#I did double tap my pencil...

[eclipselunarchaos]

Tradition art feels wierd. Totally did not double tap the pencils or anything. Nope, you can't prove it.

[sh4nksslvt]

Surgeon’s Strategy

Law explains a battle plan, his hand brushing yours as he leans close, his smirk carrying a dangerously playful edge.

Law x reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, teasing a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe n akward word count: 1.8k masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Polar Tang’s map room was a sanctuary of sorts, a quiet corner of the submarine where the hum of machinery faded into a distant murmur, and the world outside seemed to pause. The walls were lined with charts and maps, some pinned haphazardly, others meticulously organized, reflecting the duality of Trafalgar Law’s mind—chaotic genius wrapped in calculated precision. A single overhead lamp cast a warm, amber glow over the large wooden table at the center, strewn with papers, compasses, and a half-empty mug of coffee that smelled faintly of roasted beans. You stood there, leaning over the table, studying a map of the next island on the Heart Pirates’ route, your fingers tracing the coastline as you tried to make sense of the scribbled notes in Law’s angular handwriting.

“You’re holding it upside down,” came a low, amused voice from behind you.

You froze, glancing over your shoulder to find Law leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, his signature spotted hat tilted slightly to one side. His golden eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and something else—something that made your pulse quicken. He was dressed in his usual polo shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the inked patterns on his forearms, and his sword, Kikoku, rested against the wall nearby, a silent reminder of his ever-present vigilance.

“I am not,” you retorted, though you quickly double-checked the map, heat creeping up your neck when you realized he was right. You flipped it with a huff, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe your handwriting is just terrible.”

Law’s lips curved into a smirk as he pushed off the doorframe and sauntered toward you, his boots clicking softly against the metal floor. “My handwriting is impeccable,” he said, stopping just beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “You’re just distracted.”

“Distracted?” You raised an eyebrow, turning to face him, your hands planted on your hips. “By what, exactly?”

His smirk widened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting one hand on the table next to yours. “You tell me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, teasing drawl. “You’ve been staring at that map for ten minutes, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t read a single word.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat as his hand brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through you. It was deliberate, you were sure of it—Law never did anything by accident. His fingers lingered just long enough to make your skin tingle before he pulled back, picking up a pencil to annotate the map.

“Let’s focus,” he said, though the playful edge in his tone betrayed his attempt at seriousness. “We’re docking at this island tomorrow, and I need you to understand the plan.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was still racing. “Right. The plan. Go ahead, Captain, enlighten me.”

Law shot you a sidelong glance, his eyes narrowing slightly at the playful lilt in your voice. “Don’t get cheeky,” he warned, but there was no real heat in his words. He tapped the map with the pencil, pointing to a cluster of buildings marked near the island’s port. “This is the main town. Intel says there’s a Marine outpost here, small but well-guarded. We need supplies, so we’re avoiding direct confrontation.”

You leaned closer, your shoulder brushing against his as you studied the map. “So, stealth mission?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him. His face was close—too close—and you could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his eyes flicked briefly to your lips before returning to the map.

“Exactly,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension crackling between you. “You’ll be with me, scouting the market for medical supplies while the others handle food and ship repairs.”

“Me?” You blinked, surprised. “You usually take Bepo for scouting.”

Law’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Bepo’s great, but he’s not exactly subtle. You, on the other hand…” He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering just a moment too long. “You blend in. Plus, I trust you to keep up.”

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, though you tried to play it cool. “High praise from the Surgeon of Death,” you teased, nudging his arm lightly. “Careful, you might make me think you like me.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that did nothing to calm your nerves. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said, but his hand brushed yours again as he reached for a marker, and this time, his fingers lingered, curling slightly around yours before he pulled away. “Pay attention.”

You tried—really, you did—but Law’s presence was distracting. He explained the layout of the town, pointing out entry points, escape routes, and potential hazards, his voice calm and authoritative. But every time his arm brushed against yours or his fingers grazed the back of your hand as he adjusted the map, your focus wavered. He was doing it on purpose, you were certain, and the smug little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth only confirmed it.

“—and if we get separated,” he was saying, “you head to this rendezvous point.” He tapped a spot on the map, then glanced at you, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not listening.”

“I’m listening!” you protested, crossing your arms. “Rendezvous point, got it.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Repeat it back to me.”

You hesitated, racking your brain for the details you’d only half-absorbed. “Uh… head to the… north side of the town square?”

Law sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Wrong. It’s the old lighthouse on the eastern cliffs.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “If you get lost, I’m not coming to find you.”

“Liar,” you shot back, grinning. “You’d tear the island apart looking for me.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the playful banter faded, replaced by something heavier, more intense. “Maybe,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But let’s not test that theory.”

Your breath caught, and the air between you seemed to thicken. Law was close now, his hand resting on the table just inches from yours, his body angled toward you. The map room felt smaller, the walls closing in as the tension grew. You could smell the faint scent of antiseptic and sea salt on him, a combination that was uniquely Law, and it made your head spin.

“Law,” you said, your voice quieter now, “are you trying to distract me?”

He tilted his head, his smirk returning, though there was a heat in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “If I were trying to distract you,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “you’d know it.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, stepping closer, your chest almost brushing against his. “Because it feels like you’re doing a pretty good job right now.”

His smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by a flicker of surprise, but he recovered quickly, leaning in until his face was mere inches from yours. “Careful,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Your heart was pounding now, but you refused to back down. “Maybe I like dangerous,” you whispered, your eyes locked on his.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you taut like a drawn bowstring. Then, slowly, deliberately, Law reached out, his fingers brushing along your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly. His touch was light, almost tentative, but it sent a wave of heat through you, making your breath hitch.

“You’re impossible,” he said, his voice rougher now, laced with something that sounded almost like affection. “You know that?”

“You’re one to talk,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the one who keeps touching me.”

His thumb grazed your lower lip, and his eyes darkened, his smirk replaced by something more intense. “You’re not complaining,” he pointed out, his voice low and husky.

“Maybe I’m just being polite,” you teased, though your voice trembled slightly, betraying the effect he was having on you.

Law chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Polite, huh?” He leaned closer, his lips hovering just above yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You don’t strike me as the polite type.”

Before you could respond, a loud clang echoed from somewhere in the submarine, followed by the unmistakable sound of Penguin and Shachi arguing over who broke what. Law’s hand dropped, and he stepped back, the spell broken. His smirk returned, though there was a lingering heat in his eyes as he shook his head.

“Saved by the idiots,” he muttered, turning back to the map. “Let’s finish this before they burn the ship down.”

You let out a shaky laugh, trying to steady your racing heart. “Right. The plan.”

Law resumed explaining, his voice returning to its usual calm, authoritative tone, but the air between you remained charged. Every time his hand brushed yours or his shoulder bumped against yours, you felt it—a spark, a promise of something more. He was focused now, pointing out the finer details of the mission, but you caught the occasional glance, the way his eyes lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking.

As he wrapped up, he leaned back against the table, crossing his arms. “Any questions?”

You shook your head, still trying to process the last few minutes. “Nope. Crystal clear.”

“Good,” he said, but he didn’t move, his eyes studying you with that same intensity that made your skin prickle. “You’re with me tomorrow, so don’t screw it up.”

“I won’t,” you promised, then added with a grin, “As long as you don’t get distracted.”

His lips twitched, and he stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “Keep talking like that, and we’ll see who’s distracted tomorrow.”

You laughed, pushing him lightly on the chest. “Focus, Captain. You’ve got a mission to lead.”

He caught your wrist, his grip gentle but firm, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you closer again. But instead, he released you, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “Get some rest,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’ll need it.”

You nodded, turning to leave, but you paused at the door, glancing back at him. “Law?”

He looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you dodging my question earlier,” you said, grinning. “You totally like me.”

His smirk returned, sharper this time. “Get out of here,” he said, but there was no hiding the amusement—or the warmth—in his eyes.

As you left the map room, your heart still racing, you couldn’t help but smile. Tomorrow’s mission was going to be interesting, and you had a feeling Law’s teasing was only the beginning.

[clementineinn]

before you fade

abstract: a string of disappearances in a snowbound town pulls the BAU into a chilling case — one that hits too close when the next target is personal. chosen not for weakness, but for the strength that's been buried, hidden away in the depths of a person. as a team races against time, secrets resurface, and the line between subject and survivor begins to blur.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (some usage of Y/N)

genre: angst / fluff (a little dark i won't lie, but it resolves i swear fmskdjs)

word count: ~4.4k

note: this is my first time posting my writing on here,,, kinda nervous LOL. but huge thanks to all the writers here on tumblr that have inspired me to finally post some of my writing! i really hope you enjoy! :p

part one. part two.

The jet was quiet — the kind of quiet that hangs between two people with too many unsaid things. Y/N sat near the back of the plane, tucked into a corner, a case file sitting open in her lap. Her eyes drifted to the frost-laced window, watching the clouds pass like bruises over a pale sky. One hand toyed with the edge of the folder absently, her thumb flicking the corner rhythmically. Tap, tap, tap. She hadn’t flipped the page in ten minutes, a fact that Spencer quickly noticed.

Across from her, he was trying — failing — to read the same profile paragraph for the third time. His eyes kept tugging back to her like gravity, focused on the shadows under her eyes, the soft, focused line between her brows, the way her fingers rested against the page as she focused intently on the case file in her lap. Her brows were furrowed in concentration – he wanted to press his finger to the wrinkles between her eyebrows and ease her worries away. A pencil caught between her lips. Reid pretended to read the victimology section again, but his eyes kept drifting up — watching the way she tilted her head when something just didn’t add up.

She always read case files too fast. She annotated them in shorthand code that only Garcia had once dared to decipher — and even she had given up after the third sticky note label “internal triangulation, subjective anchor.” But today—nothing. No highlighter, no pen. Just stillness.

Spencer knew how many sugars she took in her coffee (zero, but only because she hated the grainy texture). He knew she double-knotted her boots because once, on an op, her laces had snapped mid-chase. He knew she kept her phone on silent unless her mom was sick or the team was in the field. He knew she hummed soft rock songs when she thought no one was listening. He even knew her heart rate elevated whenever he stood too close.

And he knew her tells.

She hummed when she was bored. Quizzed herself on bone fractures when she was nervous. Flipped her pencil in her hand when she was thinking — and now, she wasn’t doing any of that.

He leaned forward slightly. “You haven’t turned that page in a while,” he said gently.

Y/N blinked, slow and unfocused. “I know.” Then her voice dipped, dry as the cabin air. “The words stopped making sense.”

She didn’t look at him. Just stared out the window.

Spencer hesitated. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” she said easily, popping the “p” with forced cheer, then gave him a half-hearted smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But thanks for asking.”

He watched her for another beat. Then: “You’re allowed to not be okay, you know.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, “I know.”

She finally turned to face him — eyes shadowed, tired, but sharp. “You ever feel like a case is talking to you, not just at you?”

Spencer’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

“Yeah.” She looked back at the file, thumb pausing its rhythm. She said it like a joke, but the tension behind it wasn’t funny.

He loved her. In the deepest, quietest part of himself. The part he didn’t dare let breathe.

She didn’t know.

Or maybe she did. Maybe she felt it too — the tension strung between them like an invisible thread, pulled tight and trembling with everything unsaid. But neither of them moved and neither of them reached.

Their case in Vermont had gone cold long before the team arrived. Cold in every sense of the word — the kind that sunk into bone and refused to leave. Barre, Vermont was blanketed in an oppressive hush, the streets buried beneath layers of old snow and older secrets. The town itself felt suspended, frozen in time and temperature. Over six weeks, three women had vanished without a trace. No witnesses. No forensic evidence. No behavioral patterns to chase. Just absence. Until Isabel Warren came back.

She wasn’t whole, however.

Isabel had survived, but only technically. In the sterile fluorescent light of the hospital room, she looked less like a patient and more like something plucked from the ruins. A porcelain figure fractured at the seams, held together by instinct alone. Her voice, when it came, was dry leaves crushed underfoot — barely audible, brittle. Her eyes darted, flickering to corners and shadows as if expecting them to bite.

“He didn’t hurt me like you think,” she whispered, voice trembling like frost-laced glass. “He studied me.”

Morgan and Prentiss had taken the lead in her interview, giving the rest of the team space to process the implications. The story Isabel shared didn’t come all at once — it unraveled slowly, painfully, like unraveling gauze from a fresh wound. There was no rage, no screaming. No sudden violence. Instead: metal restraints that gleamed under surgical lights. Stainless steel trays. The cool pinch of needles. A camera that blinked silently in the corner, recording her every flinch.

And the man behind it was calm – precise. He didn’t shout – he asked questions. He didn’t hurt her in the way they expected. He violated her humanity in silence. Conversation filled the spaces where screams should have been.

What Isabel described wasn’t just captivity. It was dissection — of the mind, of identity, of control. And that made it worse.

