probably goes into your weekly sessions. 

Almost.

"How did you find yourself involved with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Ripley?" she emphasizes, finally getting to the point. Sucking air through your teeth, you tuck your legs underneath your bottom on the uncomfortable seat. This is going to take a while to explain.

"I just wanted a cup of coffee, man."

—

A WEEK AGO

No one can deny that Dr. Spencer Reid's best asset is his brain. 

He knows it too— the fact is one of the few things he's sure about himself. Other people are much easier to figure out to be honest; case details scrolling through his brain like a frenzied catalog and each input has an output, each symptom with a diagnosis, and so on. The neocortex of the brain has about 300 million pattern recognizers that crave data able to turn into patterns or rules, and Spencer is used to staying late after cases conclude to write down all of the reasons why. Something about unraveling the unsub's methodology in case files is just as exciting to him as when he's in the field figuring out the why—mind the fact that he can read 20,000 words a minute. 

In his periphery, he can see the rest of the team settling into their desk chairs, but he's traipsed straight over to the office kitchenette for something to fuel his brain to be able to mince through the stack of paperwork on his desk. He's ignoring the fact that Emily slips a few more onto his pile, but what he can't ignore as he stands over the counter stirring in way more sugar into his cup than there is coffee, is you, walking through the glass doors virtually undetected by anyone but him.

The metal of his teaspoon clinks against his mug, and a side glance at your form reveals a lot to him— but not quite as much as he would like to know about a person at first glance. Stiffness in your posture indicates some sort of military background, there's a slight tremor in your hands as you reach for the mug on the top shelf—probably attributed to nerves? Most likely since he's never seen you on this floor before. You blink slower than average, and Spencer thinks it's a sign of exhaustion which checks out since you're blatantly stealing coffee from the BAU.

Sending a soft smile his way, Spencer quickly eases up and nods at you, sipping his coffee as he watches you move about the small space. Okay, stealing is a vast over-exaggeration, but in an office filled with FBI agents, it's a wonder that he's the only one noticing these types of things. He's also staring at you very intently, which might affect things.

That or the caffeine's already hit him like a punch in the face. 

You're pouring some of Penelope's homemade oat milk creamer and he observes the way you play with a fray on your knit sweater. There's something that clinks in your jean pocket and it's too small to be a gun, too big to be—oh! You're saying something to him.

"You mind?"

Spencer clears his throat, ripping his eyes away from your crotch as a blush rises upon his cheeks—shaking his head anyway until he realizes that you've taken the spoon out of his hand to swirl into your own mug, sipping at it and frowning.

"You're not from this floor," he states, and it's not a question because it's rare to have people break patterns around here at the BAU and you're far too comfortable to be a civilian but still on edge enough for him to think you must be an agent. Humming, he notes the furrow in your brow as you grab the sugar canister from in front of him, stirring in your preferred amount and tasting it, then adding more again, "Yeah?"

"There are 12 desks in here; 2 executive offices not including our section chief's, liaison's, and higher admin surrounding the bullpen, plus 6 members of custodial staff and the auxiliary agents that run in from different departments—I would know a face like yours," he blurts, blinking when you grin at how that sounds. Dismissing his blunder, you lean back against the counter and chuckle, "You're protective of your turf. I get it. That's good. I'm just here for a cup of coffee. Smelled the good stuff wafting through the glass doors," Handing him back the spoon, he can't help but stand there and hold it out like an idiot as you continue, "You want my credentials or something…. Doctor?"

"No, not at—" "Ah, perfect!"

Rossi grabs the mug out of your hand and takes a big swig as he looks at something on his phone distractedly, "Anderson was supposed to have a cup ready for me as soon as we got back… Why is this uh….watery?"

"Oat milk, sir," you say, taking it in stride as the older man crinkles his nose, mumbling his thanks, walking back to his office. Your eyes meet Spencer's with an amused expression and he sighs. The watch on your wrist beeps and you give him a two-fingered salute as you make your way out of the glass doors behind you eastbound; his gaze doesn't break until you're out of sight.

A hand claps him on the shoulder and it's Morgan with that look he gets when he sees the resident pretty boy with a person of interest (also known as when Spencer is caught talking to anyone, ever), "Now who…" he chuckles, squeezing him so hard that his drink spills a little bit, "was that?"

