#Being dry and cryptic to me

[idontmindifuforgetme]

I genuinely love not having a crush like I’m not over here feeling physically sick over some mid guy being dry to me I’m literally chilling

[rose24207]

Just a salesman pt.2

Summary: Your perfect world shatters when a furious stranger bursts into your home, accusing your loving, devoted husband of being a monster responsible for countless deaths.

Genre: angst, dark

TW: mention of death, little gaslighting, reader is a little twisted about the situation, the games in general

A/N: Wow I didn’t expect for pt. 1 to blow up like that and for so many requests about a second part. But here we go! I take requests about squid game btw. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Pt.1

Masterlist

The room fell into an unbearable silence as you stood there, trembling, your tears streaking your face. Gi-hun’s words echoed in your ears like a bell you couldn’t unring. Your husband, your safe harbor, was a killer. A manipulative, calculating man who had built a world of lies around you.

And yet...

As much as your heart screamed in betrayal, it also whispered something darker. A small, insidious part of you—a part you didn’t even recognize—wanted to protect him. Wanted to believe that somehow, some way, this could still make sense.

“Leave,” your husband said, his voice low and commanding. It wasn’t directed at you, but at Gi-hun.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gi-hun spat. “She deserves to know the full truth.”

“I said, leave.” Your husband’s tone grew colder, sharper. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand flexed at his side as though itching to act.

Gi-hun took a step forward, his jaw set. “You think you can scare me? After everything I’ve been through because of you? I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’m not—”

“Stop,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Both men turned to look at you, surprised. You wiped your face, straightened your back, and forced yourself to meet Gi-hun’s eyes. “Please. Just… go.”

“What?” he said, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need to talk to him,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered. “Alone.”

“You can’t trust him,” Gi-hun argued, gesturing toward your husband. “He’s a monster. He’ll manipulate you, just like he’s done to everyone else.”

You shook your head. “I don’t care what you think. This is my marriage. My life. And right now, you’re not helping.”

Your words were harsh, but your heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Gi-hun looked at you, his face contorted with disbelief, before letting out a bitter laugh.

“Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Do what you want. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shot your husband one last glare before storming out, slamming the door behind him.

Silence settled over the room once more. Your husband stood there, watching you cautiously, as though waiting for you to lash out or collapse. But you did neither. Instead, you walked to the table, picking up the strange card Gi-hun had left. You turned it over in your hands, the cryptic design doing little to ease your growing unease.

“Is it true?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “What he said about the games? About you?”

Your husband hesitated, his jaw tightening. Then, to your surprise, he nodded. “Yes.”

The word hit you like a physical blow, but you didn’t falter. You set the card down and looked at him, your tears drying as a strange calm settled over you. “Why?”

“For you,” he said simply, stepping closer. “For us.”

“That’s not an answer,” you said, your voice cold. “Why would you do something so… horrific? Why would you—”

“Because it’s the only world I know,” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “And it’s the only way I could give you the life you deserve. Don’t you see? Everything I’ve done has been for you.”

“For me?” you repeated, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and something darker. “You think I wanted this? That I’d ever want you to hurt people—kill people—for me?”

He stepped closer still, his eyes locking onto yours. “You don’t understand,” he said softly. “The world isn’t kind to people like us. I’ve seen what happens to people who don’t take control, who don’t make the hard choices. I made those choices so you wouldn’t have to.”

You stared at him, your mind spinning. Every instinct told you to run, to call the police, to do anything but stand there and listen to him. And yet… you didn’t move.

“Do you love me?” you asked suddenly, your voice raw.

His expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the man you’d fallen in love with. “More than anything,” he said. “You’re the only good thing in my life.”

Something inside you twisted at his words, at the sincerity in his voice. He was a monster, yes—but he was your monster. The thought made your stomach churn, but it also filled you with a strange, horrifying sense of power. He had done terrible things, but he had done them for you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can ever look at you the same way.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said quietly. “But I need you to understand that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. To keep you with me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you took a shaky breath. “You’re going to tell me everything,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. “No more lies. No more secrets. If you want me to stay, I need to know exactly who you are.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker. He nodded. “I’ll tell you everything.”

As he began to speak, unraveling the web of lies and horrors he’d kept hidden, you felt yourself sinking deeper into a world you didn’t understand—a world you weren’t sure you wanted to understand. But one thing was certain: you weren’t ready to let go. Not yet.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @blueyesuguru, @annimoony, @jasmineee05, @astrophe0, @riri53, @putrescentpoet

[puzzled-pegasus]

Here's some silly little metaphors that I think the dragon tribes would use

SkyWings

“Don’t count your clutch before they hatch.” (Don't plan too much too soon)

“Gold is better than silver, but silver is better than nothing.” (If you can't do it perfectly, still try your best. Most dragons forget the second part.)

“‘Sorry’ can't suck the fire back in.” (The damage is done and now you're dead to me.)

“You been eating too much burnt meat or something?” (Are you nuts?)

“Stop all this smoke and use your fire.” (Stop rambling and get to the point already; or stop complaining and do something)

“Doesn't know his tail from his wings.” (Stupid or clumsy)

“You fly like a depressed pigeon.” (Slow flier)

“There's no fire in a rainstorm.” (Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get to work.)

“Nighttime is for the NightWings.” (What are you doing up? Go to sleep.)

SandWings

“She’s all rattle, and no strike.” (Like all bark no bite)

“A diamond in a pile of quartz.” (Like a needle in a haystack)

“You’re watering the cactus and ignoring the sapling.” (You’re focusing on the wrong thing; barking up the wrong tree)

“Everyone thinks the camel looks silly until the dry season comes.” (Don't listen to them, they don't know how unique and strong you are)

MudWings

“Crocodile tears.” (Fake crying in order to gain sympathy)

“You can only catch a trout if your mouth is open.” (Be open to new experiences)

“If the tree gives away too much, it ends up as a stump.” (Don't let people take advantage of your generosity)

SeaWings

“Happy as a clam in high water.” (Very happy)

“The flying fish feels like a fool when it sees an osprey.” (Don't compare yourself to others, run your own race.)

“Plenty of fish in the sea.” (Plenty more opportunities to come.)

“You’ve got ink in your eyes.” (You're blind to something important)

“Lobsters only die when they don't leave their shell.” (Keep yourself busy with new experiences and you'll life a long life)

NightWings

“Sleep is for the dead.” (Why waste your time sleeping when you could be productive)

“SeaWings know their fish and SandWings know their cactuses, but we NightWings know everything else.”(NightWing supremacy propaganda)

“Being nice to a deer never got one in my mouth.” (Other dragons don't matter, only your goals.)

“A prophecy always comes true.” (I told you so but more cryptic)

"You're counting the stars." (You're doing something tedious towards an unachievable goal)

RainWings

“Gray’s her favorite color.” (She's a huge bummer)

“A lemon is yellow on the outside, doesn't mean they're not sour.” (Referring to someone who is two faced or fake)

“I love honey, but I’d rather not get stung by the bees.” (I could do this, but it requires effort so I don't wanna)

“Nobody likes a rotten banana.” (Nobody likes a bummer/downer)

“Don't tie your tail in a knot” (don't get all upset)

“I have all my berries in a basket” (I have everything sorted out)

“You couldn't sneak up on a pineapple” (insult to one's camouflage skills, popular among children)

IceWings

“The seal who asks why the orca is chasing him is the first to get eaten.” (A favorite of parents telling their kids to shut up)

“Not the sharpest icicle on the roof” (kinda stupid or slow)

“Clear as polished ice” (i understand or see it very well)

“You're looking a little pink in the face” (you look sickly. IceWings can turn pink from eating too much krill; a symptom of malnutrition. This line can be applied to any illness.)

“Blue blood kills, red blood spills.” (Patriotic propaganda implying that IceWings win every fight

“The SkyWings toss their blue eyed hatchlings because they're worried they'll be as strong as an IceWing.” (More propaganda)

HiveWings

“Pretty is for the SilkWings.” (Vanity is stupid and impractical)

“If it buzzes like a bug and bites like a bug, it's a bug.” (Don't ignore the obvious)

“Clearsight works in mysterious ways.” (I don't know the answer to your question, now go away)

SilkWings

“It's not always good to know how the honey gets made.” (Don't stick your snout where it doesn't belong)

“She's got a couple of threads loose.” (Calling someone a little crazy, threads refers to weaving)

“The bee minds its flowers and the spider minds her silk, it's when they mix that bad things happen.” (Mind ya business)

LeafWings

“Flytraps only trap because the soil doesn't feed them.” (Dragons don't get angry out of nowhere)

“Looking like a leaf only hides you in the forest.” (Time and place)

“If a branch doesn't bend, it breaks.” (Be flexible)

“Even the corpse flower attracts the flies.” (Even someone who seems ugly to one dragon they can seem irresistible to another)

[loveinhawkins]

There’s perks to working a summer job where there’s seemingly no manager. Steve got an at most five minute interview with an overly smiley dude who said, “An independent workforce is very important to us,” and didn’t even check his references before telling Steve that he was hired.