The cold hit hard when they stepped out of the SUV — the kind that cracked at skin, settled in bones. Snow clung to the rooftops and drifted in thin sheets across the pavement, whispering over the soles of their boots as the team moved toward the small-town police station.

Y/N lagged behind slightly, scanning the street. Her breath fogged in front of her lips. Everything about Barre felt like it had stopped mid-sentence — frozen storefronts, shuttered windows, barely a sound beyond the wind.

Inside the precinct, the air was warmer, but only marginally. The heat came from space heaters along the hallway and the bitter scent of old coffee.

They’d just finished introducing themselves to the lead detective when someone behind the front desk called her name.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

She turned.

A uniformed officer — young, no older than twenty — held something out toward her. A plain white envelope.

“This came for you,” he said. “Dropped off about ten minutes before you arrived.”

Y/N frowned. “Dropped off by who?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t leave a name. Just walked it in. Said it was for you and left.”

The envelope was unmarked except for her name in neat, block print. No return address. No smudges. Just… clean.

She turned it over.

No seal.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

No letterhead. No date. No signature.

Just one line, typed:

“You can hide what broke you, but I can still see the cracks.”

Beneath it — in ink — was a small, hand-drawn smiley face.

Eyes and the curve of a mouth.

Y/N stared at it, the paper crinkling slightly between her fingers.

Her pulse didn’t spike. Her face didn’t change.

But something in her stomach dropped.

She folded it carefully, tucking it back into the envelope — then into the inner pocket of her coat.

Not now.

Not yet.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The precinct’s makeshift war room buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and muted voices. It was late — the kind of late that slowed movement and turned everything grainy – and the team had been investigating for days. Half-drunk coffee cups cluttered the table. A printer sputtered in the background. The map of Barre, Vermont, glared back at them from the board, dotted with red pins that marked where the victims had been taken. Three so far. All in two weeks. All women. All gone without a sound.

“He didn’t leave anything behind,” Morgan said, dragging a hand down his face. “No fibers. No prints. He’s not improvising. This is controlled.”

JJ’s brows furrowed as she laid out the victim photos. “All three women had similar emotional profiles. Independent, intelligent. Lived alone. Minimal social entanglements. Their trauma histories go back to early adolescence. They’re survivors, but just barely holding themselves together.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speakerphone like an apology. “And I pulled medical records like you asked. Isabel Warren? PTSD flagged in her file three years ago. She’d been in and out of counseling. So had the other two.”

“So he targets women who’ve already been broken,” Rossi murmured, eyes narrowing.

“No,” Spencer said quietly, his voice threading through the room. “He targets women who’ve survived it. Who’ve spent years putting themselves back together. He doesn’t want destruction. He wants erosion. He doesn’t abduct them at their weakest — he waits until they’re strong enough to matter.”

That quieted the room.

“Observation,” Hotch said flatly as the details were laid bare. His voice was calm, but there was a tension in the set of his jaw — a rare betrayal of emotion. “He’s not in a hurry. He studies them. Prepares the environment. Then waits until the right moment to break them down.”

Emily crossed her arms, staring hard at the psychological profile. “He doesn’t kill them quickly. He watches them fall apart. Slowly. Deliberately. He chooses subjects that are already primed to fracture.”

No one moved for a moment.

Y/N sat at the edge of the conference table, spine arrow-straight, the collar of her coat still pulled close around her neck. Her eyes were on the photos — lined side by side, the faces of missing women caught mid-smile, mid-blink, alive in one frame, vanished in the next. She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. But she wasn’t seeing them anymore.

The team kept talking.

Morgan cursed under his breath, pacing. “The guy’s using psychological stress like a weapon. Cages, lights, silence. It’s about control."

“And emotional isolation,” Spencer added. “He mimics safety — gives them just enough normalcy to confuse them. Then watches what they do with it. He’s cataloging survival behavior.”

Hotch nodded. “He builds trust just enough to remove it. Then he watches what’s left behind.”

A silence settled again, deeper this time.

Spencer glanced at Y/N — and that’s when he saw it.

She still hadn’t moved. Not once. But her hands, under the table, had shifted. Her fingers curled into fists. Small. Tense. Controlled.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The crime scene board loomed like a ghost in the center of the precinct — faces, names, timelines. Victims rendered into data. But no one was speaking anymore. The weight of the profile sat heavy on all of them.

Y/N had left the room a few minutes ago. Silent. Swift. She’d said she was getting some air, but her expression hadn’t changed — just locked down tighter. More precise.

Prentiss watched her go, something flickering in her eyes.

Then she turned toward Spencer, her voice low. “Have you noticed something… off with her today?”

Spencer looked up from a page of victimology notes. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not reacting,” Emily said, stepping a little closer. “Not the way she usually does. She’s not asking questions. Not checking in. It’s like she’s watching the case from the inside out.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “I thought maybe she was just tired,” he said — but even to himself, it sounded like a lie.

Emily gave him a look. Not sharp. Just knowing.

“You know her better than the rest of us,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m asking.”

Spencer’s shoulders lowered slightly. “She’s… quiet. Too quiet. During Isabel Warren’s statement — she didn’t move. Her hands were clenched under the table, but her face didn’t change. Not once.”

Emily nodded. “Exactly. She was holding it in. And she’s too good at it.”

A beat passed. Then she added, voice careful now: “That’s the kind of woman he goes after, isn’t it?”

Spencer froze. Not because it was a surprise — but because it wasn’t.

“She hasn’t said anything,” he offered. Weakly.

“She wouldn’t,” Emily said. “Especially not about something like this. Not after what happened before she came here.”

They both fell quiet.

Everyone in the BAU knew that Y/N had come from Interpol. That she’d spent nearly two years undercover. That something had gone wrong — badly enough to get her pulled from the field and quietly reassigned to domestic ops. But the details? Those were sealed. Even Garcia couldn’t pull them.

Prentiss had always respected that silence. But now, that same silence felt like a liability.

“She doesn’t talk about it,” Spencer murmured. “Whatever happened overseas… I think she’s still carrying it.”

“I think he’d see that,” Emily replied. “He’d read it in her body before she ever said a word.”

Spencer looked toward the hallway where Y/N had disappeared. His chest tightened.

“Do you think he’s already noticed her?”

“I think he noticed her the second she walked into town,” Emily said quietly. “And if we don’t act like that’s a possibility, we risk everything.”

She paused, then stepped back, her voice softening.

“Keep her close. Even if she pushes you away. Especially then.”

Spencer nodded. Once. Tight and sharp.

Then they moved — together — toward the board.

Hotch stood at the front, arms folded, studying the regional map with a crease forming between his brows. Red pins marked abduction sites, discarded belongings, last-known locations. They looked like wounds.

“Hotch?” Emily’s voice was calm, but steady.

He turned. Both she and Spencer were standing too straight. Too still.

“We need to talk,” Spencer said.

Hotch motioned for them to continue.

“We think Y/N might be at risk,” Emily said. “Not just as a profiler. As a potential victim.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

Spencer stepped forward, voice quiet but precise. “All of the victims had histories of trauma — long-term, deeply buried. High-functioning women who survived something early, then spent their lives masking it. They weren’t fragile. They were contained.”

“And that’s how he chooses them,” Emily added. “Not because they’re vulnerable — because they’re strong. Because they hide it so well, no one sees the cracks.”

“She fits the pattern,” Spencer said. “Even if she hasn’t said it out loud… she knows.”

“I saw it,” Emily said. “The moment Isabel started talking. Y/N didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. She recognized it.”

Hotch looked between them. His jaw tightened.

“She hasn’t acknowledged it?”

“No,” Spencer said. “And I don’t think she will. Not until it’s too late.”

Hotch turned back to the board. Something clicked into place.

“If he’s watching her — if she’s already on his list — he won’t wait long.”

Then he faced them, all hesitation gone.

“Get the team.”

The air felt heavier as the team reconvened — everyone on edge from the tension radiating off Hotch’s stance alone. He waited until they’d all settled: JJ, Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, and Spencer. Y/N wasn’t in the room — not yet.

Hotch spoke low and firm, voice carrying weight but no panic.

“We believe the unsub may be targeting someone on this team.”

That froze everyone.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “You saying he’s made us?”

“I’m saying,” Hotch continued, “he may have identified someone who fits his selection criteria. And we’ve determined that the agent most at risk… is Y/N.”

A beat of silence.

JJ’s eyes widened. Rossi’s expression hardened. Morgan leaned forward slightly, voice tight. “Are you sure?”

“She fits the behavioral profile to a T,” Spencer said, his voice almost too fast, like he was racing his own thoughts. “Trauma survivor. Emotionally reserved. Isolated but highly adaptive. She’s everything he’s been selecting for.”

Prentiss added, “And she hasn’t said a word about it — because she doesn’t want to be seen as vulnerable. Which only reinforces the pattern.”

Morgan swore under his breath, pushing away from the table. “We should’ve seen this sooner.”

“She did,” Hotch said quietly. “She just hasn’t said it.”

That landed like a weight.

Everyone knew Y/N had been through something in her Interpol years. Something she never talked about. Something that changed the course of her career and quietly followed her into every room.

Hotch’s eyes swept the room, sharp now. Focused.

“I want eyes on her every hour,” he said. “No one goes anywhere alone. Especially not Y/N. She doesn’t need to be scared — she needs to be covered. Discreetly. We don’t lose one of our own.”

Everyone nodded, a silent current of agreement moving through the room.

Spencer’s jaw clenched slightly. “If he’s already watching her... he won’t wait long to escalate.”

“Then we won’t give him the chance,” Hotch said. His voice was calm — but even Spencer could see the storm behind his eyes.

And just then — footsteps echoed in the hallway.

The door opened.

Y/N stepped into the room, unaware of the conversation that had just taken place. Her stride was even, composed — but to those who’d just been told to look closer, that composure now felt different.

Like armor.

Spencer’s eyes found her immediately. So did Emily’s. JJ’s smile faltered as she looked away and busied herself with her notes. Morgan leaned back, arms crossed too tightly. Everyone shifted — subtly, instinctively — forming an invisible perimeter around her.

She didn’t seem to notice.

But Spencer did.

As Hotch launched back into the debrief, picking up where he’d left off, Y/N settled at the edge of the table. Not beside anyone. Just slightly apart. Her coat was still on. Her coffee sat untouched. Her face didn’t move, but her shoulders gave away the truth — pulled up just a little too tight.

And Spencer knew.

Spencer watched her out of the corner of his eye as Hotch continued listing behavioral patterns and forensic gaps. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, but they were no longer following. Her breathing was even, but too shallow. Every muscle in her shoulders was drawn tight, and her jaw flexed once, twice, like she was swallowing words she didn’t trust herself to speak aloud.

He could see it now — the slow unraveling. The tiny threads fraying at the edge of her self-control. It wasn’t visible to anyone who didn’t know her. But he did.

She hadn’t slept. He could tell. There were faint shadows under her eyes, soft as smudged graphite. Her hair was neatly pulled back, but a few strands had slipped loose around her ears, stuck to her skin from where she’d rubbed at her temples earlier. And the coffee in her travel mug sat untouched.

The unsub sought emotional containment — not chaos. He didn’t want hysteria. He wanted the slow, clinical breakdown of a subject too proud or too traumatized to scream.

Y/N fit the profile because she was composed enough to attract him — and haunted enough to keep him interested.

The room had fallen into a contemplative hush.

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speaker, listing trauma indicators pulled from each victim’s medical and counseling history.

JJ added, “They all presented as stable — no recent crises, no major relapses. But every one of them had years of quiet therapy behind them. There’s a pattern of early trauma, but also recovery.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. “So what’s he hunting for? Strength? Weakness?”

Y/N looked up from her notes, finally speaking — voice calm, clear, steady.

“I don’t think it’s about strength or weakness,” she said. “I think it’s about endurance. The kind you don’t see unless you’re looking for it.”

The room quieted further.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, not rushed, just thoughtful.

“He’s choosing women who’ve rebuilt themselves. Not because they’re fragile — but because they’ve already been through something and survived it. He’s not looking for people who are breaking. He’s looking for people who know how to hold themselves together.”

Spencer glanced at her. There was something in his eyes — recognition, maybe. Respect.

Y/N continued, her voice soft but certain.

“He doesn’t want to destroy them. He wants to watch them try not to fall apart. To study the exact moment that strength starts to give.”

She didn’t say it with drama. She said it like she was laying something carefully on the table — something that mattered.

Hotch gave a small nod. “We’ll adjust the profile.”

And just like that, Y/N looked back down at her notepad and quietly underlined a single word: Endurance.

When the briefing ended, the team slowly dispersed to cross-reference victimology, revisit the scene logs, and check the geo-mapping data. No one said it out loud, but everyone lingered in her orbit. Just enough to keep her in their periphery. To follow Hotch’s directive without alarming her.

But Y/N lingered longer. Alone at the table, the light above her humming faintly.

Spencer didn’t leave. “You okay?” he asked softly.

She blinked. The motion was delayed, like a system rebooting. “I’m fine.”

It was automatic. Too fast.