Spencer blinks, pouring more sugar into his mug and stirring it with the spoon, "Definitely not a secretary like Rossi thinks…." He takes a sip before realizing he's made a mistake. Besides the fact the mug he drank from is contaminated now, he's forgotten to ask for your name.

"At least that's what I'm trying to figure out."

—

It has been exactly 8 and a half months since you've been an active operator for the HRT's Red team. 37 weeks of trying to come to terms that Special Agent Charlie Young is dead. 258 days since your childhood best friend Harper was made a widow and her baby left without a father. And no matter what way you put it, it was your fault. Or at least no matter what everyone's been trying to tell you, it still felt that way since he took a bullet that was meant for you.

You spent your 6 months of paid mandatory leave in the confines of your apartment nursing bottles of Jameson, watching old telenovelas, and avoiding phone calls from anyone who would try to reach out. But in the space that Charlie's absence left behind is the reality that everything in life keeps moving on whether you like it or not. You caught yourself craving your old routine to prove to yourself that nothing's changed; that you're still capable of being the elite agent that worked your way onto this prestigious team in the first place.

So as you lie in wait in an unmarked car outside of 107 Leavensworth, you plan to do just that—follow through with the mission, this second chance—and prove that nothing can shake you. The next operations cycle starts soon and you have to make this count. Your eyes lock with Agent Morgan's as he crosses the road arm in arm with Penelope. Nodding at him, you slink further into your seat. There's a long night ahead, but hopefully, the only thing that will be bothering you tonight is your thoughts.

When they pass the courtyard, your eyes flicker back towards the empty street, checking every which way for possible suspects. It's quiet, and the air is a bit chilly, the wind sweeping through the street like a frosty vacuum. Your phone buzzes with another text from Harper, a voicemail from your mother, and unread emails.

[From Harpy: Have an extra table setting out for Thanksgiving. Your two favorite girls would love to see you if you can make it! Miss you Rip.]

[Missed call from Mama: Hi honey, I know you're probably busy but I'm worried about if you're eating enough. You're overw—]

The sounds of footfalls on pavement draw your attention away from the voicemail as a man comes near, swiftly passing the direction of your car with the purpose of walking into the apartment courtyard. You slide out with ease, throwing your phone to the passenger seat before making your presence known to him, "Can I help you with something? What’s your bus—"

BANG!

Gunshots are so much louder when you're the one being shot at. 

You swear you feel your heart stop beating as your body hits the ground, ears ringing from the shock that ravages your being and you just…lay there in the smoke of his revolver. The spinning view you have of the stars is interrupted by the sound of Derek Morgan's voice yelling into your walkie, "WE HAVE A FEDERAL AGENT DOWN, I REPE—"

You swallow hard, fingers sliding over the breastplate of your bulletproof vest and feeling the gaping hole left behind.

Fuck, can't even die right. 

Pushing yourself up and feeling nothing but the gravel in your palms, you wheeze, "He's getting away…Two blocks northbound. GO!" The man tweaks his head at you before springing into action, "I got her, GO!" And then his body moves as fast as you suppose that bullet did— surging towards the assailant's direction as you clear your throat and dust yourself off and look up at Penelope's window, her beaded curtains shuffling against the glass.

"Disregard. 10-78, Agent Morgan is pursuing, I have eyes on the vic…"

Rushing up the stairs, there's a tremor in your hand that slides along the banister. You need to push through the shock before the adrenaline wears off, but the faster you fly up the circular staircase, the memories hit you like a tidal wave. The sound of Charlie singing to his baby girl, Harper's smile when you first introduced them at the Academy a few years ago. Lactic acid builds up in your calves and your chest feels tight—your joints feel stiff as you stumble through the door blowing air out in puffs like someone does when they get burned. In the dark of the apartment, moonlight shrouds you like a spotlight and the singing and the laughter turn into blood and tears.

You'll never forget the way Harper looked at you in that hospital waiting room. It should've been you. Weaving through the fallen furniture, your eyes scan the perimeter for any movement; she was last near the window, and then where did she go? It should've been you. Turning the corner towards the alcove of her bedroom, Penelope Garcia's scream pierces through the darkness, and a gun is pointed towards your chest for the second time tonight as you stumble back, bumping a sparkly cat statue off her side table. It should have been you.