So it’s down to him and Robin alone to open and close Scoops Ahoy. And the lack of any boss—not even a supervisor—is mostly great, means that no-one’s hovering over their shoulders droning on about ‘company policy’, means they can take their breaks as and when, and no-one’s tapping their foot with an eye on the clock.

But then there’s the times where it’s absolutely swamped with customers, and the statistical likelihood of having to serve an asshole skyrockets; and most assholes don’t tend to think of teenagers slinging ice-cream as being worthy of even the tiniest shred of respect.

“Are you wilfully this stupid, missy?” a douchebag snaps at Robin during the lunchtime rush, after she added chocolate sauce on his sundae instead of raspberry.

She remakes the order with a look that, if there was any justice in the world, would make him drop down dead on the spot. But instead, he just scoffs when she passes him the new sundae.

“Have a spectacular day,” Robin says acerbically, and if it was any other time, Steve would be ducking down behind the counter, pretending to check on stock levels so he can hide his laughter.

Except Robin’s also doing that thing where she blinks a lot, and Steve knows she’s fighting tears of frustration because he privately does something remarkably similar.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest coupled with what’s becoming a steadily frequent flare of protectiveness. That one usually comes with the kids and The Upside Down—except Robin is a girl who’s round about his age, so he half-heartedly assumes it must be because he has a crush on her.

But he’s not even thinking about said crush at all when he gently bumps her towards the break room with his hip and says, “Take yours first, I’ve got this.”

For half a second, Robin’s eyes seem to shine in gratitude before she puts a hand over her heart and declares, dripping in sarcasm, “You’re a god among men, Harrington, I never believed what anyone said about you.”

“You’re wel—hey, what did they say about me?”

The door to the break room shuts, but not before he hears Robin let out a genuine snort of laughter. He smiles and pivots back to the register.

The line’s calmed down; Steve recognises a substitute teacher waiting to be served: Mrs Greeves, who’s been at Hawkins High since the sixties, at least. There’s no other adult in the shop, so it’s presumably her little granddaughter who’s running about the place, without so much as a glancing eye on her.

But Steve doesn’t have to worry about a potential lost child scenario, because a guy suddenly slips out of the booth he’d been sitting in, bending down to the kid’s eye level and subtly ensuring that she doesn’t hightail it out of there.

It takes a few seconds for Steve to recognise him; he’s still getting used to the whole phenomenon of seeing people without the high school setting behind them. Like, Robin used to be just a name from a class he can’t even recall, and now he knows her for her dry wit and love of cryptic crosswords.

And this Eddie Munson is sort of a different beast from the guy Steve saw stomping around the cafeteria tables.

He’s dressed pretty much the same, (Hellfire shirt sans the leather jacket must be the ‘summer look’, Steve reckons), but he’s quieter as he chats with the little girl, letting her try on one of his skull rings to distract from her obvious boredom. His grin is softer, too.

Mrs Greeves clears her throat, and Steve promptly puts on his vacant ‘delightful customer service’ smile.

“Afternoon, Mrs Greeves, what can I do you for?”

She orders a simple strawberry cone for the kid, Abigail, and two scoops of lemon and vanilla in a cup for herself—appropriate, Steve thinks, because her face looks like she’s sucking on a lemon half the time.

As he prepares the ice-cream, he’s quickly remembering why she’s on the list of substitute teachers that students dread, even if he’s only had the ‘pleasure’ of being in a class supervised by her once. He has vague memories of how she’d talk with other teachers in a scandalised stage whisper about students from ‘broken homes’—he’s pretty sure she’s still an austere teacher at the Sunday School, too.

“Abigail,” she says sharply, when Steve finishes the cone, and she finally seems to realise her granddaughter isn’t by her side, “what have I told you about—”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Eddie says hurriedly. Abigail hands him the ring back, very carefully dropping it into his palm, and he gives her a gentle smile. “I don’t mind—”

“—not talking to strangers?” Mrs Greeves finishes, as if Eddie hadn’t spoken.

“But,” Eddie says with tiny frown, “you know me, ma’am, I’m—”

“Let me be plain then, Mr Munson.” She finally turns to favour Eddie with a scathing look. “I meant that I don’t want my granddaughter around a corrupting influence.”

There’s an awful silence while Abigail collects the cone.

“Oh,” Eddie says, still crouched down by the booth. He sounds very small.

And Steve’s view of Mrs Greeves quickly turns from a general dislike to an icy hatred.

“And here’s yours,” he says, sliding the cup over.

She looks down. Her mouth goes all pinched in displeasure.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“It’s your ice-cream,” Steve says, playing up a confused blink. “Is—is this not what you ordered? I’m terribly sorry for the—”

“Don’t be obtuse, Mr Harrington. These scoops are tiny; they barely fill the cup!”

Yup, Steve thinks with a savage satisfaction. They’re the size of a melon ball, and even that’s being generous.

“Mrs Greeves, I’m afraid it’s store policy. Nothing to do with—”

“What kind of policy could possibly justify—”

“Rudeness,” Steve says smoothly.

Eddie’s head jerks up at that, his mouth slightly agape.

“Mr Harrington,” Mrs Greeves says, her face turning puce, “I would like to see your manager.”

“The manager,” Steve says flatly. “Okay, sure. I’ll go get him.”

What he does next, compared to everything else that’s happened in his life thus far, isn’t all that stupid.

Well. Maybe a little.

It’s worth it though, to see the way Eddie Munson’s eyes widen at the sight.

Making sure to have zero expression throughout, Steve mimes walking downstairs, throws off his hat while crouched behind the counter, then re-emerges with a quick ruffle of his hair.

“How can I help you?” he asks, like they’ve only just met.

The cup of minuscule ice-cream is soon up-ended as Mrs Greeves storms out, barking over her shoulder, “Abigail, come here!”

Eddie stands to let the kid out of the way, who seems blissfully ignorant with her cone. Steve’s sure he hears him mutter under his breath, “Jesus, she’s not a dog.”

“I’ll be reporting you, Steve Harrington, make no mistake!”

Yeah, good fucking luck. I sure as hell don’t know who really runs this place.

“Uh-huh,” Steve says. “Looking forward to it. Harrington with two ‘r’s one ‘n’, ma’am.”

“Shit, Harrington,” Eddie drawls. He’s leaning next to the booth, hip cocked, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’d seen it himself, Steve might’ve been convinced that the Eddie from a moment ago was a different person. “That was not worth getting fired over.”

“I’m not getting fired,” Steve says—although honestly, if that had been a real threat, he thinks his actions would probably have been the same. Huh. “I meant it, dude, there’s no manager here.”

Eddie nods slightly, looks up at the Scoops Ahoy sign and grins. “So you and Buckley are the skeleton crew on this ship.”

“Uh, I guess?”

Come on, man, Steve thinks, as Eddie keeps up the wide grin like it’s a shield. This isn’t the high school cafeteria; I’m not about to hit your lunch tray or whatever.

Out loud, he calls into the back, “Hey, Robin, the chocolate’s low. I’m just gonna put in a new batch if you want some of the old stuff.”

The sliding doors open.

Robin sighs as if she’s just had a very relaxing facial, but she’s actually holding a folded newspaper with the cryptic crossword all finished.

“I am so chilled out,” she says, with a delivery that could rival Eddie Munson’s trademark dramatics.

“You’re so weird,” Steve says mildly while making up a cup with the leftover chocolate ice-cream.

“You’ve just got no taste, Harrington.” She waggles the crossword at him. “You should give ‘em a try.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “I’m no good at that code-breaking stuff.” He passes her the cup, goes to start assembling his own and pauses. “Hey, Munson, you want some?”

“Oh, uh, I’m good,” Eddie says, sounding suddenly wrong-footed. “Sorry, I’m just, uh, killing time before my movie starts. The other stores said if I wasn’t buying anything I should get out, so…”

“So you’ve come to our oceanic sanctum,” Robin deadpans.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know, just ‘cause you do crosswords doesn’t mean you have to turn into a dictionary. Ow.” He doesn’t quite duck in time to avoid the newspaper smacking him in the face. He turns to address Eddie again, who appears to be fighting back laughter. “What’re you gonna see, Munson?”

Eddie’s eyes glance away for a second. “Something very scary and befitting of my stature, Harrington.”

Robin, who’s made a habit of memorising the mall’s movie schedules, checks her watch and narrows her eyes. “Return to Oz?”

Eddie’s cheeks start to glow. “Fuck off, Buckley, I’ve never liked you.”

“You’re such a liar, I’ve heard your applause at band practice—”

“Okay, but,” Steve cuts in, jumping up onto the counter with one hand. “I thought the whole point was Oz was a dream. How can she return to—?”

“Christ, I don’t know, Harrington,” Eddie says. “I didn’t pick it for critical analysis; the poster had a dude with a pumpkin head on it, and I thought it looked cool.”

“Oh, I saw that,” Robin says. “Made me think of when all those pumpkins went bad. Like, imagine if they had faces.”

Unthinkingly, Steve says around his ice-cream spoon, “No way, I’m not dealing with that, too.”

“Excusez-moi?” Robin says.

“Hmm?” Steve says innocently.

“Hey, you missed quite a show earlier on, Buckley,” Eddie says. “Reckon Harrington deserves a tally in the ‘you rule’ column.”