“Y/N,” he said again, quieter now, stepping closer. “You don’t have to be fine.”

Her silence stretched. The room felt too big, too empty. Then she looked at him — really looked at him — and for a brief second, the glass cracked. The composure faltered. He saw it in her eyes. Not fear. Not yet. But recognition. Like she’d seen herself on that profile board, and couldn’t unsee it.

“He watches them fall apart,” she whispered. Her voice was barely audible, not really for him — more like a quiet realization rising from some place she’d kept sealed. “Like he’s waiting for something to break open.”

Spencer didn’t move. He just stood there beside her, close but not touching, like getting too near might crack what was left of her armor.

“He’s already watching,” she added, softer still.

Then, a pause. A slight shift.

She reached slowly into her coat pocket — careful, almost cautious — and pulled out a plain white envelope.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she murmured. “I told myself it was just local paranoia. A scare tactic. But... this was waiting at the precinct when we arrived.”

Spencer took the envelope gently, his brow furrowed. He opened it, unfolded the sheet inside.

One line of typed text.

“You can hide what broke you, but I can still see the cracks.”

And beneath it — a smiley face. Small eyes and the curve of a mouth. Inked by hand.

Spencer’s blood went cold.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I wasn’t sure it meant anything. And part of me didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of reacting.” She paused. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I read it. It’s not random. It’s not just a threat. It’s… intimate.”

His jaw tightened. “He knows.”

“I think he’s known,” she said. “Since the moment we stepped foot in Barre.”

They stared at each other in silence. Then Spencer slowly folded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope — like returning it to its cage.

“I’ll tell Hotch,” he said, his voice low, careful.

“No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Not yet. Let me... let me handle it a little longer. Just until we’re sure.”

Spencer didn’t like it. Every nerve in his body told him not to let her walk that line alone.

But he nodded. “Only if you promise me something.”

“What?”

“If you see anything else — if you feel anything off, anything strange — you come to me. Not later. Right then.”

She met his eyes. For the first time all day, she looked like she might break.

But she didn’t.

“I promise,” she said.

And then JJ’s voice called out from across the room. Penelope had found something. Everyone was gathering again.

Y/N gave Spencer a practiced, quiet smile — the kind you use to keep people from looking too closely — and beckoned him toward the others.

He followed.

But his eyes stayed on her a second too long.

The case briefing had dissolved into murmured strategy and side conversations, whiteboards covered in red ink and shadowed photos. The team split off — Prentiss reviewing victim timelines with JJ, Morgan mapping out geographic overlays, Hotch and Rossi deep in behavioral cross-referencing.

Spencer hovered near the far wall, watching Y/N from across the room.

She sat perfectly still. Back straight. Hands folded. The epitome of focus. But he could see it — the hollow weight in her gaze, the way her shoulders sat too high, like her body hadn’t unclenched in hours.

He wanted to go to her. Say something. Tell her that she wasn’t alone — that even if she didn’t speak it aloud, even if she hadn’t admitted it to herself, they knew. But something in her expression told him she wasn’t ready. Not yet.

So he watched.

And what he missed — just barely — was the moment she excused herself to the bathroom and slipped out the door. If he hadn’t been looking at a case file, he would’ve seen the look on her face – would’ve known it was something deeper than just having to take a break. He would’ve seen the way she refused to make eye contact with anyone from worry of them seeing through her lies.

Y/N moved quickly but calmly, coat already over her shoulders, bag slung across her arm. The snow was still falling hard — it pelted the front windows in a sideways blur. A local officer sat behind the lobby desk, sipping weak coffee and half-reading a report.

She stepped close and kept her voice low.

“I need an escort back to the hotel,” she said. “Discreetly, please.”

The officer looked up, confused for only a moment. Then nodded. “Absolutely. You alright, Agent?”

“I’m fine,” she said with a tired smile. “Just need some air. It’s been a long night.”

He stood, grabbed his keys, and followed her out.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Back in the conference room, the team reconvened quickly upon Penelope’s sudden gasp, the undercurrent of tension drawing them together like gravity.

JJ stood near the monitor, phone pressed to her ear as Garcia’s voice poured through the speaker — clear, fast, and edged with adrenaline.

“Okay, family — grab your metaphorical Kevlar, because I’ve got a name. And it’s not just a name. It’s a history, an address, and a very suspicious paper trail.”

Hotch leaned forward slightly, his voice sharp. “Go ahead, Garcia.”

“Meet Benjamin Cyrus Milburn,” Garcia said. “Age thirty-nine. Former veterinary technician — licensed in Massachusetts and Vermont. Worked at several rural clinics, most recently in Waterbury. No criminal record, no major red flags, but there’s something weird here. He dropped off the grid about two years ago — no income, no property under his name, no bills. Like he went full ghost mode.”

Prentiss frowned. “That lines up with the timeline for the first disappearance.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Garcia continued. “The last known address tied to him is a decommissioned vet clinic on the edge of Barre. Shut down three years ago for health code violations. He worked there part-time before it closed.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “That’s within five miles of Isabel Warren’s last known location.”

Spencer’s head snapped up. “Does he have access to controlled substances?”

“Legally, not anymore,” Garcia said, “but based on the inventory records from the shutdown clinic, a whole list of sedatives and anesthetics went unaccounted for — ketamine, isoflurane, and acepromazine. It could easily knock someone out fast and keep them just conscious enough to know what’s happening.”

A brief silence fell.

Then Hotch asked, “Do we have a photo?”

“Sending it now,” Garcia confirmed. A moment later, her familiar digital sparkle sound effect echoed from the monitor, and Milburn’s DMV photo appeared on screen.

He looked unremarkable. Average build. Short brown hair. Clean-shaven. Wearing a collared shirt like he was applying for a job he didn’t want. But his eyes were wrong. Blank, but focused — like he was already watching something no one else could see.

Rossi exhaled through his nose. “That’s the face of someone who disappears in a crowd.”

Hotch turned to JJ. “Have local PD canvass the area around the old clinic. No contact. Not yet. I want eyes on it first.”

“On it,” she said, already dialing.

Prentiss shifted, voice lower now. “If he’s using the clinic as his hunting ground... and Y/N fits the profile...”

Spencer finished it. “Then he’s already chosen her.”

Everyone went still.

Hotch turned slowly to Spencer, eyes narrowing with precision. “Where is she right now?”

Spencer swallowed. “She was just here.”

Rossi spoke up. “She said she was going to the bathroom.”

“She didn’t leave with anyone.”

Morgan stood, tense. “I’ll find her.”

But before he could take a step, the lights flickered — just briefly. Long enough to make everyone freeze.

Then JJ’s phone buzzed sharply.

She checked the message. Her face went pale.

“That was the hotel desk clerk,” she said. “One of their officers was supposed to escort her back to the hotel. He never checked in. And Y/N’s not answering her room line.”

The air drained from the room.

Hotch didn’t hesitate.

“Where’s her phone?” he asked.

Garcia’s voice chimed in a half-second later over speaker. “Last ping was twenty minutes ago near the main road out of Barre—before it went dark.”

Silence. Immediate. Heavy.

Spencer’s mouth went dry. He stepped back like he’d been hit.

“She left,” he whispered. “She left without telling us. Alone.”

“No,” Prentiss said quickly, trying to stitch it together. “She wouldn’t—”

“She did,” Hotch cut in, sharp now. “And she’s not responding. That means one of two things: either she’s gone dark on purpose or someone took her.”

Morgan grabbed his coat. “I’ll take the road to the hotel.”

“I’m coming,” Spencer said immediately.

Hotch nodded. “Go. Now.”

As they rushed out, the room behind them fell to silence.

But no one said what they were all thinking: they’d profiled the next victim and let her walk straight into his hands.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

At first, it felt like nothing.

The cruiser glided over snow-slicked backroads, wipers beating steadily against the windshield. The officer beside her — nameplate reading J. D. Greeley — was quiet, focused on the road. Barre’s small-town streetlights flickered past in the rearview mirror, fading as they veered farther from downtown.

Y/N sat in silence, arms folded, her breath fogging faintly in the chill that leaked through the windows.

“You mind taking the long way?” she asked, her voice casual. “I just need to breathe for a few minutes before going back.”

The officer nodded once. “Sure. Not a problem.”

He turned down a road that dipped behind a line of tree cover, away from the main street.

That was her first warning.

She knew the town’s layout by now — knew this wasn’t the most direct route to the hotel. But maybe he was avoiding a traffic blockage. Or snow.

Still.

Her fingers tightened slightly on her coat sleeve. “You from around here?” she asked lightly, trying to place his cadence, his rhythm.

But the man didn’t answer.

The second warning.

Her stomach tightened. “Officer Greeley?” she tried again, voice sharper now.

No response. No acknowledgment. Her heart began to pound.

She reached for her phone, kept in her coat pocket. Cold leather met her fingertips — no phone. She checked the other pocket.

Gone.

Her pulse quickened. She glanced at the dashboard. No GPS. No radio on.

And then — the cruiser slowed.

Not at the hotel.

Not anywhere near it.

They were pulling into a snow-covered drive that disappeared into trees — overgrown, unlit, forgotten.

A thin, wavering breath escaped her lips.

She reached for the door handle. Locked.

The driver turned to her.

And for the first time, she really saw him.

Wrong eyes. Wrong age. Wrong badge.

Not Officer Greeley.

Not a cop.

Just the unsub wearing his uniform like a second skin.

“You’re everything I expected,” he said softly.

And before she could scream, move, or fight —

The needle was already at her neck.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The cruiser’s wheels screeched to a stop at the edge of the snow-packed drive. Blue and red lights flashed across the skeletal trees, illuminating the icy breath that left Spencer’s lungs as he stared through the windshield.

“There,” Morgan said, already out of the vehicle.

The escort car was parked at a crooked angle just off the road — doors flung open. Snow had started to fill the driver’s seat. The headlights were still on.

Spencer sprinted forward.

“Y/N!” he shouted.

Nothing but the howl of wind.

Morgan reached the car first, flashlight sweeping the inside. The cabin was empty. Spencer circled to the passenger side — door wide open, scarf still clinging to the seatbelt.

Then he saw the needle cap in the snow.

“Oh God,” he whispered, dropping to one knee. He picked it up with gloved hands — a faint glisten of residue clinging to the tip.

“Chloroform or a paralytic,” Morgan said, voice grim. “He took her clean. Quiet. Knew how much time he had.”

Spencer rose, eyes scanning the tire tracks. “He left on foot or transferred her to another vehicle. There's no exit on this road except back the way we came. It was a trap.”

Morgan cursed low under his breath. “She asked for a private escort. He knew. He either intercepted the real cop, or he was waiting for her to ask.”

Spencer’s throat felt like it was closing. The image of her smiling softly, tugging on her gloves, saying I’ll be fine—it punched through his chest like a fist.

“She’s gone,” he said, barely audible.

Morgan’s hand came down on his shoulder. “Not for long. I’m calling Hotch.”

They stood in the snow, breath hard and fast, the empty cruiser behind them glowing like a signal flare in the dark.

Somewhere in the forest, Y/N was already fading.

And the clock had started.

[woso-story]

First Tournament

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x DaughterMila x BarcaPlayers

The smell of tomato sauce filled the cozy kitchen, bubbling gently on the stove while Ingrid stirred it with practiced ease. Behind her, at the wooden table, eight-year-old Mila sat, her small brow furrowed in concentration as she worked through her math homework. Her long, dark hair was neatly braided, just like her Mama's always was on matchdays.

Ingrid glanced back with a soft smile. Her daughter had that spark—focused, determined, with a fiery little personality that was unmistakably hers. And while her mothers were both fierce defenders, Mila had taken a different path. A forward. And a natural one at that. Scoring goals seemed to run in her blood.

"Hey, Mama?" Mila's voice piped up, breaking Ingrid out of her thoughts.

"Yeah, cariño?" Ingrid replied, turning around.

Mila looked up, her pencil now still in her hand. "Will my tias be there for the tournament this weekend?"

Ingrid paused, her heart twinging just a little. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned toward her daughter fully. "No, mi amor. Just me and Mami," she said gently.

Mila's shoulders slumped and she looked down at her notebook. The sight hit Ingrid hard, and she quickly moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around Mila’s small frame.

“I know you want them there,” Ingrid said softly. “And they want to be there too. But I asked them not to come, because… well, you know how famous they are. If they show up, it becomes a whole thing. Photos, autographs, distractions. I just wanted the day to be about you and all the kids playing—not about them.”

Mila nodded slowly, trying to understand, though her eyes still looked a little disappointed. “But I learned everything from them,” she whispered.

Ingrid kissed her temple. “I know, and they’re so proud of you. So are your Mami and I. And this is just the beginning. They’ll be at so many of your games.”

What neither Ingrid nor Mila knew was that the FC Barcelona girls had made their own decision. There was no way in the world they’d miss Mila’s first tournament.

---

The pitch was buzzing with energy, the sun shining down on groups of excited girls tying their boots, bouncing balls, and shouting to their teammates. Mila stood on the field, jersey tucked neatly into her shorts, laces double-knotted, hair in a tight braid.