"Don't s-shoot!" you stutter, hands in the air and now the colorful woman is sobbing into your arms, blubbering, "Why is this happening to me?"

"I don't know…" you sigh, asking yourself the same question and holding her up—at least her hug is tight enough that it squeezes the truth out of you. You don't want to die. 

But why didn't you?

Your second chance at fixing things was looking more and more like a second shot in the dark.

—

By the time Spencer and the rest of the team show up, he's pleasantly surprised to see you making coffee in Garcia's kitchen. You're a shadowy figure against her counter, sipping honey tea from a TARDIS mug and minding your business. The BAU has staged themselves across every open seat in her living room, almost looking like a part of the bits and bobs that occupy the space—different personalities contributing to help out one of their own. 

Hotch looks at you, introducing you to them and Spencer holds back a smile when your eyes meet again. It's awkward, like when the teacher introduces a new student to the class. You shuffle your feet towards the group, nodding and biting your lip when you hear your name, "Call me Ripley. S'easier that way. I'm on loan from HRT."

"Glad you were available. The rest of your team was deployed," his boss says, and there's something in your expression that signals to Spencer that you're upset about that fact. Maybe it's the way your hands graze over your abdomen repeatedly, like checking for a wound or the way your eyes are consistently downcast. Even after your empty mug is placed onto a sage green doily, he watches you clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest as if blocking yourself off from the group. 

"It was a favor from Otis. My night was going to look like this or catching up on Days of Our Lives, so… Anyway, you guys are held in high regard in our area. For good reason."

"And so are you," Hotch actually smiles, soft enough like a father softens a blow, "Head back to the office and I'll tell Agent Otis that you did a great job."

"Um…Ripley can stay. We're friends now," the bubbly analyst says as she pushes her glasses up and grabs your arm.

"I don't want to intrude on your process—" "You won't be intruding at all," Spencer interrupts, "In fact, you might be more of an asset in helping us figure this out."

The pieces fall together as you watch the BAU work together like different organs that make up the same body, each with its own function and essential to their success. You take a seat next to him on the sofa, your eyes ricocheting off of the person who speaks like ping-pong balls and he knows it's overwhelming to some, but it works. 

"I told you I'm tired of this jag-off getting ahead of us," Rossi grits as he walks out of the apartment after grilling Garcia. There's an awkward silence once the team splits off and you don't move from your spot after the door closes, "He always like that? Looks friendlier in his author's headshot." Emily chuckles, hair brushing Garcia's shoulder as she leans over her laptop, and Morgan is pacing across the hardwood floors, fingers touching every little trinket to distract himself while his Babygirl works her magic.

"He's newer to the idea of a team."

Spencer has a heart-shaped throw pillow on his lap and he absent-mindedly plays with the sequins. He watches you chew on your lip before nodding, "Can imagine what that change feels like. Never easy. You guys are something else though—my Reds could never…get together like this."

"Isn't that the whole premise of the Hostage and Rescue Team? To be part of something?" The raven-haired woman pipes up, looking curiously at you. 

"Well, really it's to s—"

"Servare vitas—that's Latin for the HRT's motto 'to save lives'," Spencer hums, and you nod. There's a distant look in your eyes as you look off towards the window before speaking, "We just follow orders, I guess. In and out. It's funny how we're called operators when in reality we're the ones being ordered around." Your voice is wistful, going hoarse and you clear your throat. 

"Anyways, didn't Agent Rossi have three wives or something? Maybe he just needs to focus on finding a fourth."

The subject change lifts the tension that fills the room, everyone having a bit of a laugh at that. Morgan admires a blown glass ornament from Garcia's mantle before he moves his gaze to you, "He got it wrong three times, you think he'll find someone to lock it down for a fourth?"

"Actually, did you know that studies have found that the rate of divorce in the US is about 35% to 50% for first-time marriages and over 60% to 70% for second, third, or fourth marriages and beyond?"

No one moves a muscle at the statistic that spews out of his mouth like something from a well-oiled machine and you turn to him, full attention and tucking your legs underneath you with eyes full of wonder. He doesn't remember the last time someone's ever looked at him with anything other than mild unease.