Steve glares at Robin. “I told you to keep that outta view of the customers.”

“Ah, but I’m not buying anything,” Eddie points out, “ergo, not a customer.”

“Ergo,” Steve mimics.

“That board is strictly for romantic successes,” Robin says.

Eddie snorts. “Aw, that’s hardly fair. I think it should have more… rounded criteria.”

Robin’s eyes narrow again. “Eddie Munson, you’ve never complimented a jock in your life, don’t start now.”

“Hey,” Steve says, overselling a ‘wounded’ expression. “I’m more than that, y’know. I contain multitudes.”

“Sure,” Eddie says, smiling. “Folks, we’ve got Hawkins’s own Whitman right here.”

Steve flips him off and, on a whim, decides to channel his inner Dustin.

“Maybe I just see the world more clearly than you two ‘cause I’m free of societal constraints.”

“You’re working in a mall,” Robin says.

“High school societal contraints. I am unshackled and ergo, free.”

“Damn,” Eddie says, patting down his pockets for an imaginary pen, “I should use that.”

“Stop inflating Harrington’s ego and go catch your totally scary movie,” Robin says.

Eddie checks his own watch. “Oh, shit. Um.” And Steve thinks that it almost looks like he’s reluctant to leave. “Time flies, I guess. Better go ashore.” He catches Steve’s eye, gives a tiny little salute as he leaves. “May your summer continue to be mundane and manager-less.”

“You’re a poet, Munson,” Steve says, even though Eddie’s already out the door.

“So what was the show I missed?” Robin says. “I couldn’t hear anything back there.”

“Nothing that exciting.”

Steve tells her, and even though a smile tugs at her mouth as he re-enacts his mime, for some reason her eyes are kinda sad for most of it.

“Good job, Popeye,” she says thoughtfully—and though it directly contradicts her own words, she marks up a singular ‘you rule’ tally for the rest of her shift before wiping it off.

Eddie doesn’t re-appear after the movie—not that Steve’s keeping track of time, or anything—but at least they don’t have anymore nightmares for customers. As Steve mops, he thinks about how Dustin’s return from Camp Something Something is approaching—and the fact that he’s circled the date with a goofy smiley face is between him and his bedroom calendar.

He smiles to himself while clocking out of the now ghostly mall, recalling Eddie’s parting words.

The thought of a mundane, manager-less summer stretching before him sounds pretty damn good.

[shizuturnspages]

hi!! if ur requests are open can be i have a yandere Xiao and kinich or ororon (I'm so indecisive so uhh choose one u think fit most) with a darling who's not from Teyvat? just say they're from another world and doesn't know how Teyvat works! optional but if u want can u make the darling use another name so they just hide their real names like the traveler? tysm!! love ur writings!

Oh, requests for an outsider darling? Hell yes—throwing a clueless darling into Teyvat is like tossing a spark into dry brush. This is such a fascinating idea. Dw about being indecisive. I'll write for all three.

Xiao: The Haunted Protector

Xiao’s attachment starts as reluctant guardianship. You’re so painfully out of place in Teyvat—every move you make screams, “I don’t belong here,” and it tugs at something deep in him. He’s already burdened by his karmic debt, but the thought of leaving you defenseless in a world you barely understand? Unthinkable.

❥ Overwhelming Vigilance: Xiao’s always nearby, even when you don’t know it. You might think you’re safe exploring Liyue, but every Hilichurl you scare off or trap you narrowly avoid? Yeah, that’s Xiao, silently taking out threats before they reach you. And if you wander somewhere truly dangerous? He’ll materialize in front of you, golden eyes blazing with frustration. “What were you thinking? You don’t belong here—it’s not safe.”

❥ Fixation on Your Name: You’ve introduced yourself with a fake name, and Xiao knows it. He doesn’t ask outright, but he obsesses over the mystery of your true identity. Why are you hiding it? Is it shame? Fear? Whenever he’s alone, he finds himself whispering the name you’ve given him, hoping it’ll somehow unravel your secrets.

❥ Territorial Devotion: Xiao can’t stand seeing you bond with others. It’s not jealousy—it’s fear. What if they manipulate your naivety? What if they steal you away from him? He becomes cold and distant whenever you get close to someone, warning you cryptically about trusting others. “People here will lie to you,” he’ll say, his voice sharp but tinged with worry.

How He Snaps: If you ever try to leave Teyvat, Xiao won’t let you go. He’ll argue, beg, and even threaten to bind you to this world with Adeptus magic. “You don’t understand the dangers out there. You’re safer here—with me.” And when he says “with me,” it’s clear he means forever.

Kinich: The Calculating Schemer

Kinich is not the kind of yandere to burst into a room and immediately start causing a scene. He’s a master manipulator who knows how to play the long game. With Ajaw by his side, he’s even more dangerous. His cool, collected demeanor hides a mind that’s always working, always planning.

❥ Patient Manipulation: Kinich’s patience is his greatest weapon. He’ll let you get used to his presence in your life, slowly drawing you in with his charisma and calculated charm. He’s aware that your trust is the key to getting closer to you, so he’ll wait for that moment when you can’t imagine your life without him. “You’re fascinating. I want to know everything about you… all in good time.”

❥ Ajaw’s Influence: Ajaw is not a typical partner for Kinich. Where Kinich is cool-headed and manipulative, Ajaw is impulsive, fiery, and more than willing to be the muscle to back up his companion’s plans. Kinich has carefully cultivated Ajaw’s loyalty, using the power and strength of the Ajaw to keep others in line. Ajaw, for his part, is drawn to Kinich’s vision and power, willingly carrying out orders that Kinich knows will push you closer into his grasp.

❥ The Steady Hand of Control: In terms of the relationship with you, Kinich knows that the best way to control you is to make you believe you have free will. He’ll approach you with an offer, something that seems like it’s your choice to accept. “I’ve been thinking. Perhaps you should stay close to me for a while… we could work together. I can offer you things no one else can.” It’s never truly a question—he’s just making sure you think it is.

How He Snaps: If he feels like he’s losing you—whether to another person or your desire to leave Teyvat—Kinich’s sunny charm darkens. He’ll corner you, his usual smile replaced by a steely intensity. “You think you can just walk away? From me? You’re mine, [Fake Name]. You always have been.”

Ororon: The Brooding Warrior

Ororon’s attachment to you is rooted in a mix of curiosity and protectiveness. You’re so alien to him, so out of place, and yet you’ve managed to survive in Teyvat. It frustrates and fascinates him in equal measure.

❥ Overbearing Protection: Ororon doesn’t trust anyone—not you, not the people around you, and especially not himself. His way of protecting you is blunt and harsh, often scolding you for your ignorance. “How are you still alive?” he’ll growl after pulling you out of yet another dangerous situation. But his rough words betray his concern.

❥ Guard Dog Behavior: Ororon doesn’t care if you’re stronger than him. He still insists on watching your back, even if it means standing in your shadow while you fend off enemies. And if someone so much as looks at you wrong? He’s ready to fight, glaring daggers at anyone who dares approach.

❥ Fixation on Your Mystery: Your otherworldly origins and fake name are a constant source of frustration for him. He doesn’t pry—he’s not the type—but his eyes narrow whenever you dodge his questions. “You’re hiding something,” he’ll say bluntly, his voice low and gruff. “I don’t care what it is, but don’t think you can fool me.”

How He Snaps: Ororon’s breaking point comes when you try to push him away. His voice rises, uncharacteristically emotional. “You think you can survive without me? You barely understand this world. Don’t be stupid—I’m the only one who can keep you safe.” And in his mind, that’s the truth. You need him, whether you realize it or not.

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

everywhen you look: rosquez [g], part 1

1997-2025

“You really aren’t going to tell me anything.” Valentino flicks his leg irritably, kicks up a wave.

The man brushes the chlorine from his face and snorts. His name is Marc, he’d said, among other incredibly useless trivia facts such as, this is Madrid, it’s March of 2025—which sounds like a fake, sci fi year—and i Nerazzurri are leading Serie A by one point.

“Eh, it’s for the best.”

Valentino mutters under his breath, eh, it��s for the best, in a mockery of that Spanish accent. Marc only looks up at him bemusedly from the water, through his wet lashes. He’s being very evasive.

It would have been considerably more annoying if he weren't quite so handsome.

If he hadn’t been stuck at home, with snow coming down in buckets—too much to ride, too much to sneak out for a little while. The baby had been crying—crying, crying, crying. Luca is usually a very good kid, not fussy, but he’d been angry. Neither he nor Stefania could calm him down. Stefania said he might be colicky.

Valentino had felt a little like Graziano, sitting on the couch, watching her try to make Luca stop howling for five minutes, please baby, we’ve got you.

So here is better. No snow. The pool is nice, very rich people, perfectly warm. A little further away, the house seems odd, a sharp, gray block, but he supposes nothing there costs less than a hundred lire.

And Marc is interesting.

“But you know me,” Valentino tries again, a different approach.

Marc’s expression of vague delight doesn’t flicker. He keeps staring at him with unblinking intensity. Someone should tell him it’s kind of creepy when he does that, but also—Valentino’s hands spasm at the edge of the pool, and he has to look away first. Heat prickles under his skin. He wants to keep bullshitting to see how far he can take it, how much Marc can figure out.