She glanced toward the sidelines where her moms stood—Mapi with her ever-cool sunglasses and Ingrid holding a water bottle and looking like she was trying not to pace.

Then, just as the referee lifted the whistle to start the game, Ingrid noticed movement. A whole crowd was coming toward them. And not just anyone.

Alexia. Esmee. Pina. Frido. Kika. Jana. All of them. The Barcelona family.

Ingrid groaned softly. “They came anyway,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Mapi let out a laugh. “You thought they’d stay away?”

Esmee leaned in with a grin. “Come on, Ings. This is Mila’s debut. No way we’re missing that.”

Ingrid’s heart warmed even as she rolled her eyes, clearly failing to hide her smile.

On the pitch, Mila turned just in time to see them all lined up, waving and shouting her name. Her whole face lit up with the biggest grin. She waved back excitedly… completely missing the ball that rolled right past her.

“Mila! Focus!” Alexia yelled playfully, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Mila immediately straightened up and nodded. “Focus on the game!” she muttered to herself, repeating Alexia’s timeless advice.

And oh, did she focus.

Barely five minutes later, she was weaving through defenders like it was second nature, tapping the ball forward with precision. Then, with a swift motion, she struck it cleanly into the back of the net.

Cheers erupted. Mila sprinted to the sideline, where the entire crew was shouting and clapping. Then, in a moment of pure inspiration, she bowed deeply in front of them all—an homage to Alexia’s iconic Champions League celebration. The girls screamed even louder, all of them touched and laughing.

“¡Esa es mi nina!” Kika shouted proudly.

As the game went on, the cheering never stopped. Every goal, every pass, every tackle had a chorus of elite players hyping her up. And when an opponent shoved Mila a little too hard, Alexia and Kika were already half-jumping over the barriers.

“FOUL!” they yelled in unison, making everyone around them laugh.

Mila’s team won the match, and then the next, and the next. By the end of the day, they had won the entire tournament. Mila had scored three out of the four goals in the final. She ran straight to her family, holding up her little medal like it was a World Cup trophy.

Frido scooped her up into a spinning hug. “You were incredible!”

“We’ve got a future Ballon d'Or winner right here,” Pina added, ruffling Mila’s hair.

Soon, Mila’s coach called her back for the team photo. She waved and ran off, medal bouncing against her chest.

Ingrid looked around at the group beside her. “So none of you listened to me.”

Jana smirked, raising her hands. “Nope. Not even for a second.”

Ingrid shook her head but her smile said it all. “I’m glad you didn’t. She’ll never forget this.”

And she wouldn’t.

Because it was only the beginning. The first of many medals. The first of many games where her family was there, screaming her name and cheering her on.

[gothamite-rambler]

Catwoman (wrapping her arms around Batman's shoulders): Still feeling sore after last night.

Batman (playing along): You did put up quite a fight.

Catwoman: What can I say? I’m feisty. I was worried you'd be gentle with me.

Batman: That was me being gentle.

Catwoman: Oh? When will I get the rougher side of the Batman?

Batman: How about now? I can still taste you on my tongue.

Catwoman: And I don’t mind letting you taste me again.

Oracle (unfortunately eavesdropping on the entire conversation): This is the audio version of my nightmares. It actually surpassed the time I walked in on my parents.

Oracle tapped her pencil on her cheek, deciding to wait for the grown adults to notice their 'mics' were on.

Signal (dodging a punch from a goon, unaware of whom he’s listening to): Why am I listening to porn?

Nightwing (interrupting the parental dirty talk via comms): Batman, your communication device is on.

Batman (pulling away from Catwoman): You can hear… You heard… Please tell me it just turned on a second ago.

Nightwing: I’d like to tell you that, but I’d be lying. The sounds of my father and soon-to-be stepmother swapping spit are not easing my mind either.

Red Robin (lying face-down on the ground): Make it stop!

Oracle (staring at the ceiling): On it. I was praying he’d notice before getting to the tasting part.

Red Hood: Oh dear God, stop reminding me! They've traumatized Orphan enough!

Orphan moaned softly, hugging her body at the parental dirty talk. Even an assassin ninja wasn’t strong enough to handle that.

Red Hood: Nice going. Now I have to comfort her. This was the first time you put her through this! Orphan, I've been through this many times. Let’s go.

Orphan: I need brain bleach.

Red Hood: I got you.

Batman sighed, mortified. Catwoman blushed as their newfound dynamic became even more ingrained in the family.

Catwoman: It could be worse.

Oracle, Nightwing, and Red Robin: We know!

Signal: When y’all work together, just... don’t have the earpieces on. Y'all both need Jesus! You nasties.

Batman: I just got scolded by a majority of my children… I’m calling it a night.

Batman physically removed his earpiece, double-checking that it was off. Catwoman nodded, a smirk playing on her lips.

Catwoman: This shouldn’t stop us from having a little fun tonight. I still have some of that medicine in my system, and I have a lot of energy... and I need something to clear my mind at what just happened.

Batman: …Yeah, sure.

pt 1

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part seventeen: dream a little dream of me

word count: 1.6k

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff

sixteen | seventeen | eighteen

The second date should’ve felt more awkward. It didn’t.

Alex had picked a science museum of all places—not exactly romantic on paper, but the look on his face when he pointed out the replica Mars rover was too earnest to judge. He had this habit where his whole face would light up like a lightbulb the moment before he got excited about something, and Y/N had already learned to clock it like a warning siren.

“So, technically,” he was saying, hands jammed in his jacket pockets as they strolled past a massive display on deep-sea robotics, “the algorithms used for this submersible’s sensor mapping were adapted from AI software developed for self-driving cars.”

“Technically,” she echoed, teasing, “you should probably just work here.”

He looked sideways at her with a crooked grin. “I applied when I was sixteen. They didn’t take me.”

“They’re clearly still recovering from that mistake.”

He tried to play it off cool, but she caught the slight flush of his ears.

She liked him more than she expected to. Not in the way you decide to like someone—more like how you step outside one day and realize the air smells like rain and suddenly, you’re soft and open and all the windows are down. He was like that: unexpected and quiet and warm around the edges.

They made their way through the rest of the exhibits in no particular order, weaving between dwindling crowds of families and groups of students on field trips, neither of them in a hurry. He let her take her time at the forensic anthropology section, where she ran her fingers along the raised edges of a reconstructed skull, and she let him lose himself in the physics wing, where he explained, with ridiculous enthusiasm, why the double pendulum was so cool. It was there that the nickname Professor Albon was born.

At some point, he took her hand. It wasn’t a big deal. He just did it naturally, without hesitation, like it had already been a habit, and for a moment, that simple touch made her feel warm all over.

They ended the night sitting cross-legged on the floor of the museum café, long after it closed, surrounded by vending machine snacks and a half-solved crossword puzzle she’d found in her bag. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a dim glow over the abandoned chairs and tables, but neither of them seemed eager to move. They laughed about everything and nothing, the kind of laughing that came from being tired but happy, the kind that made her lean into his shoulder without thinking.

"Okay," Alex said, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against the page. "Eight-letter word for ‘illuminates or clarifies’?"

As she took a moment to think it over, Alex watched in his periphery as she counted off the letters of her word on her fingers. "’Explains’ fits," she mused, popping a purple skittle into her mouth.

"Hmm." He scribbled it in. "Not bad. Maybe I should keep you around."

"Yeah, yeah," she nudged his knee with hers, grinning. "You just like me for my crossword skills."

"Wrong. I like you for your crossword skills and your terrible puns."

“My puns are great, thank you very much.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

He liked her brain. She liked how funny he was. They made a good pair—two academically overworked people who laughed at obscure engineering memes and played footsie under café tables without meaning to. When they said goodbye that night, he kissed her like he was trying not to smile through it. Like maybe this could really be something.

It felt easy.

And in the days that followed, it stayed easy. He texted her every night.

alex: Made the Mars rover jealous. Can’t stop thinking about you.

Y/N: did you just say that unironically. because I might have to stop seeing you on principle.

alex: Too late, I’ve already added you to my will. You get the Lego Technic collection.

Y/N: wait nvm i’m back in

They made time. Even when they both shouldn’t have.

He’d bring her coffee before her class–something with cinnamon and oat milk in it. He’d scrawl dumb physics jokes on the lid just to make her roll her eyes. She started keeping his schedule in her head without meaning to. She knew which nights he had his advanced systems class and which ones he spent buried in the lab. He’d text her when his simulations crashed at 3AM. She’d send him memes about courtroom drama tropes in return.

He had an engineer’s sense of humor—dry, sneaky, often deeply specific. It took a while to catch on, but once she did, it felt like discovering hidden easter eggs in his sentences.

“You know,” he’d murmur as they lay back in the grass near campus, watching clouds roll over like they weren’t chilly out here in the autumn breeze, “you statistically reduce your lifespan by two minutes every time you eat instant ramen.”

“Cool. So I’ll be dying a noble, sodium-rich death then.”

He turned his head toward her, smiling with closed eyes. “Hmm, a martyr.”

“A hero.”

“Buried with your books and MSG packets.”

She shoved his shoulder. He let her.

On Thursdays, she’d sit outside his lab, cross-legged on the cold tile floor with flashcards in her lap, quizzing him on his presentation slides about failure analysis and impact resistance.

“Okay, explain to me like I’m five—what is a stress-strain curve and why should I care?”

“Because,” he’d say, crouching in front of her with a smirk, “it tells you how close something is to breaking.”

“And that’s relevant to your research…?”

He gave her a confused look, until it turned sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m… not entirely sure about that bit, actually.”

She started looking forward to the moments in between—the walks across campus, the shared bag of chips while sitting on the hood of her car, the ridiculous voice memos he sent when he was overtired and delirious.

They kissed in stairwells and library corners and once,perhaps ill-advisedly, on a park bench in the middle of a thunderstorm. The rain had soaked through their clothes, cold and unrelenting, but he had just looked at her and said, "I think we should be stupid about this," right before he leaned in. It was impulsive and dramatic and made her laugh until she had to cover her mouth, their faces inches apart. Her hair was soaked, his glasses fogged up, and they almost dropped his backpack in a puddle, but the moment stuck—sharp and golden and untouchable.

They talked about future dates like there’d be dozens of them—bookstores they wanted to browse together, a tiny Thai place he swore by, a stargazing night he promised would be “scientifically optimized for romance” depending on the cloud cover. She rolled her eyes at that one, but her heart still fluttered.

They were still in the sweet spot—the space between maybe and more, where everything felt bright and possible. 

It wasn’t perfect – but it was promising.

The third date was dinner—some hole-in-the-wall Thai place with flickering neon signage and laminated menus stained with old curry thumbprints. He’d gotten lost on the way and sent a flurry of frantic texts.

alex :) : I passed the restaurant. Twice. There’s a cat staring at me through a laundromat window. I think it’s judging me.

Y/N: be strong. you can beat the cat.

alex :) : Negative, Sargeant. It’s very confident.

He’d arrived breathless, slightly damp from a drizzle, and holding a single packet of Skittles “for your efforts,” he’d said solemnly. She called him an idiot. He looked delighted.

That night, they talked about things that didn’t matter—TV shows neither of them had finished, foods they pretended to like for the aesthetic, the sheer horror of Alex’s undergraduate group project from hell (“We had a guy who thought duct tape was a structural solution”). 

And then, slowly, they talked about the things that did matter.

Like how she used to want to be a journalist when she was little, because she thought it meant you got to ask as many questions as you wanted and never had to apologize.

Or how he still wasn’t sure what kind of engineer he wanted to be—just that he wanted to make things that didn’t break when people needed them most.

“You know,” he said, nudging his glass in slow circles across the table, “you’re not what I expected.”

Y/N looked up. “Is that a good thing or, like, a 'you’re secretly a serial killer' kind of a thing?”

He smiled. “It’s a good thing. Really, really good.”

By the fourth week, they had a rhythm. It wasn’t just dates anymore—it was Hey, want to walk home together? and I saved you the last chocolate chip muffin, but only because I like you more than I like muffins. But barely.

It was him reaching for her hand without thinking, her resting her head against his shoulder on the bus when she was too tired to hold it up.

It was a shared Spotify playlist for when studying is ur 13th reason.

It was early Saturday morning sun filtering into her apartment while they quietly read their own books, his socked foot nudging hers on the side of the couch almost every ten minutes.

It was good.

But between the sleepy smiles and the shared muffins and the texts that kept getting longer instead of shorter, the truth was that they both had dreams. Big ones. All-consuming ones.

And no matter how much you wanted something—or someone—there were only so many hours in the day.

a/n: one of my more favorite chapters! an unfortunate lack of lando though :/ what did you think of it?