"Really?"

"Really," he continues, "so even if you knew someone who could…" "Match his freak?" You suggest, interrupting him this time, and your choice of words makes Garcia giggle over the chatter of her keyboard, "I knew you were a cool cat."

He doesn't quite know what to say to that, always fumbling for words in front of attractive people, making Morgan send him a sidelong glance. Spencer goes back to playing with the sequined pillow instead.

"I got someone like that too. Hard to prove yourself when they don't give you a chance. It's like credentials, seniority, all that training goes out the window when I'm in front of them."

"Your boss?" Spencer mumbles, and you shrug, "Something like that." You sound like you don't want to share more, so he nods, saving your words for him to scroll through in his mind later, "He's definitely not Gideon." 

'Who's Gideon?" You ask, finishing off your cup of tea and leaning against the back of the sofa. It's comfy enough that all of your limbs sink in slightly, and he watches your eyes flutter with fatigue. Spencer tries not to get distracted by the way your eyes sparkle in the twinkly lights that hang from the walls of Garcia's apartment.

"He was…before. Before Rossi. Taught me everything I know."

"Must've been a good guy then, if you're this good at your job," you smile. It's the same smile you sent his way in the office kitchenette, soft yet like a shockwave, and he thinks that even without his eidetic memory, he'd remember your words forever.

"Mhm…" you muse, putting the cover of the TARDIS mug back where it belongs and standing up, "I should get back to the office. It was nice meeting you all, despite the circumstances." You nod at them, passing Garcia and patting her head before humming a tune on your way out.

"Ripley's kinda great, huh?"

Spencer nods, a small smile gracing his features. When he looks up, Garcia's staring right at him. Only the two of them recognize the Doctor Who theme song, after all.

—

You desperately need a drink.

You're sitting on Anderson's desk staring at the mess you've made of the BAU's bullpen, shattered glass sparkling like little fractals of light on the floor beneath your feet and this night just got longer. By the time they process your gun and get your official statement it'll be sunrise, you think. You can't look at the body even after they cover it with a tarp, the rest of the team tiptoeing through the debris in the entryway. This one's gonna be tough to explain to your superiors.

"Ripley!"

Penelope Garcia is rushing over to you and hanging off your side in a second, making the empty feeling in the pit of your stomach go away for a moment with her eyes shining like tinsel on Christmas morning and the guilt feels a bit lighter. You did a good thing. Then why…why won't your hands stop shaking?

"I never wanted you to do something like that for me," she starts, rubbing your arms and looking up into your eyes, "Do you hear me? Ripley."

You didn't even blink when you shot him, and you don't know if anyone would consider that the best or worst part of it all. Shrugging and placing your cheek against the hand that remains on your shoulder, you purse your lips, "I hear ya. I'll be okay now that you're gonna be okay," You sniff, blinking slowly as you watch your boss walk in, exchanging words with Fuchs and Hotch. "'Sides. We're friends now. You do what you have to when protecting your own." Your voice shakes a bit as you trail off, torn between the grateful smile on Garcia's face and the unreadable expression on your boss'.

"I had some time earlier, during everything going on—I work quick you know? And I do little crafts when I get stressed, so…" You feel a familiar piece of clothing being pressed into your hands, and it's your jacket. You didn't even realize you left it at her apartment, ripping it off after getting shot. A small embroidered pink flower now occupies the space where the bullet hole was. She giggles, squeezing your hand as you run it over her handiwork, "Sorry I only had pink thread."

"Pretty. Even better like this. You're a genius, you know that?"

The look on her face reminds you of a little kid who gets told their drawing is a work of art, but you revel in it. Despite the fact you might lose your job for insubordination, or whatever else Ms. Stevens can tack on—Otis is still looking at you from across the room, a talk imminent for your behavior. The HRT is risk intolerant, and though you saved a life today, you took someone else's.

"I read through your file."

Your eyes rip back and meet Penelope's as she stares at you hard through her glasses, "Uh…"

"Don't worry, just me. I just… get it now. The way you walked into my apartment earlier and you couldn't catch your breath, why you're the only Red left behind. I mean I'm like that after any type of cardio, and totally get it too, I…" she stops herself, and grabs your hands, "I get it. I've been there. I just want you to know I'm here if you want to talk, without the dark office and psych evaluation."