“Well, obviously. I thought we had gone over that already.”

It’d been the first thing he’d said when he emerged from the deep end. Valentino? A quiet, overwrought noise, a bit like he’d been slapped, suddenly looking very young. No matter how much he tries, Marc refuses to slip like that again.

He’d guessed the year it should’ve been for him on the first try, too.

“From racing,” Valentino suggests.

“It’s 97 for you, no?” Marc raises a pointed eyebrow. Valentino runs a hand over his hair just as pointedly—dry, creaking and bleached. “You know you’re a good rider.”

“Good as in a couple of lower-class titles or good like Mick?”

Marc swallows, wastes a moment too many just staring at some point over his shoulder before sighing. Valentino might’ve found a way to twist the knife resting between them—the one Marc is studiously squirreling from naming—by accident. There’s no triumph to it, the way he imagined there’d, just that uncomfortable feeling of being wrist deep in a cadaver.

It’d have been incredibly helpful to know what is wrong, exactly, to only make it hurt if he wants to make it hurt.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to enjoy your career,” Marc says, his voice low and cryptic.

Valentino’s eyes narrow. “You’re fucking with me.”

Marc just leans back, his grin stretching wider, an edge more infuriating. What are you going to do about it? in no words at all.

He doesn’t mean to, but frustration spills out in groan. Valentino thrusts his foot out, jabbing it toward Marc. “I’m already asking vague questions,” he mutters, scrambling against himself to not sound sullen. “You could at least give me something.”

Marc opens his broad mouth and cackles. Valentino can see inside it, his large, pink tongue and the white straightness of his teeth. It’s an ugly, honking noise that comes out, quite shameless. In Tavullia, or in the lower classes, Valentino would’ve made fun of him for it. Too loud, too weird, too much, but Marc—handsome, and difficult, and probably thirty—doesn’t look like he’d care.

Might go cute, Vale, the way Norick does, sometimes.

Which—

This nameless disquiet tugs in his stomach, red-hot, unwanted. He presses his lips together, drums his fingers on the floor. Restlessness makes him fidget, a little mean with nowhere to put it.

Marc grabs Valentino’s ankle as he tries to poke him again. His hands are leather-thick, rough like sandpaper. Strong, he notes, swallowing an embarrassing, reedy hiss when he tries to haul his leg in and Marc squeezes his ankle, keeps him pinned in place. He makes it hard to stay bothered.

“You’re going to—ah, I don’t know, get in trouble. Might fuck your timeline up.”

A splutter churns in his mouth, half offended, half playing it up, right until Marc lets go of his leg and gets up, hauls himself half out of the pool to stand braced against the edge, the skin of his arm brushing against Valentino’s jeans, getting it wet.

He’s got nicer tits than a good half of the girls he’s fucked. Fat enough that he thinks he could push them together and put his dick between them, like he’s seen guys do in porn.

“Who? Me?” Valentino goes wide-eyed, puts a hand over his heart. Pretends to not have been staring.

Marc shakes his head. “See what I mean?” But the corners of his lips twitch up, stubborn. Fond, mostly despite himself—Valentino is familiar with the look.

Like this, he’s close enough to count the few moles scattered on his collar. Catch the seesawing jerkiness of his shoulder and the raised, pink lines on his arm. Either he let them scar badly, jaded, ugly edges, or they were bad injuries.

Valentino sweeps his eyes over him again—Marc, waxed smooth, meticulously posed, built like an anatomy study given life. Bad injury it is.

“Well?” Marc’s hand slides over to Valentino’s knee, fingers digging in lightly.

Valentino’s leg jerks, a reflex, but Marc’s too close now, his breath searing against his skin. The sudden proximity catches him off guard, heat rising in his chest. Annoyance slices through him, a dull, serrated cut at the chuckle Marc lets out. This squirming thing gnaws at his ribs, pries open his mouth before Valentino can plan his next move.

“You’re a racer too,” he says, clumsily, too quickly.

“Am I?” Marc tilts his head to the side, widens his eyes until he looks ridiculously coy.

A begrudging amusement tugs inside his guts like a fishhook. He’s being talked in circles, the way Uccio tells him the press likes, politely, inoffensively. If he hadn’t been paying so much attention, he would’ve been swept along, would’ve been happy with it. And Marc finds this whole dance hilarious. Easy.

Or he’s an excellent liar, which Valentino knows he is.

 “Yeah, duh,” he huffs, looks down at Marc, at the tanned, broad shape of his back glinting under the sun, flexing. “But are you a good one?”

Marc preens under his gaze, smirks—very well pleased. If he’s going to show off, Valentino is going to stare. “You could say so,” he hums, chin tilted lazily.

Valentino scowls. “What does that even mean? Are you one of those guys who thinks, hey, I got to the 500cc, it’s basically like being a world champion?”

“Are you going to be very disappointed if I am?”

His stomach churns. Yes, sort of. He hadn’t expected Marc to be boring. Had hoped, maybe—that he wouldn’t be a movie star in that gray block of a house who shows up to the track from time to time and expects to be pampered. Or one of those fancy Spanish kids that come around, sons of racers’ sons, just enjoying the ride and fucking around.

“For all I know, you’re a bad rider.” The words slip out before Valentino can stop them, soap-like, oily.

It might make him angry. Might wrangle another laugh out of him. Either way, it’s going to give him an in. He wants to crack Marc open against the ground, see if anything interesting spills out. People don’t usually give him this much trouble. As a rule, any audience is simple—fold or break, charmed or about to be.

Marc’s lashes flutter slowly, casting a shadow over his eyes. It’s a minute flicker—a tiny, tiny shift in his expression. Valentino feels sized up, dissected. Like Marc knows an important secret he doesn’t. There’s a deliberateness in that stare, an inside joke Marc’s forgotten to share.

“You would say that,” Marc mumbles.

He’s smiling, still. Valentino doesn’t trust it one bit.

[yaseraphine]

short-medium mercury observations bcuz I am feeling silly

A little silly astro obs until I am finished with the capricorn rising one. This post is just leo mercury non sense please don't mind me

I feel like a lot of water mercuries, especially scorpio mercuries, don’t talk much. They tend to observe, analyze and stay kind of out of the conversation. They only speak when it’s necessary. The opposite of a yapper basically

They also tend to have deep voices, both for men and women.

Capricorn mercuries can be a bit like this too. Really dry texters (as a leo mercury it gives me anxiety i feel like they hate me when they talk to me.. like if you hate me just tell me ☹️💔😭)

I genuinely don’t understand capricorns, and capricorn energy. Except when it’s in the ascendant or Venus, their energy is unreadable to me. Whenever I interact with a Capricorn, I feel like they hate me and don’t want to be there because they are not really expressive when they speak and are really direct and realists in their talking style. As a Leo mercury, I feel so judged 🫠😟Like if you hate me just say that💔😭😫

I am super expressive when I speak, kind of like a theater kid. Kind of like the voices in cartoons. Overtly excited when saying worldly stuff, like talking about the weather in the most dramatic way. When I speak, my tone goes up and down, it feels like you’re on a roller coaster when you interact with me. I have had people coming to me many times in the streets or the library telling me that I am too loud and that I should lower my voice to be respectful lol💀🤡💩 sorry😀

Aries and Leo mercuries, sometimes sag mercuries : we can’t shut the f up to save our lives lol the number of times i have been kicked out of class with my friends at school for being too loud, and laughing too much i can’t even count help-💀🤪🤠

Mercury in Sagittarius are so funny but at the same time so cringe my mom has it and she always makes corny dad jokes and she’s always the only one laughing at the diner table lmaoo

Mercuries in Gemini are so fucking smart, not in a genius way, but they can pick up on stuff so easily. Like understanding a text, or seeing the main points of a text without reading it in its entirety. They are really good at making connections between things, and connections that make sense. They are generally as logical as virgo mercuries, but they lack the meticulous side. They are pretty much to me a virgo mercury with ADHD on crack lol I'd say instead of being smart, they are more so perceptive, insightful or astute.

Some Mercury in Pisces sometimes speak so cryptically that it gets hard to understand, once they open their mouths, where they are going with what they’re trying to say. Their talking style is kind of surreal and romantic. They tend to create new words, and change up the grammar and verb conjugations. Their sensitivity and capacity to perceive things that cannot be seen by the naked eye is what makes them invent those words, because the already existing vocabulary isn’t enough to express this hyper specific thing or feeling they have.

Mercury in Pisces and Mercury in Virgo were placements that I found in the biggest readers I know. Both love reading and writing, and they have a thing for romance novels or fantasy books from what I've seen. Really delulu people in their own respective ways 🫡 but at the same time really talented 😁😍

the type of fiction virgo and pisces mercuries be writing on AO3 and Quotev instead of being productive members of society :

i just know a pisces mercury was behind this soul crushing poem 😞😔😿🫂

[dksfml]

misfit - lee chan, jeon wonwoo

pairing: student!lee chan x teacher!reader x coworker!jeon wonwoo genre: delinquency, slight violence, major plot twist, love triangle???, slightly suggestive, dino is hot period word count: 6.5k summary: what would you do if you caught yourself in teaching some delinquents (one of whom refuses to take his eyes off you) because of a job that your good friend slash now coworker has offered you? a/n: got inspired while watching study group. AND because I went to a seventeen con a while ago and dino surely got into my bias list. everyone stay safe!!!! enjoyyyyyyy

The morning air was crisp as you walked through the university gates, the golden hues of the rising sun casting long shadows over the quiet campus. This was your first official day as a professor, the culmination of years of studying, passing the licensure exam, and navigating post-graduation uncertainty. You had spent the last year lingering in your small apartment, jobless and wondering if you had chosen the right path—until Jeon Wonwoo offered you an opportunity.