[aventurineswife]

omg wait u know how aventurine is part of the strategic investment department so like supposedly he's good at maths? ahhhh imagine a high school au where reader is struggling with maths and aven helps them out bc he's already a tutor so why would he not help his partner...but only for a fee 🙂‍↕️ (aka unlimited hugs and kisses for the day). they can just be in the library trying to be quiet as he helps but obviously reader is TIRED of this and wants to leave. aven playfully warns them there will be no affection until they understand the concept (ofc it's a lie but anywayyy 😜). so reader just has to suck it up and then when they finally understand it they lowkey cry in joy, forgetting that they're in the library...disappointing looks from the librarians are embarrassing and reader wants to get out ASAP aventurine chuckles yada yada happy end YAY!

idk if maths is a strong suit for you though so sorry if it isn't 😭 i'm willing to wait for a long time though...heh...((cries over circular motion

Kisses and Calculations

Summary: Struggling with math, you reluctantly accept Aventurine’s tutoring in the library. However, he demands an unusual payment—unlimited hugs and kisses for the day. As you suffer through equations, Aventurine playfully holds affection hostage until you finally understand the concept. Overjoyed, you accidentally yell in the quiet library, earning disapproving stares while Aventurine laughs at your embarrassment. Despite the ordeal, you might not mind his tutoring so much after all.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, High School AU, Fluff, Light Humor, Tutor!Aventurine, Playful Banter, Established Relationship, Slight Embarrassment, Happy Ending.

A/N: Yeah... Math isn’t, and probably never will be, my strong suit. Funny, considering it was in my major.

The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of pages and the muffled scratching of pens against paper. You, however, were ready to commit a crime.

“Why is this so difficult?” you groaned under your breath, glaring at the mess of numbers on your worksheet. Math was your mortal enemy, and right now, it was winning.

Across from you, Aventurine smirked, resting his chin on his palm. “Because you’re not focusing, darling. And because math doesn’t respond well to death glares.”

You pouted, dropping your pencil in defeat. “I hate this. I don’t get it.”

He leaned forward, tapping your forehead lightly with the eraser of his own pencil. “And you won’t get it if you keep giving up so easily. Now, what did I say about exponents?”

You huffed but begrudgingly repeated his explanation from earlier. “That you have to multiply the base by itself however many times the exponent says.”

“There you go,” he said, giving you a teasing smile. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Can I go home now?”

Aventurine clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. “Tsk, tsk, not so fast. I believe we had an agreement.”

You groaned. “Aven—”

“No hugs, no kisses, until you actually solve this problem correctly,” he interrupted smoothly, pointing at the next question with a smirk that was entirely too smug for your liking.

You squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re lying.”

He gasped, a hand over his chest in mock offense. “How could you say that about your ever-so-generous and kind tutor?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Because I know you.”

Aventurine chuckled but didn’t deny it. Instead, he gestured to the worksheet. “Come on, sweetheart. Solve it, and then we’ll see about your reward.”

With a dramatic sigh, you picked up your pencil (or pen) and started working through the equation again, muttering numbers under your breath. Aventurine watched with an amused gleam in his eyes, occasionally correcting your approach with an arched brow or a gentle nudge in the right direction.

And then—it clicked.

Your eyes widened. “Wait.” You scribbled the final answer, double-checking the steps. “Wait.”

Aventurine leaned closer, peeking at your work. “Hmm, let’s see…” He tapped the answer with his pencil, lips curling in approval. “Correct.”

The rush of victory was too much. “OH MY GOD, I DID IT—”

The sharp shushing from the nearby librarian cut through your triumph, and you froze.

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you turned your head, meeting the unimpressed stares of multiple library patrons. Aventurine, unhelpfully, was laughing under his breath, his shoulders shaking with silent amusement.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, sinking into your chair. “We need to leave. Right now.”

Aventurine wiped away a fake tear. “Ah, what a moment. The sheer joy of academic enlightenment.”

You glared at him, grabbing your stuff as fast as humanly possible. “Never again.”

“But you learned something,” he pointed out smugly, following you toward the exit.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not the point.”

Aventurine, ever the opportunist, slipped an arm around your waist as soon as you were safely out of sight of the librarian. “Now, about my payment…”

You sighed, pretending to consider. Then, with a smirk of your own, you reached up and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Fine. But next time, you’re not holding me hostage for math.”

Aventurine chuckled, pulling you closer. “Oh, sweetheart, I make no promises.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. Maybe math tutoring wasn’t so bad after all.

[lukesvangelista]

𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞ˡᵈᵇᵇ⁶⁵

in which you surprise luca at his game.

warnings; none that i can think of

You hadn’t told Luca you were coming to his game—partly because you wanted to surprise him and partly because you wanted to see his genuine reaction. The second you bought your ticket, you started planning everything, down to the smallest detail.

The most important part? The sign.

You wanted it to be perfect—something that would stand out, something he wouldn’t be able to miss, and most importantly, something that would make him smile the second he saw it.

You made a trip to the store specifically for supplies, carefully picking out the biggest, brightest poster board you could find. At first, you debated between a bold red or a classic white, but ultimately, you went with white so the lettering would pop even more.

Next came the markers. You tested a few on a scrap sheet of paper before settling on black for the main message—thick, bold, impossible to miss—and red for little accents.

You spent way too long mapping out the letters in pencil before carefully tracing over them in marker, making sure everything was perfectly aligned. You even debated adding glitter or something flashy, but ultimately decided the message itself was enough.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you took a step back and admired your work.

“#65 IS MY BOYFRIEND”

You smirked to yourself, already imagining Luca’s reaction.

On game day, you showed up to the arena early, your heart pounding with excitement. You kept the sign rolled up under your arm as you made your way through the crowd, scanning the sections until you found a perfect spot right against the glass.

You could hardly contain your excitement as you waited for warmups to start. The second the Zamboni finished its last lap and the doors opened to let the players onto the ice, you unrolled the sign and held it up to the glass proudly.

At first, Luca didn’t notice you. He was locked into his pregame routine — gliding effortlessly across the ice, stretching, tapping pucks toward the net. He was completely unaware of your presence.

Not for long.

You waited, anticipation building up inside you, until he finally skated past your section. His eyes flickered toward the boards for just a second, and then he saw you. Or so he thought.

He did a complete double take.

Luca’s skates came to a sudden stop, ice spraying up slightly as he whipped his head around. His eyes landed on you, then on the sign, and his entire face lit up.

For a second, he just stared, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. Then, his grin broke through — wide, boyish, completely stunned but beyond happy. He tapped his stick against the glass, shaking his head with a laugh, “What the hell! You didn’t tell me you were coming!”

You beamed at him from the other side of the glass, holding the sign up even higher, “Surprise!”

Luca laughed, running a hand through his hair beneath his helmet before skating off for a second.

Then, suddenly, he was back — this time flipping a warmup puck over the glass toward you.

“Catch.”

You caught it easily, looking down at it for a second before shaking your head with a knowing smile, “I swear, you’re such a showoff.”

He just winked, “You love it.”

Warmups continued, but every single time Luca skated past, he sent you little looks — quick smirks, playful winks, slight head shakes like he still couldn’t believe you were actually there. Then, just when you thought the moment couldn’t get any better, Luca skated toward you again near the end of warmups.

But this time, he wasn’t empty-handed.

Instead of just tapping the glass, he lifted his stick and motioned for you to take it.

Your eyes widened, “Luca, what are you...?”

“Take it,” he said, his grin growing, “You made a whole sign about me. It's the least I can do.”

You hesitated for a second, looking between him and the stick, "Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” his voice was muffled through the glass, but you could still hear the amusement in it. Still in slight disbelief, you reached up and carefully took the stick from him. It was still warm from his gloves, the tape perfectly molded to his grip.

“You’re actually insane,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Luca just laughed, “Yeah, yeah. You love it.”

Before you could even respond, he was skating backward with a wink, heading toward the tunnel as warmups officially ended.

You could still hear the guys chirping him as they left the ice.

“Ohhh, Luca’s in loooove!"

“Did you actually just give her your stick, man?”

“I swear, this dude is whipped.”

Luca, completely unfazed, just shrugged, “What can I say? My girl deserves the best.”

And with that, he disappeared into the tunnel — leaving you standing there, holding his stick, grinning like an idiot.

a/n; for my lovely friend rey (@fantillisgirl)! sorry it's kinda short :( also i'm aware that luca is currently with the monsters, but it was easier to act like he was called up at this point, so here we are

[livingsspecter]

𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚢’𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚛

pairing: Gregory violet x reader

content: gn!reader and Violet go on a date at the local cemetery on Valentine’s day and awkward flirting ensues (reader is down bad)

word count: 886 words

A medley of leaves rustle under my feet and Violet’s, as we walk towards the goth-spiked cemetery gate. This time, he allows me to intertwine our arms while we chaperone; especially since I had to steady my pace to match his hurried steps.

One thing I noticed about Violet is that even if he always walks with his head hung low, his steps remain firm. Though unlike mine, they make little to no noise…I wonder if it’s intentional or-

My thoughts are sent to space when I feel an insistent gaze upon me, Violet stares until I look back, and calls:

“Come on”

I nod my head urgently, as if to get out of my mind zone and watch as he lets go of my arm to push the grand gate with both hands. We step in, and I dare to reach out for his arm again; he stops and raises a thin brow, but makes no move to create any distance.

“Are you scared of cemeteries?” The corner of his lips raise ever so slightly, and I scoff.

“Of course not! Why would I be?” I roll my eyes and let my hands slide down from his sleeve.

Violet watches my touch slip away, and just when my hands were about to hover in the air; he takes one of them, intertwining it with his.

“...No reason”

He gives me one last stare-down, squeezes my hand and picks up his pace, carrying on without any halts and double takes and I follow. The sight of the numerous tombstones are lost on me while the coldness of his hand fill mine, like an ice pack in a hot summer.

Our hands quit swinging and he stops, I look up from our interwoven hands to face a multiple-crypt, gothic masoleum; its columns were covered with overgrown vines, reaching an opaque entablature.

I keep on contouring the tomb’s extremities with my eyes, until Violet tugs on my sleeve to pull me down so I could sit beside him on the leaf-covered grass. He lets go and pulls his clipboard out from his pouch, supporting it on his thigh and occupying his left hand with a brand new charcoal pencil.

“It’s quiet here…” He mutters, close to whispering

Even if the words hang in the air, his ample gaze is already drawn to an empty page and he starts sketching, so I hesitate before answering.

“I assume you like it, then?” I cock my head, smiling warmly.

He nods, his gaze flickering from the page to my eyes, staring and unblinking—as usual. I chuckle and scooch closer, making leaves scatter around beneath me.

“Oh yeah, it’s…Valentine’s day today, did you know?”

His eyebrows raise and his grip on the pencil finally loosens.

“I’m aware…why?”

I gulp and the incoming words stop in the tip of my tongue, but I manage to push them out.

“So is this like…a date?” With each word, my voice gets more strained.

To my surprise, Violet simply keeps adorning the sketch with a few lines, and hums in approval.

“…I suppose so”

My belly filled with erratic butterflies, flapping their wings on my skin and giving flight to my hope. Hope calls for boldness and I feel on the top of the world, above all shame and restraint.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind paying homage to Mary Shelley-“*

The words roll off my tongue like a heavy bucket falling, my eyes widen and I freeze, becoming a hostage of Violet’s response…or lack thereof. He raises his head and sets the sketchbook down on his lap, his jaw was on the floor, his cheeks petal-pink under the shadow of his hood.

“Excuse me?”

I wave my hands frantically, increasing the volume of my voice without realizing. The pathetic flush on my face rivals the ripest tomato.

“Forget it!! It was a joke…I-“ My hands fly to cover my face, seeing nothing but the comfort of pitch black.

I let out a groan, wishing with all my heart that a tree would fall on top of me, it’d be an undignified, but quick death; anything to not face Violet’s imminent rejection. I sit motionless, with tense muscles and tightly shut eyes until I feel a tap on my arm, it was far from rough and furrowed like a tree’s trunk; and felt the same as the cold skin on my palm earlier.

My eyes shoot open and I let Violet lower my hands from my face to my lap. He was close enough for our breaths to mingle, his black painted lips were displayed like a savoury dessert on a bakery showcase. Before I could justify myself, he inched forward and pressed his lips on my forehead, leaving a dark lipstick mark.

“A bit too quick..don’t you think?” He whispers in my ear and I could see a smile, rare and precious right in front of me, and just for me.

The vision was so unberably bright that I quickly averted my eyes, taking a sudden interest in the clipboard laid across his lap.

Just then, I saw it: an unfinished depiction of my profile, down to my bust, so realistic I could dive in the paper and run my fingers through my own hair. My heart started pounding like a drum being striked and my lips curled up to match his.

“Yeah…definitely too quick”

*a!n: the author of Frankenstein, Mary Shelley, is rumoured (likely true) to have lost her virginity on top of her mother’s grave

[rafesteddy]

Putt Slut? - Rafe Cameron Daydreams ☁️

+18 Minor DNI

Rafe x GolferGirlfriend!Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

���� language and mentions of smut

650

You two haven’t seen each other long, but when you show up to the course with a bag of Callaway REVAs, he can’t help but get a little rattled, especially when he’s used to his girls play caddie, if that. He watches you smooth out your Vouri dress, slipping on your glove and Callaway hat before pulling your pony through the back. His eyes double, as you lean down to tie your shoes, catching a glimpse of your dress’s built-in shorts where he would typically see lace, mesh, or pussy.