"You sure you're not a profiler?" you say simply, smirking. She laughs more freely than she has in days, patting your cheek, "Ripley, if I was, I wouldn't have been able to pass along your reinstatement papers. Your boss will see that soon enough. Again, thank you." 

You can't do anything but laugh—any type of unease lifting from your system before you catch a certain spectacled analyst staring at your new friend, and you nudge her, "You know, with all the heat I'm getting right now—No one's looking at me like that." Garcia grins, looking over her shoulder and then back to you.

"Do you believe everything happens for a reason?"

As you watch her saunter over and talk to the guy, you start to believe it too. 

A steaming cup of coffee is placed next to your thigh and you look over to see Spencer leaning against the other edge of the desk watching you.

"Just the way you like it."

You beam at him, leaning over to gulp the scorching liquid. The steam spreads in the short distance between you as you cock your head at him, "You remembered!"

He shrugs like it's nothing of the sort, the small gesture warming you just as much as the coffee does as it travels to your stomach. 

"Do you know how hard it's been to get a cup of coffee around here?"

And then the two of you are giggling like schoolchildren, hiding behind furtive glances and shaking hands like there isn't a dead body covered by a tarp 10 feet away from where you sit. He nervously scratches at the pit of his elbow, unsure of what to say next but the moment is broken when Otis and Hotch walk over, effectively silencing your laughter. Spencer walks away quickly.

"Listen…"

Your boss sighs, rubbing at his bald head as he looks at you, "Let me guess, I'm not gonna believe what happened?" Hotch raises his eyebrows, "So you weren't kidding, Otis. That's why this agent goes by Ripley."

"You always have a way of doing things your own way, Rip."

Grimacing, your hands tighten around the mug as you look at your superior in the eye, "I followed orders and saved a life today. The rest.. was just because I really was trying to get a cup of coffee," The two men stare at you curiously, almost forming a blockade around your position on the desk, "Penelope adds vanilla and cinnamon to her oat milk." Otis looks unconvinced, still not blinking. 

"I'm serious! It's delicious!"

Otis pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away. As he goes, he calls out, "You're back on for the next cycle." You spring up almost as if electrocuted, "Seriously? Can't take that back!"

"Don't do anything to make me want to," your boss says when he gets to the entryway, sweeping glass with the sole of his shoe, "No more surprises. I mean it, Ripley. Keep it up."

"Congratulations are in order then," Hotch says, shaking your hand, "I'll get the detective over to speed up your clearance. We all need a good night's rest."

"Thank you, sir."

Nothing can take away the elation that runs through your veins—like being brought back from the dead. You did what you set out to do, you made your second chance count and now you're an operator again. The type that saves lives and is in action instead of just filing paperwork and watching day go to night without feeling fulfilled. Excitement blurs your senses, your knee hopping up and down and it's not the coffee but the feeling of being useful again after all this—

"And Agent?"

"Sir?" you blurt out, looking up at Hotch, face falling at his next words, "I'm sorry for your loss. Agent Young would be proud of you." You smile at him and the emptiness sets back in when he turns away, immediately taking a big gulp of your drink as the muscle memory sinks in. 

It's not his fault of course. But how foolish of you to forget why it all happened in the first place. Your quest for redemption and who you've lost on the way here. Would Charlie be proud? Looking around the room for prying eyes, you twist off the cap of the flask that sits in your pocket with nimble fingers, slipping it into your long sleeve and pouring the contents into your mug until it's empty. As you take a sip, your eyes meet Spencer's over the brim and your heart lodges itself in your throat as you try to wash it all down. He nods anyway, scratching the nape of his neck and averting his eyes as he comes back to sit next to you.

"It all makes sense now."

The whiskey acts as a security blanket, protecting your feelings from what he might say next. It'd be better to pretend to not care what the doctor thinks of you, but when his shoulder nudges yours, you realize you do.

"Hmm?"

"Ripley. Did you know Robert Ripley originally titled his sports feature Champs or Chumps when it premiered in the New York Globe in 1918?" Spencer says like he didn't just catch you in the act. 