Wonwoo had been your anchor during that uncertain period. You’d met him during your final year of university, and while he had always been somewhat reserved, his sharp intelligence and dry wit had drawn you in. He had a way of making everything seem a little clearer, a little more manageable. When you’d expressed your frustration with not finding a job after passing the licensure exam, he had listened quietly, like he always did, his gaze thoughtful. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that you had received an email from him, offering you a position as a lecturer at the university where he worked.

You still remembered that moment—how the weight of that email had felt like a lifeline. And how, when you’d thanked him over a coffee that afternoon, he had shrugged, as if it was nothing. “You’re smart. You deserve a shot,” he’d said, his voice so typically matter-of-fact.

Since then, Wonwoo had become not only a colleague but a steady presence in your life. He was someone you could rely on when things went wrong, and someone who always seemed to have everything under control. His reserved nature was still a mystery, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. He had a protective streak that you only began to notice once you started working with him closely—watching him step in when things got too chaotic or when your confidence faltered in front of students.

In those quieter moments, when you shared lunch breaks or brief moments of downtime between classes, he would talk about his own experiences teaching. His insights were always thoughtful, often offering advice without being overbearing. And sometimes, when you were frustrated, he had a way of easing your worries with just a few words. Even when he didn’t directly say it, there was always an underlying sense that he was looking out for you.

You knew that, in a way, Wonwoo had always been a silent mentor—never overtly guiding you, but always there when you needed him. Today, as you stepped into the university grounds, he was still that familiar figure in the background. You might be starting your own journey, but you weren’t doing it alone. Not as long as Wonwoo had your back.

And now, here you were, about to teach your first class.

“You nervous?”

The question came from Wonwoo, who walked beside you, his usual composed and serious expression in place. He was a man of few words, but his presence alone was reassuring.

“A little,” you admitted, adjusting the strap of your bag. “But I’ll be fine.”

Wonwoo hummed, unconvinced. “You’re assigned to 3-C, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "You sure you don’t want me to switch with you?"

That made you pause. “Why would I?”

Wonwoo finally looked at you, and for the first time this morning, a flicker of amusement crossed his features. "You’ll see."

You frowned at his cryptic words but brushed it off. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you got me this job. I can’t mess up on my first day.”

Wonwoo didn’t reply, but his silence said enough.

And with that, he walked off to his own classroom, leaving you standing there, confusion brewing in your mind.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and made your way to Room 3-C.

The moment you reached the door, the realization hit you.

Loud laughter, desks scraping against the floor, students yelling across the room—it was absolute chaos. Some were standing on chairs, others were throwing paper balls, and a few were in the middle of what looked like an arm-wrestling match atop a desk. The noise, the reckless energy, felt overwhelming. You could already feel a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach as you stepped into the doorway, taking in the scene before you.

You had expected some rowdiness—every first day was a bit chaotic, right? But this... this was different. It wasn’t just rowdiness; it was pure, unbridled anarchy. The kind of behavior that felt almost designed to test your patience and authority. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. This was your first real day as a professor, and it already felt like you were standing at the edge of a precipice.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your feet to move forward. So this is what Wonwoo had meant when he warned you about the challenges of teaching here. The thought barely crossed your mind before you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The moment you crossed the threshold, a wave of noise and disarray seemed to crash over you. No one noticed. It felt almost as if your presence was irrelevant, swallowed by the overwhelming disorder in the room. The loud chatter, the sporadic shouts, the sound of chairs scraping on the floor—all of it blurred into a maddening symphony that made it impossible to focus on anything other than the noise itself.

For a moment, you simply stood there, taking in the madness. You had prepared yourself for some degree of disruption; you weren’t naive. But this? This was beyond anything you’d imagined. Students were climbing over desks, yelling across the room, engaging in loud arguments. The space felt thick with a palpable energy, a sense that no one was in control—not you, not anyone.

You weren’t one to raise your voice unnecessarily. It wasn’t your style. You believed that authority should come from presence, from the subtle ways you commanded respect—not from fear or shouting. You were here to teach, to guide—not to battle. But with every passing second, it became harder to ignore the creeping frustration building within you. The idea of just letting it slide seemed impossible.

And then, as if the universe itself had conspired to give you an out, someone else did it for you.

“Oi.”

The word was simple—short, firm, yet carrying a weight that immediately cut through the chaos. It was the kind of command that silenced a room without raising the volume. The laughter died down almost instantly, and the noise slowed to a muffled hush. You felt your body stiffen, your focus narrowing as you turned toward the back of the room.

There, leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed, sat a figure. His messy hair and relaxed posture told you everything you needed to know—he’d clearly just woken up from some kind of nap, and yet, his presence was commanding. The room had fallen silent for him as easily as if he were a force of nature.

Lee Chan.

As he met your gaze, the air between you shifted. His dark eyes gleamed under the dim morning light, unreadable but intense. There was a certain sharpness to him, like a predator sizing up its prey. It was unsettling, but you refused to be intimidated. You weren’t here to be cowed by anyone, least of all a student, no matter how powerful his presence might be.

You didn’t need to be told who he was—you could see it in the way the room moved around him. The students had instantly fallen silent at his command, all of them snapping to attention as if they knew, deep down, that this was a battle they would lose if they defied him.

Chan tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, in a voice that was still calm, but not without authority, he spoke again.

“Sit down. The teacher’s here.”

The effect was immediate and almost eerie. The class scrambled to obey, students shuffling quickly back into their seats. The previously rampant chaos dissolved into nothingness in the span of a few heartbeats. Chairs scraped across the floor in a rush of motion as everyone rushed to restore some semblance of order.

Your grip tightened around the roster in your hands. It was subtle, but the realization settled in: Lee Chan had more authority over these students than you did. In fact, he had more authority over this classroom than anyone, and they all knew it.

Still, you couldn’t let yourself be rattled. You refused to let this one student dictate the rhythm of the room. You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and met Chan’s gaze once more. “Thank you,” you said, your voice calm but firm.

He didn’t respond. Instead, his dark eyes simply continued to study you with a quiet intensity, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered for a moment before he turned away, clearly losing interest.

Turning your attention back to the roster, you began calling out names, trying to push the lingering tension aside. It would be easy to focus on Chan—his presence was like a weight pressing down on your chest—but you couldn’t let that control the way you conducted the class.

That is, until a voice from the back of the room snapped your attention back into focus.

“She would do better as a camgirl.”

The words came from one of the students—a boy with a cocky grin and an air of entitlement that grated against your calm. The remark hit like a slap, echoing in your mind as the room fell into a tense, suffocating silence.

You paused, fingers tightening around the paper, a slow burn igniting within you. It wasn’t the first time you had encountered disrespect, but something about the casualness of the comment—the way it seemed to roll off his tongue without any regard for your presence—struck a nerve.

You lifted your gaze, voice even but sharp as you locked eyes with the student. “What was that?”

The student—Kang Jaemin, according to your roster—smirked, sinking deeper into his chair. “Just saying,” he drawled. “You’d make more money doing something else. We’d all tune in, wouldn’t we, boys?” He winked, nudging his friends. A couple of them chuckled in response.

It was immature. It was crude. And it was unnecessary. You stood there, breath held, trying to decide whether to ignore it or shut it down immediately. You had faced worse—much worse—in your teaching career. You knew that responding with anger or frustration would only fuel the fire.

But before you could even form a reply, the sound of a chair scraping across the floor shattered the silence.

Without a word, Chan kicked his desk forward with a force that made everyone in the room flinch. The room went completely still, the air thick with tension as all eyes turned to him. His gaze was cold, hard—focused solely on Jaemin, who was still lounging in his chair, clearly oblivious to the danger he was in.

“Apologize,” Chan said, his voice low but filled with unspoken menace.

Jaemin scoffed, rubbing his nose like it was no big deal. “What’s it to you, boss?” He flashed a grin, trying to play it cool, but his eyes flickered nervously as he took in Chan’s stance.

A nervous whisper came from beside him. “Hey, Jaemin, just drop it. Chan’s already in a bad mood this morning,” his seatmate muttered, voice barely above a breath.

Chan didn’t move from his seat, his eyes never leaving Jaemin. His voice was steady, even calm, but there was a weight to it that made every student in the room uneasy. “She’s our teacher,” Chan said quietly. “You respect her, or you leave.”

The command hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. For a moment, the classroom seemed to hold its breath. Students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging glances as the tension between Jaemin and Chan grew.

Jaemin opened his mouth, clearly about to argue, but Chan’s eyes hardened, and he tilted his head ever so slightly—a subtle but unmistakable warning.