“I didn’t know you were a golfer, princess,” his voice wavers.

To which you smile and nod. “You didn’t? Yeah. Since I was six.” He swallows hard as the stakes are quickly raised.

Suddenly, Rafe Cameron is nervous.

How would he impress you now? What if you won?

You came out of the front nine in the lead with Rafe at his wits end. He had no patience; his short game was a mess, too focused on what you would do next, which always seemed to be the right move. Not to mention you looked so good doing it, your focus locked on the game. Rafe found himself in a strange position where he was now fighting for your eye.

Halfway through the back nine, he found himself at a crossroads. There was no way he would win: play fair and lose to his girl or play dirty and knock you down a little… It started simply by disturbing your backswing or during a putt, a cough, or a sneeze. Normal enough. When that didn’t work, he switched to praise. The type of praise that would make you feel nervous about the next shot. But you didn’t falter.

There was only one tactic that remained. The one that could always throw him off his game. Rafe unbuttoned the top button of his crisp white polo, fingers curling around the leather steering wheel to let his biceps flex. Every movement was a little closer than before: your position on the golf cart, where he stood on the green, how long he’d linger for a kiss. He was talking sweeter too, his low tone deep and raspy as he leaned into your ear, holding your hips from behind as you took a few practice strokes.

“You look so pretty, baby.”

“Fuck, my girl’s so good at this.”

“Wanna take a break. Hmm? I know a spot, honey. Wanna make you feel good.”

“Need you so bad.”

“Don’t make me wait.”

PLOP.

Your ProV1 golf ball plunges into the depths of the murky pond as a sinister smile spread on Rafe’s lips. Your eyes narrow on his baby blues, catching him in the act, clocking his excitement as you put two and two together. The rest of the round plays out like the PGA tournament because, unlucky for Rafe, you didn’t like to lose either.

“Wanna just call it, baby doll?” Rafe asks knowing his game was unrecoverable, but if it wasn’t in writing, did it actually count? You shake your head ‘no’, tapping your little pencil at the card.

“One left, baby boy.” Rafe smirks and shakes his head. “A bet?”

“You’re already gonna win, baby,” he groans.

“Just this hole, Rafe. Winner gets whatever they want in the clubhouse.”

“Alright. Alright. Deal,” he agrees.

To no surprise, you close out the hole with a win. To which Rafe genuinely accepts defeat. The two of you walk up to the clubhouse hand-in-hand, Rafe still waiting for you to call him out on his bullshit from before but you don’t. He leads you toward the pro shop as he fishes for his Black Card but you pull him away fast, disappearing into the locker room with him instead, kissing your way into a bathroom stall. He lets out a devilish laugh as you undo his belt with a smile.

“Well shit, baby. What are we doin’ in here?” He whispers against your lips.

“Getting what I want.”

[ccartalmond]

Work doodles since I left my iPad at home and I can't do work nor draw but I did find a pencil 😫 haven't drawn traditionally in such a long time that I kept double tapping my eraser to undo mistakes like you would on an iPad

Chilling like one of your French girls haha

[hanmaitani]

Symbols in Your Head

PAIRING - Tendou Satori x Reader WC - 1.3K GENRE - Fluff, Suggestive What You Missed - prompted by your best friend, semi eita, you realize that your interest in tendou satori was not one-sided like you thought and you enter a 'no feelings' casual fwb relationship with the red-head.

PREV PART | MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

There was a small tickle in your left ear. Something that you were struggling to ignore so as to not accidentally expose the earbud that was nestled there.

Music emanating from the device, quiet tunes to help you drown out the lecture you were in. A lecture that had nothing to do with your major but that was required by the university nonetheless. It was a familiar tune, one of your favorite albums playing to help you zone out as you traced your pencil around the paper.

You hadn’t really been paying attention, even to what your own hand was doing. Sketching up and down the margins of the page in your notebook, flipping it every now and then to give the illusion that you truly were taking notes. It wasn’t until the first zipper you heard that you finally looked up to the clock and realized that your professor had stopped speaking and classmates around the room were in different stages of packing and leaving.

Your notebook lay open on the table in front of you, your pencil now laying next to it. You finally had a moment, or gave yourself one, to inspect your little sketches.

The same symbol was traced over and over again. The same intricate twist of lines, each with different dimensions and shading than the last. You tilted your head in thought, lips pursing as you tried to think of where you’d seen the symbol before.

The buzz from your phone made you nearly jump as it sounded on the chair under you, snapping you out of your thoughts. Satori’s contact had lit up your phone and you caught your lips smiling against your will at his double text.

4:47pm from Miracle Boy: y/nnn 4:48pm from Miracle Boy: y/n oh y/n my sweet

It had been a few weeks now since your first night at Satori’s. He’d been nothing but sweet, taking it slow and at the pace you’d set as comfortable that night, and every night you’d been there since.

Well, every night and afternoon and morning you’d been there.

Satori and you tended to neglect having a set time to meet up, one of you randomly texting the other at any given point in a day. But you were sure you’d not gone a day without seeing him.

Even the days where you two weren’t hooking up, you were getting lunch in the courtyard between classes and he was chatting your ear off about something new with the team. Something you were always happy to listen to.

A third message buzzing onto your screen reminded you that you hadn’t moved yet. You jerked into motion, quickly packing up your things into your bag and heading for the door.

4:50pm from Miracle Boy: come over after class gets out?

You waited until you were outside and past the crowd of students who had filed out of the same building to fully open Satori’s message so that you could reply. You let out a short laugh at his words before starting your reply to him.

4:52pm from Y/N: hmm i dont know satori 4:52pm from Y/N: something in it for me? 4:53pm from Miracle Boy: is something in it for you? 4:53pm from Miracle Boy: oh sweets 4:54pm from Y/N: that a no? 4:54pm from Y/N: cheating out on me? 4:55pm from Y/N: tsk tsk and i thought we were getting somewhere 4:55pm from Miracle Boy: you know what... 4:56pm from Miracle Boy: now that i think of it... i think i brought some chocolates home from the shop

You nearly laughed out loud as you walked through the courtyard. You tapped on the gif search for your phone, looking for an image to display a batting of eyes for comedic effect.

4:57pm from Y/N: aw shucks... 4:58pm from Miracle Boy: oh did you want some? 4:58pm from Miracle Boy: i supposed i could spare some 4:59pm from Y/N: do i want some? uh they should be in my mouth already. c'mon now satori

You paused, steps faltering and processing how your words could be processed and quickly typed out another message to him.

4:59pm from Y/N: wait. 4:59pm from Y/N: don't say what i think you will 4:59pm from Miracle Boy: i mean... 5:00pm from Y/N: satori i swear to god i will turn around. it's not too late 5:01pm from Miracle Boy: so... you are coming? 5:01pm from Miracle Boy: am i that irresistible?

You rolled your eyes with a laugh and stopped in front of your dorm, instead turning towards his with an adjustment of your bag on your shoulder. You could almost see his smirk form on his lips from his message and it tugged the formation of your own.

5:02pm from Y/N: thin ice satori. thin. ice. 5:03pm from Miracle Boy: okay okay okay i'm sorry 5:03pm from Miracle Boy: forgive me :( 5:03pm from Y/N: hmm. maybe for some chocolates 5:04pm from Miracle Boy: deal lol 5:04pm from Miracle Boy: how close are you?

You looked up at his building and chuckled, slowing down your steps as you reached the end of yours.

5:05pm from Y/N: class got out somewhat-early 5:05pm from Y/N: so should be there in like 5 minutes maybe? 5:07pm from Miracle Boy: gasp 5:07pm from Miracle Boy: i dont know if i'll be cleaned up by then! what if my room is messy 5:08pm from Y/N: please satori shut. up. lmao 5:08pm from Y/N: come down and get me! i'm not walking up on my own again! 5:09pm from Miracle Boy: coming coming !!

You tucked your phone into your pocket and trained your eyes on the glass door, waiting for him to appear and lead you up.

You released a deep breath, your body still reeling from the phantom feelings of Satori's fingers and lips on your skin. You turned on your side and felt Satori's arm sling heavy over your torso like you'd gotten so used to.

You could feel the exhaustion seeping into your body, ready to close your eyes for a quick nap before a small glint caught your eye. You narrowed your gaze at the bedside lamp, fingers reaching out to grip onto the chain of the lamp. You turned the small charm hanging off the end in your fingers, blinking at it slowly.

"What's wrong?" Satori's voice was still gravelly, sleep coating it now as his grip tightened on your waist. He leaned up to look over your shoulder, to take in what you were seeing.

"This symbol..." you turned it over in your fingers one more time before turning your head to look up at where he was hovering above you, "have I ever seen it somewhere else?"

Satori tilted his head in thought for a second before shaking his head. "Not that I know of, I don't even think I've seen it somewhere else." He looked at the symbol as you tugged on the chain, turning off the light before letting it drop. "Why?"

You shook your head as you nestled back down into the pillow and his arms. "Nothing," you mumbled into the darkness, "just seems familiar." You tried to shake the thought out of your head.

You tried to shake the idea that tucked away in your bag across the room were pages of sketches of that symbol. All different dimensions and shadings. But all the same. All the same as that little symbol you stared at every time you fell asleep in Satori's bed.

a/n hoping it kinda comes off as him bleeding into her subconscious but idkkkk <3

TAGLIST - OPEN @faumpje

[changingplumbob]

Foster Household: Chapter 9, part 14

CW: Mental Health Struggles - Guide to content warnings

Friday. It should be the best day of the week with school winding down but instead someone decided to make Fridays exam days. First up was the exam for English class, testing reading comprehension and writing skills.

Darwin: Why didn’t you guys tell me it was exam day

Carson, William, Onyx: EVERY Friday is exam day

Darwin: Yeesh, calm down. You’d think I asked who killed Father Winter

Mrs T: 10 minutes to go!

Carson panicked. He still had another paragraph he wanted to do, could he fit it in and triple check his multi question answers? Pushing his doubts aside he began a breathing exercise and started on the paragraph. He needn’t have worried. He managed to do it and recheck the first two pages before Mrs T announced it was time for pencils down. As she collected the papers he rhythmically tapped his foot to make sure she wouldn't laugh at his first paper.

Onyx: I feel like I did okay, how about you?

Carson: I probably failed but if I didn’t maybe a solid B+

Onyx: You’ll be fine. All your family head home then?

Carson: Yeah they’ll be off by now. I didn’t kill Reece so I suppose it went well

Onyx: He might have killed you with a slow acting poison in your breakfast

Carson: Oh my- Nyx could you not!

Onyx: Right, anxiety, sorry, bad joke. I’m just trying to improve my comedy

When they got to the cafeteria they split with Onyx heading for food and Carson looking for Ariadne.

Ariadne: Hey! I didn’t think I’d get to see you at lunch

Carson: I’m going to go study in a minute but I wanted to check you’re still okay with me getting you home?

Ariadne: I’d love some company on the trains

Carson: Good. Well, see ya

He turned to go but hesitated. The hug had been good, maybe... Carson turned back to face Ariadne, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek and sped off to the sounds of her friends oh’s and ah’s. Well that hadn’t been bad. He still didn’t feel an urge to woohoo but it felt comforting to be close to her, that he was letting her know how he felt. Seeing her smile after, knowing he’d made her smile like that, it felt satisfying enough for him.

The after exams were the STEM subjects. Carson felt reasonably confident about his knowledge. He may have been distracted thinking of Ariadne but he’d completed all his homework, and done the extra study. He finished double checking everything five minutes early and started thinking about after school. It was just one question he was worried about. Flirting was one thing but would she actually want to be his girlfriend?

The train ride was easier than he thought. Carson and Ariadne talked about the various things they could spot out the windows and were together when their exam results came through. They’d both done pretty well and Carson was happy with getting the top score in the art section of the exam. When they got to Ariadne’s house she didn’t want to go right in, preferring to sit outside and admire the lake for a bit.

Ariadne: It’s so beautiful when it’s all covered in a blanket of white

Carson: Well you’re beautiful full stop

Ariadne: *smiling* Thank you

Ariadne: Thanks for bringing me home, it was fun. I should probably get inside before I turn into ice. Unless... you want to come in?

Carson: Oh no that’s okay, I do have to get back to Sulani. I’ve got planning to do before scouts tomorrow. But um... I’ve really liked hanging out with you more

Ariadne: *smiling* Me to

Carson: So I wanted to ask, and you can totally say no, if you would maybe... be my girlfriend?

Ariadne: You want me to be your girlfriend?

Carson: Yes. I... I would like if you’d consider it

Ariadne: So you’d be my boyfriend?

Carson: Yeah that’s... that’s kind of how it works

Ariadne: If I say yes do you promise to take me to our next prom?