"You don't have to do this, y'know," you sigh, your mouth wavering over the now-cold beverage. Being patronized over your alcoholism might just send you into a bender if we're being honest, but then he scratches at his elbow again, sleeve rolling up slightly—and then you see the dots along his skin. Faint traces of fights neither of you bring to the surface go unspoken and for the first time in a year, someone sees you—vices and all and doesn’t recoil. There’s a wave that passes between you, hidden from the people that scatter the room and you can feel something crash over you in his presence. You think you might like it, even possibly sure of it when he speaks again.

"Why not? Obscure facts are right up my alley."

The sun rises on Quantico in the big windows behind you, framing everything in a new light.

—

"So are you?"

You blink slowly, torn from the reverie. It's been almost an hour of piecing together the parts you want to tell Ms. Stevens about how last night led to getting reinstated and earning your spot back on your team. The rest…you left out to not overcomplicate the situation. Come on… everyone lies to their therapist even a little bit.

"Hmm?"

She looks at you intently from a sentence she scribbles onto her notepad, "Are you ready to go back to work?"

Glancing at the ceiling, and then to the placard on her desk, Kirsten Stevens, EAC in blocky white font—you put your thoughts into words, "I mean even if I wasn't, I have to. This is my job. I have to do it well."

"But are you ready? Do you feel… able to do it well?"

Your eyebrows furrow, "I feel like you think I'm not—even if I've already proven I can." Ms. Stevens sighs, pulling her hair back into her claw clip and clasping her fingers together. Disappointment reeks from her stare, and you can't get to the bottom of why this woman seems like she's out to get you. You do the training, you perform well on the job, what else is there to worry about? The timer beeps, signaling the end of your session and you push off your knees, getting up from the couch. Your joints creak, frowning as you're still waiting for her to say something.

"Ripley. No one's saying you can't do your job well. What I am saying is, that until you admit to yourself that something's wrong…that feeling won't go away. You can't just run from your past," she says calmly. It's almost irritating, and a part of you wishes she'd yell at you instead. 

"I'm not running. I'm facing it head-on by doing what he would want me to do. Charlie would want me to get back to normal and be back at work." 

And she nods at you, turning back to her notepad and handing you a sheet detailing the inner work you have to do before your next appointment, "I can agree with that. We'll move you to every two weeks now since you're heading back to work. I hope to hear from you about any new updates…" Ms. Stevens says, continuing but the rest you don't listen to. She didn't even mention Charlie and he's all everything comes back to. If this is the help she’s prescribing, why does it still feel like you’re drowning?

You walk out of her office with the paper in your clenched fist and your phone in the other as you shoot a text to Penelope.

[To PG: Hey, I hope you're feeling better! Can you send me Dr. Reid's number? I need to ask him something. Also, Rossi's definitely single right? Asking for a friend (not me).]

—

"Let's say you've swallowed a bad thing and now it's got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure." - Richard Siken

[ask to be added to taglist]

[derangedanomaly]

hello^^

one, your writing is beautiful and it always brings a smile to my face when i read it

and two, could we get a bad sanses +cross x reader where the reader is small? like the reader is below 5’2” (157cm) and they’re pretty slim??

Hello! I'm overjoyed to know that my silly writing brings a smile to your face, that's exactly what I aim for! :D

Hope this'll be to your liking! ^^

I realized, that I forgot to add the part about the reader being slim, only after writing it 💀 I'm stupid, sorry for that! 😭

MASTERLIST

BAD SANSES X SHORT!READER

NIGHTMARE:

PLATONIC

It doesn't surprise him in the slightest that you're much shorter than him. (He has some sort of god complex going on)

He has a habit of overlooking you, cause he never pays much attention to you.

You often trip just because of him.

He's such an asshole, I swear.

He gives you the more easier tasks, cause he doesn't believe you can do the harder ones.

Prove him wrong, and the next task you'll get will be something like... "Go destroy this AU." And it's like a solo mission too 💀

This dude gives zero shits about you. (He's just acting like a higher-up.)

ROMANTIC

If you stirr some romantic feelings in Nightmare, then he'll immediately notices your height difference. It's actually one of the main things he notices, other than your cute face.