Jaemin hesitated. But only for a moment. Then, the challenge came.

“Or what?” he scoffed, his lip curling in defiance.

Chan exhaled slowly through his nose, his expression unreadable, his eyes locked on Jaemin with a quiet intensity that sent a chill through the room. The silence that followed was suffocating. His voice was calm but held a deadly weight. “Or I’ll make you.”

The tension in the classroom thickened, becoming almost palpable. Students shifted nervously in their seats, their eyes darting back and forth between Chan and Jaemin, sensing that something had shifted—something beyond their control. Some leaned forward, watching the confrontation with bated breath, while others instinctively backed away from the desks nearest the two boys, as though expecting an explosion.

Jaemin scoffed, brushing his fingers through his hair as he leaned back in his chair, trying to exude the same arrogance that had caused the conflict in the first place. “You think you can order me around just ‘cause everyone here’s scared of you?” His voice was mocking, almost too casual for the moment. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, you’re pathetic. What, got a little crush on the new teacher?”

The taunt hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite. That was all it took.

Chan’s movement was so fast, it was almost a blur. Before Jaemin could react, Chan was on him, his fist connecting with Jaemin’s jaw in a sharp, brutal crack! The impact echoed across the room, and Jaemin was sent stumbling backward into the desk behind him, his knees buckling as he struggled to regain his balance. The sound of the punch resonated like a thunderclap in the stillness that followed.

Gasps erupted from the students, the force of the blow sending shockwaves through the class. Those nearest to the altercation scrambled to get out of the way, chairs screeching against the floor as they instinctively shifted back, creating space. The tension had finally come to a head—and it was as chaotic as it was terrifying.

Jaemin wiped his lips, his fingers coming away stained with blood. His face twisted into a grotesque mask of rage as he glared at Chan, barely able to contain his fury. “You son of a—!”

Before Jaemin could finish his sentence, he lunged forward, a primal, reckless move driven by anger. His fist swung at Chan, but the other boy was already one step ahead. With a fluid motion, Chan caught Jaemin’s wrist mid-air, twisting it back so sharply that Jaemin let out a grunt of pain. The force of the move sent Jaemin to his knees, his face contorted with both shock and fury as he struggled to free himself from Chan’s iron grip.

The entire classroom was frozen, watching with wide eyes as Chan’s expression remained cold, calm, and terrifyingly controlled. There was no wildness to him—no desperation. His composure made the whole scene even more unnerving.

“You don’t talk to any woman like that,” Chan’s voice was low, dangerous, the words dripping with an almost chilling finality. “That’s not so gentleman of you.”

Jaemin’s face twisted with more rage, his breath coming in harsh pants. “Like I care what you think—” he spat back, but the words were drowned out by the mounting tension in the room.

Just as Jaemin struggled to break free, another loud bang rang out through the room—this time, it wasn’t from the students or the fight. Everyone froze, the noise so sharp it cut through the chaos like a knife.

At the door stood Jeon Wonwoo, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed directly on the fight in front of him. His presence alone was enough to send a wave of unease through the students, like a cold front sweeping in, freezing the energy in the room. The sharp clack of his shoes against the floor was the only sound as he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.

His gaze flicked to the two boys, and then, without hesitation, his voice rang out, cold and authoritative. “Break it up.”

The command was simple, but it carried a weight that no one could ignore. Chan’s eyes flickered toward the other professor for a brief moment, an imperceptible hesitation passing through him, before he released Jaemin. Jaemin stumbled to his feet, still seething, his chest heaving with rage, but there was little he could do. His pride had taken a blow that he couldn’t easily recover from, and the air in the room seemed to settle just slightly as the two boys were forcibly separated.

Before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief, the door burst open again, this time with the arrival of the student council president and another professor. They moved swiftly into the room, their presence immediately commanding the space. Within seconds, both Chan and Jaemin were being pulled away, their bodies being guided toward the door by the authority of the faculty and student leaders. The chaotic energy that had pervaded the room for what felt like an eternity dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving only the echo of the confrontation hanging in the air.

And just like that, it was over.

The class sat in stunned silence. The atmosphere felt thick, almost suffocating, as if no one knew what to say after witnessing such a volatile moment. Some students exchanged nervous glances, others seemed almost relieved that the tension had been broken, but no one dared to speak out of turn.

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temples, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your head throbbed with the weight of the moment, the emotional whiplash of what you had just witnessed settling deep in your bones. The chaotic flare of violence, the tension, the unsettling silence—it was enough to leave anyone rattled. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so shaken, but there was no time to dwell on it. You still had a class to run—one that had just seen more than its fair share of drama.

The room remained heavy with silence, save for the occasional rustle of someone shifting uncomfortably in their seat. No one seemed quite ready to move on, the air thick with lingering unease, like a storm that hadn't quite passed.

Wonwoo stood beside you, his presence a quiet anchor amidst the unsettling atmosphere. His sharp gaze flickered over your face, a quick scan as though searching for any hint of lingering distress. It was a habit of his, the subtle way he kept track of everyone around him, always assessing.

“You okay?” His voice was steady, familiar—like a grounding force in the midst of chaos.

You exhaled slowly again, grounding yourself. “I’m fine,” you murmured, adjusting the papers in your hands as if that simple motion could erase the chaotic energy that had flooded the classroom. But the image of Chan, that brief glance he had thrown your way before disappearing down the hallway, lingered in your mind like an echo.

Wonwoo nodded, his gaze briefly flicking to the classroom before turning toward the door. His attention shifted elsewhere, but something in his posture, the small shift in his stance, told you he was still watching you. Observing. “Let’s just get through today, alright?” he said, a quiet suggestion more than a command.

At the far end of the room, just before stepping out, Chan paused. His back was to the door, but his eyes flickered back—just for a second—across the room. The briefest glance, but enough to make your stomach tighten. He wasn’t looking at you, not exactly. But it was as though he had taken note of everything. Of you. The way he looked at the scene, the way he committed it all to memory, was unsettling. Then, just as quickly, he was gone.

You couldn’t help but wonder what’s inside his head.

The faculty room was quieter, but the atmosphere was still charged, the earlier events hanging in the air like a storm cloud, ready to break. You sat at a corner table, trying to concentrate on the papers in front of you, but your mind kept returning to that fight. The way the room had shifted the moment Chan stepped in. The look in his eyes. Something about him felt different. Dangerous. And you had a creeping feeling you hadn’t seen the last of it.

Professor Kim, the head of the disciplinary committee, sighed heavily, adjusting her glasses. “The fight was disruptive and violent. This cannot be ignored. Both of them need to be disciplined appropriately.”

Professor Park, ever quick to share his thoughts, didn’t hesitate. “Jaemin, of course, has a long history of problems. We can’t say we didn’t expect this. But Lee Chan…” He trailed off, his tone shifting as though weighing something in his mind. “He’s not a student we can easily overlook. He’s a troublemaker—just in a different way.”

Your brow furrowed slightly as the name “Lee Chan” reverberated in your mind. From what you had heard, he was intelligent, sharp—his grades were impressive, even top-tier. But the way he carried himself? The silence that followed him, like a lingering shadow? It didn’t add up. Something didn’t feel right.

Professor Choi, usually reserved, leaned forward, adding to the conversation with a rare intensity. “He gets good grades, yes. But that doesn’t mean we should let his actions slide. His reputation alone is enough to make anyone hesitate. He’s not just a student—hell this school is named after his family name. Though no students here knows that fact, his presence still command respect, or fear. He makes people follow him, just by being in the room.”

You listened intently, absorbing every word, every hesitation. You had heard the rumors about Chan even before you came into this school, whispers in the hallways, the unease that followed him like a dark cloud. But until now, you hadn’t fully realized the weight of it all. The way people avoided his gaze, the way others seemed to bend to his will without question. You were amazed by the realness of it all.

Wonwoo spoke up then, his tone calm, but his words carrying an unexpected weight. “Chan might be smart, but he’s trouble. He’s one of those students who uses his reputation to get what he wants. He’s not above intimidation, and that’s something we can’t afford to ignore.”

You glanced at Wonwoo, surprised by his bluntness. He wasn’t someone who typically spoke so openly about students—at least, not those who still managed to keep their grades up despite their behavior. It was almost as if he knew something you didn’t.

Professor Kim raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “And you think his good grades should excuse his actions, professor? Because his grades don’t justify a fight. He’s crossed a line.”

Wonwoo sighed, a fleeting flicker of frustration crossing his features. “I’m not saying we should excuse his behavior. But Chan has a way of manipulating situations. If we come down too hard on him, it could make things worse. He’s the kind of student who doesn’t respond well to authority, and if we push him too far, it could escalate.”

The room fell silent for a moment, as if everyone was processing the implications of his words. The tension between caution and confrontation hummed in the air, unresolved.

Professor Park narrowed his eyes, a sharp edge to his voice. “So, what are you suggesting? That we give him a pass just because he knows how to make people scared of him?”

“No,” Wonwoo replied, his voice steady and certain. “But we need to be careful. We can’t treat Chan like any other student. He has a way of turning things to his advantage, of twisting situations. And this is not just because his family own this school. This is because he built his reputation that way, making other students afraid of him. If we push him too far, we risk triggering something we might not be able to control. He’s not like the rest of them.”