Carson: *laughs* Of course I’d take you to prom

Ariadne: Yes. Yes!

Carson: Are you sure? I mean I like how I look but I worry you’d be embarrassed to be dating a four eyed overweight guy. I don't want you to die of embarrassment

Ariadne: *sighs* You worry a lot huh

Carson: Yeah. I ah.... I have OCD actually

Ariadne: Listen Carson, I like you. I think your glasses are cute. Anyone makes fun of you for being overweight and I’ll show them you have a girlfriend that’s not to be messed with

Carson: *laughs* You’re like ant height

Ariadne: But you like me regardless, and I like you regardless

Carson: I do

Ariadne: Can you wait five minutes before heading off? I just want to grab something for you

Carson: Okay. If you come back and I’m not here tell them to dredge the lake

Ariadne: *laughs* I’ll just be a minute, no one’s going to murder you in a minute

She races inside and Carson can’t stop himself grinning. He’s glad for the falling snow to cool the blush in his cheeks. It’s longer than a minute but Ariadne comes back outside with a rose.

Carson: What’s this

Ariadne: My dads got me some pots and seeds and not much has grown yet but this rose bloomed a few days ago and it just made me think of you

Carson: Watcher you’re so cute

That’s the Foster’s for now! Harvey is still chomping at the bit for grandkids while Kayleigh is making a habit of painting masterpieces. Carson may have a lot going on in his head but hopefully making his relationship official will take care of some of his worries.

Rotation Wrap Up will be out tomorrow morning.

Previous ... Next

[krystal-dragon]

Chapter 2 : Monkey King

Krista had closed her eyes waiting for the impact but nothing came. Confused she opened her eyes slowly to see she was in the arms of the red eye simian. He looked at her with concern and panic breathing heavily after he had rushed to catch the brunette before she could hit the ground.

Gently he put her down with Krista's eyes still on him. He moved back to give her some space not wanting to scare her. The brunette observed him as he fiddle with the end of his sleeve looking at the ground nervously. She started to feel bad for being scared of him, I mean seeing a human sized monkey with glowing red eyes did frightened her but up close like this he wasn't all that scary.

"Thank you for catching me and I'm sorry I yelled at you I've just never seen anything like you." She said.

The simian finally looked up at her waving his hands as if to tell her it was alright. Krista tilted her head confused. "Can he not talk?" She thought.

He saw her confused face feeling slightly embarrassed his cheeks heated up as he nervously averted his eyes to the ground. The brunette rummaged through her bag pulled out her sketchbook and a pencil. She lightly tapped his shoulder getting his attention as she held up the objects to him.

"Do you know how to write?"

He nods. "Here you can use my sketchbook to write what you want to say too me." She said. He stared at her looking hesitant. Krista smiles softly at him.

"It's ok you can use it."

He nods shyly taking it from her and began scribbling down some words, once he was done he turned it back to her.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, I didn't mean too I saw you wandering around my mountain and wanted to know what you were doing here?"

She read. "Really you don't have to be sorry and as for the second question I have know idea how I got here. I just remember falling asleep in my room and next thing I know I wake up here." Krista said.

Now it was his turn to be confused. "She just woke up here?" He thought. However it did kinda make sense after all the girl was in her pajamas and wasn't wearing any shoes. He wondered if she had come from a different world.

"Do you know where you are?" He wrote. Krista shook her head no.

He scribbled again as Krisra patiently waited.

"You are on Flower Fruit Mountain."

He showed her. Her eyes widen like saucers and had to do a double take on what he wrote. This can't be right, it was only a fictional story someone had made up. There was no way. But if she was on Flower Fruit Mountain then would that make him?

"Th-then are you, Sun Wukong? The Monkey King?" She asked.

Wukong shyly nodded.

Krista could not believe her eyes. He was the Monkey King, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven? The one to go up against the celestial realm and the Jade Emperor. He looked a lot different than what she had imagined him especially the Lego version of himself that Krista had watched.

"Huh. . . I always kinda pictured you,"

"Scarier?"

"No shorter actually."

Wukong gasped dramatically putting a hand on his heart. Krista giggled covering her mouth. "Snort! I'm sorry but from where I'm from they always depicted you short like an angry little gremlin! Haha!" She laughed. The simian playfully pushed her shoulder as she continued to laugh but then she stopped and started to think what was she going to do know? Was there a way for her to go home? Could she even go back home?

The Sage noticed she went quiet and was deep in thought.

"What's wrong?"

Krista sighed. "It's just I don't know if I can go back home. I don't even know who or what could've brought me here, not to mention if I am stuck here I don't have a place to stay or money. . ." Then she thought about her family. Had they discovered she was gone? Were they panicking looking for her? Would any of her friends even go looking for her? She knew Skye would but would any of the others would?

Wukong watched the brunette go in thought again her eyes glossed up with tears. He frowned sadly gently putting a hand on her shoulder. Krista looked up at him.

"If you don't have anywhere to go you can stay here with me, if you want?"

"Are . . Are you sure?" She asked not wanting to be a burden to him.

He grinned nodding. Krista smiled brightly. He then gestured her to follow him, Wukong lead her to a giant waterfall the brunettes eye's sparkled in wonder. Placing his hand against the water a golden symbol glowed as the waterfall parted revealing a cave. He turned back to the girl to see her mouth drop with widen eyes, he lightly chuckles at her as they enter.

Krista stared in absolute wonder, ivy vines covered most of the walls and stone pillars. When she had read about Flower Fruit Mountain she always pictured it to be beautiful but seeing it in person it was absolutely breathtaking.

Wukong chirped calling out to his the little monkey. The brunette heard him and saw more adorable little monkeys including the one she saw first. They came running up to the King chirping away as some climbed on him. He smiled nuzzling and chirping back at them, Krista smiled fondly at the display then the one she had met came up to her.

"Hi again little fella." She said as the light pink monkey jumped on her shoulder nuzzling her cheek with affection. Krista giggled.

Wukong smiled at the brunette. Usually that little monkey would be wary of strangers he was surprised when she went up to the girl and climbed up on her.

He then showed her his house, Wukong was going to let her take his room but Krista quickly declined. "No no no I can't take your room I'll be fine on the couch besides your letting me stay here is more than enough." She told him.

Wukong could tell she wasn't going to change her mind so he just let it be. The night had come quickly as the two began to get ready, Krista decided to just sleep in her pajamas she was wearing and would figure out what to change into in the morning.

Laying on her back on the couch she looked up at the ceiling sighing.

"Buenas noches a todas." (Goodnight everyone.) She whispered thinking about her family before falling asleep.

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Hope you guys like this story and I'll see you on the next one 👋👋👋

👇 Here's my version of Wukong in case you haven't seen my version.

Preview / Next

[kairiscorner]

i'm stuck with you. — miguel o'hara x reader pt. 1 (college dorm mates au)

summary: the only good thing about having this cocky asshole as your dorm mate is for help at the one subject you abhor and had hoped to avoid: math. even art students can't catch a break from it, it seems. ah, well, the only good thing is your tutor's... free, for the most part... until he asks you for something in return.

pairing: college dorm mate!miguel o'hara x gn!college dorm mate!reader

genre: fluffy <333 a little suggestive though in one bit, but mostly fluff !!

word count: 1,481

authors' note: OK I HAVE PUT THIS OFF FOR TOO LONG, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS LIL TIDBIT I HAVE TO SPARE ATE @binibinileonara !!! (hindi naemphasize yung art student si reader pero this was what i had in mind ,,,,,)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

you really hated having to do this; if you could only either be the smartest person in the world and do the math in a matter of seconds or obliterate math as a whole since it was a subject you found boring, or useless–or both. you grumbled as you stared at the incoherent symbols and operations in front of you, hoping that through this staring, the right answers would magically come to you. but alas, such a miracle did not happen, and you've spent 15 minutes straight staring at it getting even more confounded on what to do. you sighed as the door to your dorm opened, and coming into the room was your absolute ass of a dorm mate–miguel o'hara.

seeing you slumped over on your desk made him raise an eyebrow out of curiosity. "what are you moping about?" he asked you as he took a sip from the coffee he bought earlier, with your eyes narrowing up at him at his coffee. "didn't think to get me one when i've been pulling all-nighters all week?" you asked him with irritation in your voice as miguel merely sipped louder and shrugged. "didn't ask me to get you any." "that's because every time i ask you, you never get me any!" you complained as miguel peered over at the math assignment you had and chuckled. "oh, basic." he muttered under his breath as you looked over your shoulder in embarrassment, your face flustered as miguel had just called the horrible, incomprehensible mess of letters, numbers, and symbols 'basic'?

you huffed as miguel sat down next to you and set his coffee aside. "y'need any help?" he asked you with a monotonous, uninterested voice as he took a pencil and the assignment into his own hands. "you wouldn't understand this." "oh i beg to differ." he said as he got to work on the solutions, pulling up a scientific calculator and pressing away at the keys, slightly enjoying solving your math assignment for you as you watched in utter envy at his big, fat brain getting to work while yours is shriveling up and dying at the math you couldn't even begin to understand. he chuckled to himself again as he kept solving it, with you peering over at him as he kept writing down answers and tapped away at the calculator's keys, with you feeling so lost at what he was doing.

"that's my homework you've got there." you reminded him as he kept solving it non-stop. "and it's my brain doing the work for your poor, pitiful self that can't even understand pre-calculus." he said as he put the pencil down and reviewed his answers, muttering to himself as he read it over, doing the operations backwards to double check the answers.

he took the paper full of solutions away with him as he was about to leave the dorm. you scrambled out of your seat and rushed over to him, unsure if you were about to beg him for the answer sheet or grovel at his feet for them. "wait!" you exclaimed as you jumped out of your seat and onto your feet. he turned around to look at you, the answer sheet still in his hand. "what? it's your homework, isn't it? sounded like you didn't want me to do it, so here, i'm giving you want you wanted." he said as he looked at you from underneath his glasses, smirking to himself ever so smugly as you pouted up at him, your eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

you took in a deep breath and brought your shoulders down, trying to loosen up as you exhaled and looked up at his smug, shit-eating grin with all the calmness you could muster. "miguel..." you began, trying to keep your cool as miguel leaned down to hear you better. "sorry, tiny, can't hear your little ant voice, speak up." he teased you as you grumbled under your breath. you inhaled and exhaled again, trying to keep yourself focused on asking him for that damn answer sheet. "miguel, can you please... give me those answers for my math assignment." you pleaded him in a louder voice. "huh? sorry, you sound like a little cockroach right now, speak up, please." he said as he leaned down nearer to your face as you grumbled again. "please, give me the answers for the math assignment. i won't ask for anything more." "huuuuuh? speak up, couldn't hear you." " i said give me the answers for the math assignment, you cocky motherfu–" "oh, okay, here." he said as he handed you the folded up paper.

you reached out to take it, but miguel quickly yanked it away from you, with his smirk widening as you seemed so desperate for the answers... that you'd probably do anything for them. he chuckled as he shook his head. "how cute, but you gotta work for this, y'know? i'm not as generous as you think i am, chiquita." he said as he found your pouting and angry face just so irresistibly cute.

you stamped your foot and kept pleading, while also insulting, him–much to his amusement. he couldn't take it anymore, you were far too cute for him to say no to. "alright, alright, fine, chiquita, i'll hand it over, wouldn't wanna fry your cute, empty little brain, no?" he teased as he handed it to you, but pulled away again as you sighed exasperatedly. "but again... y'gotta work for it." he said as he took your seat and gently placed his hands on your waist. you shuddered as he pulled you close to him, his nose nearly touching yours as you looked down at him, and he looked up at you with more of a smile than a smirk or cocky grin like earlier.

despite you acting all angry and defiant towards miguel, you didn't pull away from him–you instead felt yourself submitting to his touch and leaning further against his chest. your breathing slowed and your defiant gestures ceased as you felt miguel's breath hot against your cheek. "so... what do you think of me?" he asked you with a smirk as you pouted up at him. "if it wasn't obvious already, you're an asshole who's full of himself." he chuckled at your honest observation. "okay, true, true... but not even the least bit handsome to you?" he asked you in a softer, sweeter voice. you remained silent, searching for the right words you wanted to utter right then and there, but all that you could answer would give away how you didn't see him as just your annoying dorm mate.

the fluster in your face got even worse as he tucked away a stray strand of hair behind your ear and murmured that you looked so beautiful. "i wouldn't mind doing your homework for you all the time, really... you know me well enough, i'm a little weak for you." he said with a chuckle as you felt flustered at his flattery. "just get on with it, so i can–" your lips had stopped moving to speak, and instead, they moved to messily lock lips with his as he leaned over and pressed his soft, supple lips against your own. you didn't pull away, you gave yourself into the kiss until miguel had pulled away and pressed his forehead against yours. "all you had to do... was admit you like me. but i guess i had it all wrong, maybe... i had to admit it first, but whatever." he muttered as he handed you the paper full of solutions. you forgot that was the reason you went through all this trouble of begging him and letting him touch you.

you tried to act tough, telling him he should've asked you first if he could kiss you, with him nodding and apologizing about his extreme boldness right then and there. "not my most gentlemanly moment." "as if you even are a gentleman." you said as you leaned against him still, with him raising his eyebrows in confusion. "you... wanna stay on me?" he asked you as you sighed. "you started it, now you reap what you sow, asshole." you said in a fake irritated snap as miguel chuckled. "okay, um... can i hold you again this time?" he asked in a whisper as you nodded. "finally, you figured out how to ask before you take." you said as you felt a little more flustered at the thought of him having kissed you earlier, him letting all his bare emotions out on you. he may be a cocky, arrogant smartass... but you had to admit, you were kind of waiting for him to make the first move; at least now, he was being just a bit nicer to you. you could get used to him doing your homework for you, in exchange for a few kisses from you.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @k4tsu3 @luvstarrstruck @fictarian @yuridopted0 @arachnoia @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @ophanimgold @melovetitties @popeheywardssecretgf

[epichik]

intro of a ranger fic - working title "nothing that i need"

i have had writer's block on this thing for over a month, and the idea of this story has been cooking in my brain since like the summer of 2012.

feedback is appreciated!