He's not going to go soft on you though. He WILL tease the everliving shit out of you. But his teasing is actually so harsh, his words seriously hurt you. (And he doesn't even aim for that 😭)

Don't worry, it's not long before he gets softer with you, and tone your teasing down.

He literally doesn't let you do the dangerous missions. Or he will, but will team you up with himself. (He thinks he's so slick.)

Other than that, he doesn't really care about your height.

KILLER:

PLATONIC

He loves your shortness. Will make fun of you, almost every chance he gets.

He uses so many puns against you.

He's actually the shortest of the bad senses, so he partly forgets about the fact that he's almost the same height as you. 💀

Man's so goofy, you'll literally become best friends.

He loves to leave you hanging when you need help from him. (Evil at its fittest.)

Imagine you need something from the top shelf, and you can't reach it. So you ask Killer for help. He won't help you. He smiles wide while he's leaving, with you screaming profanities in the background.

ROMANTIC

He giggles the first time he sees your height. (Like he isn't the same height as you 💀)

He LOVES to help you get things from higher places. Makes him feel like your personal hero.

He would somehow convince Nightmare to make him and you go on missions together. (He just annoyed him with it until Nightmare eventually gave up.)

He likes teasing you, kinda like Nightmare does, but his teasing is more like flirting..if it makes sense. It leaves you a blushing mess, and he loves that fact.

You two have little teasing war. He makes fun of your height, and you in turn, make fun of his height.

Y'all are so silly, you're just flirting with each other at this point. 💀

DUST:

PLATONIC

Dust is just one of the people that doesn't pay attention to the heights of others. Or any of these sort of things.

He just doesn't care. 💀

You're not even a monster of some kind he could monitor, you hold no interest in him.

There's like an 80% chance that he'll ignore you altogether.

Though he has some standards, so he'll try to defend you if the others are making fun of your height. (Only if he has a good day though. Don't count on it 💀)

ROMANTIC

Even if he felt some sort of romantic attraction towards you, he just won't care about your height.

He'll probably just say like three puns about your height, but he won't comment on it any more.

He actually finds your height difference pretty adorable. He just wants to hold you tight and not let go.

He'll gladly help you if you needed something from a higher place. He quite likes it, actually.

He won't even ask Nightmare if he could go on missions with you. He just goes. (Nightmare will be fuming when he finds out 💀)

He'll be acting like he doesn't like it when you ask him for anything, y'know, acting like his emo self 🙄

HORROR:

PLATONIC

He audibly sighs, when he sees your height. You're another person on his list of people that he has to look down at, to actually talk to you.

But he does feel a little afraid of accidentally hurting you. You're just so small compared to him...

He makes it his mission to actively avoid you, just so he won't hurt you :(

You misunderstand it as him not liking you. Which results in more misunderstanding 💀

Doesn't try to acknowledge your height that much. He knows how frustrating it is to constantly hear about your height... So he doesn't do it. Which you greatly appreciate ^^

ROMANTIC

He has the same first reaction if he fell in love with you. He sighs, but it sounds more... Whiny...

He just feels really scared of hurting you, but he can't avoid you either, just cause he wants to talk to you. It's a real struggle.

Other than that, actually finds your shortness really cute. And he doesn't mean it teasingly, he means it genuinely.

Wants to be around you at all times, he wants to protect you. You've got yourself your own guard dog 💀

Appoints himself as your mission buddy. Doesn't even bother to ask for a permission from Nightmare. (This is gonna bring a little trouble to him in the future..)

Loves to carry you around on his shoulders. Not only do you feel taller, but he feels really good while having you on his shoulders. It's like he can show you off to anyone proudly.

You don't even have to ask him for help, he's already up and ready to help you out. He just has this feeling that you need help.

Can you tell that I like "short partner x tall partner" troupe?

Anyways, just thought that I'd show you what my HC on their height is at the end.

From tallest to shortest:

Horror, Reaper, Nightmare, Dream, Fresh, Swap, Dust - Epic (same height), Killer - Error - Cross (they're all the same height), Fell - Classic (same height), Ink (shortest lmao)

No one can top Horror's height. He's just the tallest of the Sanses 🤷‍♀️

(I think that the thought of Reaper being taller than Nightmare is funny.)