The conversation settled into a heavy silence, each person wrestling with their thoughts.

Finally, Professor Kim let out a long breath, her fingers tapping lightly against the papers in front of her. “We’ll put both students in detention for the time being. Jaemin, no surprise there. But with Chan…” She paused, as if trying to weigh the possible consequences of her next words. “He’s not the type to back down, and we need to keep that in mind moving forward.”

It had been one of those days—busy, slightly chaotic, but nothing out of the ordinary. You found yourself sorting through papers at your desk when a familiar voice broke through the quiet hum of the faculty room.

“Hey, you’re looking pretty focused there. Are you sure you’re not trying to work yourself to the bone?” Wonwoo’s voice had that familiar teasing tone, and you could almost hear the faint smile behind it.

You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Says the guy who spends half his time pretending to read the reports when he’s just watching the clock,” you retorted, leaning back in your chair.

He chuckled, pushing a strand of hair from his face. “I’m just keeping an eye on you. Don’t want you getting lost in all that paperwork.”

You shook your head, amused. “If I get lost, I’ll just call you for help. But I’m sure you’d rather be napping in the staff lounge, huh?”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “I’m a responsible adult. I don’t nap during work hours.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Well, not all the time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I should start timing your breaks, see how long you really go without a nap.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “You wouldn’t dare. Besides, I’m more efficient than you think.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “Don’t forget, I’m the one keeping the department running smoothly.”

You leaned forward, matching his teasing tone. “I’m sure the students would beg to differ. They’ve all been talking about you.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable for a moment before a grin tugged at his lips. “What about me?”

You leaned back again, crossing your arms with a playful smile. “Oh, nothing. Just that you’ve been the silent hero in the background. Maybe you’ve earned a fan club.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling up at the corners. “A fan club, huh? I like the sound of that. Just make sure you don’t join it.”

You shot him a wink, amused by his overconfidence. “I don’t need to. I already have my own fan club.”

His grin widened, but before he could say anything more, the conversation shifted, and the teasing between the two of you faded into comfortable silence.

A few days later, you were buried under paperwork once again, the weight of the past week pressing down on you. Your phone buzzed with another unrecognized number, and you ignored it, frustrated. But then, almost instinctively, you found yourself dialing a number you’d been trying to reach all day—Chan’s number.

You sighed in frustration, tapping your fingers against the desk as the phone rang. “Come on, pick up already…” you muttered under your breath.

The soft click of the door opening made you freeze, and you quickly turned your phone’s screen away, hoping it wasn’t too obvious.

“Who are you calling?” Wonwoo’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and inquiring.

You froze, trying to play it cool, but the tension in your shoulders betrayed you. “It’s… just someone,” you said quickly, attempting to brush it off.

Wonwoo stepped closer, leaning against the edge of your desk. His eyes flickered to your phone before meeting your gaze, and there was a knowing look in his eyes. “Is that the fifth time today? They still aren’t answering?”

Your stomach twisted. Wonwoo was always perceptive, but this time, it felt like he could read you like an open book. You cleared your throat, trying to keep your tone steady. “It’s not a big deal,” you muttered. “Just trying to get in touch with a student. He’s been… absent.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, not missing the way your fingers tightened around the phone. His voice softened, his teasing tone slipping into something more serious. “It’s Lee Chan, isn’t it?”

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t just guessing. He knew. You hesitated for a moment, before nodding slightly, feeling the weight of the conversation settling in.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He hasn’t been showing up to class, and he missed his detention after the fight last week. He was supposed to work in the library after class, but… I haven’t heard from him.”

Wonwoo’s gaze didn’t leave you as he processed the information. “He’s been avoiding you?” His tone held a quiet concern, though there was still that ever-present edge of curiosity in his voice. “Isn’t that a bit… unusual for him? I thought he usually showed up when he needed something.”

You sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and unease wash over you. “Yeah, I thought so too. But it’s been days now. I’m not sure what’s going on. He’s always been hard to reach, but he’s never just ignored things like this.” You paused, your mind racing with the possibilities. “I’m worried something’s happened.”

Wonwoo gave you a long look, as if trying to gauge the situation. “Chan’s the type to do things his own way,” he said softly. “Maybe he’s just making a point. Or maybe he’s not ready to deal with the consequences yet.”

Your fingers tightened on the phone again, the thought of Chan slipping further away from your reach gnawing at you. “I just don’t want to let it slide. He has to face the consequences, but I don’t know how to make him show up.”

Wonwoo’s expression softened, just slightly, as he straightened up. “He won’t make it easy for you. But if you want him to show up, you’ll have to push a little harder.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “But that’s what you do, right? You get the students to listen.”

There was a certain understanding in his words that made you pause. Wonwoo didn’t say it outright, but he knew how hard you’d been trying to reach Chan, and how important it was that you got through to him.

You gave a short, tight smile, grateful for the insight. “Yeah, I guess I’ll just have to find a way to get through to him.”

Wonwoo nodded and gave you a small, knowing smile. “Let me know if you need help with that.” His tone had returned to its usual teasing edge, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel like he wasn’t just offering help on a whim.

“Thanks,” you said, though your mind was already elsewhere, focusing on what you could do next. After a brief moment, Wonwoo left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You stared at your phone for a moment, the unanswered calls piling up in your call log. Chan wasn’t just skipping school—is he avoiding you? That would made everything feel far more complicated. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of game he was playing this time.

You made your way back to your apartment, your mind still racing with the events of the day. The walk had done little to clear your head. The sky had darkened by the time you reached the familiar building, and the usual hum of city life seemed distant, almost muffled, as if the world around you was out of focus. The weight of everything, your new role, the chaos in your classroom, and the unresolved tension settled in your chest.

As you approached your apartment door, you realized something was off. The hallway light flickered overhead, casting strange shadows along the walls, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the door itself. The door to your apartment, which you were sure you had locked this morning, was ajar. Just slightly, but enough to make your stomach twist with unease.

You froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. Your instincts told you to back away, to go back downstairs and find someone, anyone, but you remained rooted in place. You had been living here for months without issue, and yet now, in the quiet of the night, the very thought that someone could have been inside your space felt foreign and terrifying.

You stepped forward cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. Every step felt heavier than the last, and you felt a shiver creep down your spine. The door creaked softly as you pushed it open a little further, and you glanced inside. The apartment was dark, but nothing seemed out of place. The silence was unsettling, too perfect, like it was waiting for you to make the next move.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stood just inside the doorway, your hand still on the handle. Every part of you screamed to leave, to turn and run back down the stairs, but you couldn’t. You had to know. Had you forgotten to lock the door? Was this a mistake? Or was someone else in there?

The moment you stepped into your apartment, something felt off.

A slow, uneasy breath left your lips as you carefully pushed the door open, stepping inside with cautious, measured steps. The dim lighting from the street outside spilled through the window, casting long shadows against the walls.

Then—

“Oh, you’re back already?”

That familiar voice sent a sharp jolt through your body, but not from fear. From pure, unfiltered frustration.

Your head snapped toward the couch, where he sat so casually, one arm resting over the backrest, his legs sprawled out like he owned the place. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips as his dark eyes drank in your stunned expression.

Lee Chan.

You exhaled sharply, tension flooding your body as you stormed toward him. Without hesitation, you smacked his broad shoulder—hard.

“You—!” Your voice wavered, caught between anger and relief. “Why are you not answering my calls?”

Chan barely flinched, only tilting his head slightly as he watched you with that irritatingly amused expression. Then, in one swift motion, he stood, his arms wrapping around you before you could escape.

“Now, why is my pretty teacher crying?” His voice was soft, teasing, but there was something in the way he pulled you against his chest, how his hands instinctively found your waist, that made your stomach flip.

You clenched your jaw, your hands gripping his hoodie. “Do you have any idea how worried I was about you?”

Chan let out a short exhale, like your concern was misplaced.

“Worried about me?”

“Yes, worried about you, you idiot!” You pushed at his chest just enough to glare up at him. “You didn’t show up for detention. You haven’t been at school. You disappeared, Chan. I kept calling, but you never picked up. What was I supposed to think?”

His gaze flickered across your face, unreadable. Then, his lips curled into something almost smug.

“Do every teacher worry about their students like this?”

Your stomach twisted at his words, heat creeping up your neck.

You smacked his chest. “You know what I mean.”

He groaned dramatically, tilting his head back. “Ugh, I hate this.”

“Hate what?” You narrowed your eyes, suddenly remembering exactly why you were so furious with him in the first place.

“Sitting in that classroom, watching you teach, pretending you’re just another professor, when I know I could grab you anytime and kiss you so hard you forget your own name.”

His voice was low, raw with frustration, and the way he looked at you made your breath catch in your throat.

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, he scoffed under his breath.

“This is exactly why I told you not to accept Wonwoo’s offer.”

Your brows furrowed, irritation flaring inside you. “We’re not doing this again.”

Chan’s grip on you tightened slightly, his jaw clenching. “Yes, we are. You knew what would happen if you started working there. You knew there was a chance you’d be assigned to my class, and you still took the job.”