###

I can’t help but gaze out the window during class today. After starting school in the blazing heat of summer, the autumn breeze is more enticing than anything I could learn indoors. The leaves have just started to change, green slowly fading to yellow. I tap my pencil absentmindedly against the wooden desk, just quiet enough to make sure neither Ms. April nor any of the other students would notice.

“Well, class, I have something exciting to share,” Exciting? I perk up a bit in my seat at Ms. April’s words. Our teacher, sweet as she may be, hasn’t referred to a lesson as “exciting” in quite some time.

This could be good, I’m thinking. I glance instinctively over to Rhythmi, my roommate, who’s attentive as ever, and then over to Keith, who’s seemed to have snapped to attention as well.

“For this next assignment, you will be doing a survey on the ecology of southeastern Almia,” Ms. April continues. The survey will take you from the Ranger School to Vientown and just south to Chicole Village.”

This seems cool. Plus, I’ll get to go home. But that’s a lot of journeying…. A couple of days’ worth.

“To work with you, keep you accountable and supervise you, each of will be paired up with one of the second-year students in Mr. Kincaid’s class.”

Rhythmi glances back at me this time. There’s a spark of something in her eyes. Adventure? No. Mischief.

Not. A. Word. I glare back in response.

~3 months earlier~

“Rhythmi, who is that?” I ask without pointing at the taller boy walking across the schoolyard with Isaac. The early summer sun is high in the air, the local Starlys soaring overhead. Something about him looks… familiar.

“Who’s who?” Rhythmi replies, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Mushroom head? You remember him from class orientation. Isaac, from our class.”

“No, the guy with him. Of course I know Isaac.” Rhythmi never shuts up about how smart he is.

“Oh! That’s Kellyn, he’s-”

“Wait, Kellyn? Kellyn Clark, from the Ranger Times back in April?” That’s gotta be it.

“Uh… oh, yeah, I remember the paper being out here after that crazy rockslide rescue. I don’t know what we would’ve done without him. The Vientown rangers didn’t show up for another twenty minutes after Kellyn got those kids out of there.”

“Wow, that’s…” I’m looking back up at Kellyn and Isaac as they pass by us in the courtyard. Both of them smile at me in greeting, but Kellyn’s eyes catch mine just a moment longer. Uh oh. Rhythmi notices and her eyes grow wide as dinner plates. Double uh oh.

“Ooh, does Katie have a crush~?”

“No! Dude, no. I don’t even remember the last time I had a crush… on a guy.” It’s true. At eighteen, I haven’t dated anyone. High school saw a few crushes, almost exclusively on girls. None of those went anywhere. I was definitely too nervous to put myself out there, and not so sure that ranger school could turn over a new leaf.

“But Kellyn isn’t really a guy, you know.”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?” I’m not sure I want to know what she means, but I ask anyway.

“Well, sometimes I hear the upperclassmen calling Kellyn ‘they’ instead of ‘he’, I think. Although he- they- seem to be fine with either, I think.”

“I’ve never heard of that, but that’s cool. Does that mean Kellyn isn’t a guy, though? What else is there? I’m interested, though – wait, not like that! I don’t know, Rhythmi. I just think Kellyn Clark is cool. Learning about what he – they - did in their first year at the Ranger School really got me motivated to come to school here.” I’ve already said too much. I really am intrigued, I didn’t know you could “be” anything else, really. If it’s how you’re born or what you choose… Or both. I don’t know.

“I getcha. Plus, it’s normal to have crushes on the upperclassmen. Or any other student, for that matter. A lot of people marry someone they went to school with.”

“Rhythmi! I don’t even want to think about that right now. I just want to learn Ranger stuff. And… And what it means to be, uh, not really a guy.”

“I dunno. I’ve just heard stuff. I think… I think it’s just something they started going by. Kellyn is totally handsome, though. Not my type but I totally get why you like-”

“Shh! Just… let’s drop it, okay?” I hate how red my face has turned. I’ve literally never even met Kellyn. People always say never meet your heroes, and maybe those people know something I don’t. And he’s just some guy. Or some… person.

~End Flashback~

“Rhythmi, you’ll be with Linda Delphi, since you’re both in the Operator program,” Ms. April started to list off names.

“Okay!”

“Keith, you’ll be with Asher Litman.”

“Thanks, Ms. April. Asher is cool.”

“Caroline, you’re with Dillon Rainier.”

“Okay!”

“Opal, Izzy Timmins.”

“Of course,”

“Isaac, your partner is Leland Honeyman.”

“Okay, Ms. April.”

“Ponte, Adrian Grace.”

“Got it.”

“Kate, you’re with Kellyn Clark.”

I definitely feel something like my heart skipping a beat, or puke coming up, before forcing myself to calm down. I try not to look at Rhythmi, who, by the vibes I’m getting, is absolutely grinning back at me. This might be worse than high school.

Ms. April passes out the project packets to the class, heavy reams of paper with lots of space to write in. She’s describing the due dates for the project just before the bell rings for lunch and outdoor time. It’s technically called “recess” but us students think that’s a little too grade school, so outdoor time it is.

“It would be a good idea to meet your partners during the break if you haven’t yet!” Ms. April calls after us as we clamor from our seats and out the door.

“Kate, OMG!” Rhythmi grabs my arm as we head out together. “Lucky you!” She really has no concept of personal space.

“Shh! Don’t-” I’m cut off by our friend Keith joining up at my other side.

“Ooh, lucky Kate indeed!” He elbows as both he and Rhythmi begin to laugh.

“What?! Rhythmi, what did you tell him?” I can feel the fire of anger rising. I know we’ve only been friends for three months but I thought I could trust…

“Nothing! I-”

“She didn’t have to. I could tell how excited you were when Ms. April paired you guys up.”

I can’t help but shake my head. “No. I don’t believe it. Guys, can we just drop this? I do not have a crush on anyone, let alone the most popular guy in the entire damn school.” We’re heading outside now, the autumn sunlight and my annoyance narrowing my eyes.

“Kate, I don’t think there’s anyone in our grade who doesn’t have a crush on Kellyn,” Keith elbows me again, to which I can’t help but give him a massive shove. Nearly losing his footing and falling into a decorative shrub, Keith rubs his arm with feigned annoyance.

“Hey, I’m just saying. I wouldn’t complain.” He gives a parting wave and heads off in the direction of a picnic table where a few other first years have gathered. I’m not sure I want to follow him after that.

Rhythmi and I are looking around the courtyard, noticing that both Linda and Kellyn, our project partners, are sitting with a group of second-years and their own first-year partners.

“Should we go sit with them?” Rhythmi asks, her blue eyes all innocence. I know it’s a front.

“Only if you don’t say a single funny thing about me and… you know.” I’m already sighing as I follow my giddy, golden-haired friend to the grassy clearing where the other students are hanging out. Well, I’ve got to meet him- them? - sometime.

“Hey guys!” Rhythmi greets the group. The others seem chill with our arrival and make room for us at one side of the circle. To our luck, Rhythmi sits down next to Linda and I’m beside Kellyn.

“Hi!” Kellyn immediately greets me. My pulse is speeding up, but not because I have some schoolgirl crush on… them. I think it’s the social anxiety of meeting upperclassmen in general. “You’re Kate Starfall, right?’

“Um, yeah. Hi, Kellyn.” They know my name? Interesting.

“Oh! No need to introduce myself, then,” They’re… screw it, he’s smiling, and it’s as if his gray-blue eyes are laughing at me.

I think I’m blushing something fierce. I guess I know his name already, too. “I mean…”

“Kidding. Yep, I’m Kellyn. It’s okay, I spoke at your orientation, so you probably know me from that.” No, his eyes aren’t laughing at me. I’m overthinking it. He seems… alright.

“Actually, Katie read about you in the paper!” Rhythmi pipes up from her conversation with Linda. I’m biting back a curse and forcing myself not to swat at Rhythmi’s hand. Linda seems amused, too, and I try not to notice. So. Embarrassing.

“Yeah, um, the Ranger Times.” Damage control. "About that landslide that happened back in the spring. That was you, right?” Obviously.

“Oh, that? Yeah. I didn’t think that was big enough news for the regional paper. It’s cool you remembered. I don’t know, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Any Ranger could’ve done that.”

“You don’t have to act so humble,” Linda chimes in. “That was a pretty big deal.” Okay, maybe she doesn’t think I’m dumb.

“Thanks, guys,” Kellyn seems accepting of the praise but moves on quickly to another topic. Thank Arceus. “Kate, we’re partners for the ecology project, right?”

“Yeah. Ms. April told us to find our partners during the break today.” I didn’t think I’d have the cajones to actually do it, but here I am. Thanks, Rhythmi, for something.

“Cool. Well, I’m looking forward to it. I’m not from around here, and-” He’s cut off by a flurry of wingbeats from a nearby tree followed by alarmed chirping. I know those calls anywhere.

“Star! Staravia!” The large monochromatic bird seems to be calling over to our group of students, obviously panicked by something.

“W-woah! What’s up with it?” Rhythmi stands up, backing away from the Pokemon.

“Hold on,” I’m getting up slowly, standing next to Rhythmi, watching the Staravia. It seems to lock eyes with me and soars out of the tree, across the clearing to land in front of me.

“Eek!” Rhythmi scrambles behind me. I know it won’t hurt us, but don’t say it. The other students have stopped chatting and are watching us, not sure whether to stay or scatter.

“It’s okay, Rhythmi. Staravia isn’t going to hurt you.” I finally say. I’m familiar with the bird, native to both Sinnoh and Almia. Slowly, I inch towards it. “Hey, there. What’s wrong?”

Staravia seems to gesture towards the tree it had flown over from then flies back towards it. I turn to Rhythmi, who looks unsure but not as frightened as she was a second ago.

“It wants me to follow. Stay here.” I turn to go, but another voice follows me.

“I’ll come with you,” Kellyn falls in next to me. “Just in case.”

I try not to roll my eyes, not looking back at him. “It’s just a Staravia. I’ll be okay.”

“I still want to check it out. Could learn something, you know?”

Sure. But he’s a second-year, I can’t imagine he hasn’t run into a Staravia before. “Don’t spook it. Just stay calm. She’s already upset about something.”

“She?” Kellyn follows as I make my way across the courtyard to Staravia’s tree.

“Yeah. Look at the tuft of feathers on her head. It’s not super pronounced, so that’s a female Staravia.” It’s common knowledge to me, but I guess to anyone who isn’t from around here it’d be hard to tell.

All the other students on this side of the courtyard have gotten out of the way of the panicked Pokémon. Once we arrive at the tree, Staravia greets us with a sharp call and flits up to a branch about fifteen feet overhead. I try not to cover my ears as it flaps and screeches, calling for help.

“I’m gonna follow it,” I declare, hauling myself onto the first branch. It’s sturdy, and the tree doesn’t seem to have any dead limbs as I look up to make my next move.

“Do you need me to-”

“No. Stay here. I’ll let you know what’s up.” I can handle this, I think, as a country kid I grew up climbing trees. Plus, I don’t need Rhythmi making any Kate-and-Kellyn-sitting-in-a-tree jokes. I push the annoyance at the thought aside and hurry up to the tree, grateful that the branches are thick and spaced so closely together. Once Staravia is just overhead, I peer through the leaves to make out just what the problem is.

There in the crook of a branch, against the tree trunk, is a gray, black and white egg that looks just like Staravia. A Starly egg, I bet.

“There’s a nest up here,” I call down to Kellyn. Upon further inspection, I notice Staravia has started pecking away at tough, red and green vines that are snaked around the branch and towards the nest. Following the vines outward, I finally realize…

“Carnivine! There’s a Carnivine going for her nest!”

“Are you okay? Is it-”

“I’m fine! Just give me a minute!” I carefully unhook the practice styler from my belt. Here goes nothing.