Your hands curled into fists against his hoodie. “What was I supposed to do, Chan? Turn down a stable job just because you don’t like it?”

“Yes.” His answer came without hesitation, sharp and unyielding.

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady yourself. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“No, I’m being realistic.” His voice dropped, something darker lacing his words. “Do you know how much I hate seeing you there? How much it pisses me off when I have to sit through a lesson and pretend I don’t want to pull you out of that classroom and keep you all to myself?”

You swallowed hard, your heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

“I told you it would be difficult,” he continued, his fingers pressing lightly into your waist. “I told you I wouldn’t handle it well, and now look. I can’t even focus in that damn classroom, because all I can think about is how wrong it feels for you to be standing there, acting like I’m just another student.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was being selfish, but deep down, you knew—he wasn’t lying.

It had been hard.

Harder than you expected.

Keeping your relationship hidden, pretending there was nothing between you when the weight of his gaze alone was enough to unravel you. And when he stopped showing up to class, when he ignored your calls—it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

Your shoulders sagged slightly. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Chan.”

He studied you for a long moment before sighing. “I don’t want you to do anything. I just…” His fingers brushed against your cheek, his voice softer now. “I hate this. I hate not being able to have you the way I want.”

Something inside you cracked at his words.

You reached up, your fingers threading through his hair as you exhaled shakily. “I hate it too.”

Chan smirked, but there was no teasing behind it this time—only something knowing, something bittersweet.

His arms tightened around you, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Then let’s stop pretending,” he murmured.

It was as if the air between you shifted—thick with tension, unspoken words, and the heat that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Chan’s fingers brushed over your shoulders as he slid your coat off, letting it fall to the side without a second thought. His touch lingered, slow and deliberate, as he guided you toward the kitchen table.

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“Chan…” you started, voice barely above a whisper.

But he was already behind you, his presence overwhelming, his hands warm as they rested on your waist. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Now,” his voice was low, filled with something dangerous, something utterly possessive.

“Bend for me, my love.”

[rebelliousstories]

The One That Got Away

Relationship: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of a Crime Scene, Blood, and Firearms, Vague Mentions of a Serial Killer

Word Count: 1,698

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Summary: After leaving Interpol after an operation gone wrong, Emily thought that she would never see her ex-girlfriend again. That is until the case resurfaces, but on US soil.

Part Two: Would You Go With Me?

Consider Donating: Here

“The past is a very determined ghost, haunting every chance it gets.” Laura Miller

March 7th, 2005

In the back of an ambulance, a woman was staring straight ahead. She was unable to respond to the EMTs surrounding her. All she could replay in her head was the massacre that had just unfolded inside their safe house. A safe house that was now comprised.

She could barely comprehend that her girlfriend was in front of her, calling her name. Screams echoed in her head. Blood was actively drying on her face, hands, clothing, really just.. everywhere. There was a ringing ever present in her ears. Vaguely, she registered that she was being loaded into the ambulance, with other people climbing in with her.

Her girlfriend was holding her hand, trying to stay out of the way for the medics to work on the lady on the gurney. Everything was jut a blur. No sound loud enough, but not quite quiet enough. No image stood out to her. What the woman did not realize, was that this singular event would forever change her life.

Present Day…

“What have we got?” Emily asked, strutting in with Morgan and Rossi right next to her.

Aaron stood around the round table with JJ to his left. Garcia had shuffled in from the other entrance to the room with Reid close behind her. The unit chief held a harsh look on his face, harsher than he usually did. And he was looking straight at Emily.

“What,” came her hesitant ask, eyeing Hotch equally as hard.

“We’ve gotten a request to help with an Interpol case.” He stated.

“Okay, what’s so different about it? We’ve been asked to assist other teams before.” The rest of the team followed after Prentiss, also confused as to how cryptic this whole thing was.

“Imitirovat.”

“The Mimic?” While everyone remained confused, Emily felt like a cold rush of water came over her.

“‘The Mimic?’ Who’s that?” Garcia piped up, not liking the silence.

Before Hotchner could speak, the dark haired woman did so first. “He was an old case. A cold case back from my days with Interpol. Why are we being brought in?”

“It seems that he’s made his way to American soil, and he’s killing again. Agent Liam Shelby has asked us to join the FBI joint task force with the Salt Lake City police.” He continued, passing her a file.

“Shelby? He’s on this still?” Flipping through the pages, she scanned them to refresh herself on all the information.

“He is. And there is an additional agent that we need to find.” A highlighted name pointed her out, but that only made her groan.

“Jesus Christ.” A hand scrubbed over Emily’s face to try rub her bias away.

“I’m aware. Wheels up in twenty.”

~

On the plane, the conversation was not much better. While her teammates wanted to talk about the original case, Emily wanted to not be in this situation. If certain information got out, personal information, about this case, there could be repercussions both personally and professionally. But if Shelby was specifically calling the team that she was on to help now that this man had come back.

“So, what can you tell us about this guy, Emily?” Rossi asked, toying with the file in front of him.

Sucking in a depth breath, she readjusted in her seat, feeling the weight of everyone’s stares on her. “Um…well, no one knows The Mimic’s real name. But we do know that he comes from Russia, hence the name “Imitirovat”. It means “imitate” or “simulate.” White male, at the time he was approximately late twenties to early thirties. Sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, attractive-”

“Attractive?” JJ’s brows scrunched as she tilted her head.

“Yeah, he’s always been able to charm victims into going with him before he kills them.” Prentiss continued, “and when I was with Interpol, I chased him around Europe as he went on killing. We almost had him in London.”

“Were there any suspects?” Morgan quipped.

“We had some persons of interest, but nothing panned out.” Prentiss shook her head.

“When we land, Morgan and Reid, go to the latest crime scene. The rest of us will set up in the station.” Aaron ordered.

Soon after, everyone dived into their own thing. Pretty much everyone else was jumping into the information in the folders. Meanwhile, Emily was staring out of her window. What was she going to do if they found her? She had not seen the woman in almost a decade.

Making it to the Salt Lake City field office, Prentiss began to pick at her fingernails as they went further into the office.

“Emily!” A smooth, French-accented voice called out amongst the cacophony of the office.

“Liam, bonjour.” She replied, hugging him close.

“Bonjour. I hate to have called you here, but we need help.” Liam had jumped to near frantic as he introduced himself briefly to the rest of the team.

“I know. The Mimic is back. We’re gonna try to catch him but we need-”

Shaking his head and hands, Liam cut her off. “No, no, no, no, no. I need your help specifically.”

“Anything.” He passed her a piece of paper.

“We haven’t been able to get into contact with her. It is possible that this is why he came here. She lives in the city.”

A gasp tore from her throat. “She’s here?”

Liam just nodded. Scanning the paper she was given, Prentiss committed her address and number to heart. ”I’ll see what I can do.”

She decided on bringing Rossi with her to track down the final piece of the puzzle. Partially because there was no way Emily was going to play twenty questions with JJ, nor deal with the curious stare of Hotch. No, she brought David because he was a constant, fatherly anchor; that was what she needed. Anxiety was already rearing its ugly head at her, and she needed someone that could remain objective.

The place she now lived was far different than what she had in London. A run down apartment building that looked like it had not been updated since the 80’s. This was where she lived? When she stepped out, Prentiss smoothed her shirt and slacks, before rounding the SUV to cross the street to get to the door. However, when she went to knock on the door, it flew open with ease.

Immediately, the two agents drew their weapons, trigger discipline in place, and then they breached the ground level apartment. The first objective was to clear the apartment, make sure that no one, dead or alive, was in there. Prentiss took the west side, while Rossi took the east. She was traversing over broken glass, destroyed furniture. There were swipes of blood on the walls, dents, and bullet holes. All in all, it looked horrible.

“Clear.” Emily called, walking back into the living room.

“Clear,” came Rossi’s reply, also joining her in the living room. They holstered their weapons, and took in the damage. But as she looked around, a pool of something dark caught her eyes.

“Rossi…” she hesitantly drew his attention. Stepping quietly over to it, Emily’s stomach dropped. It was a pool of blood. One that had already begun to dry. There was an outline of a body in the middle of it, and bloody drags around the edges.

Rushing out the front door, Emily needed fresh air before she threw up. Shaking breathes sucked it in, but the thought alone was near enough to cripple her. Vaguely, Prentiss heard the front door open and close as Rossi came outside with her.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Her words were rushed, not wanting him to even ask the question to begin with.

“Sure you are, kid.” Dave chuckled at her glare. “I’m gonna call this in. You go back to the station.”

“Rossi, I’m fi-”

“That wasn’t a request. Go.” Chucking the keys at her, he already had his phone pressed against his ear as he alerted the SLC police to their crime scene. Reluctantly, Emily drove all the way back, and her thoughts were racing the speedometer.

It did not even fully process to her that she had returned until Liam stepped outside to her window. “Emily? Emily, mon ami, are you alright?”

On shaking legs, and an even unsteadier heart, Prentiss tried to speak, but nothing came out. When she said nothing, the Frenchman ushered her inside, brought her to their little section of the office, and sat her down. While Liam went to get her a cup of coffee, Hotch and JJ came over. But their voices were not able to penetrate her ears. She could not follow their questions.

“She’s dead.” Emily finally muttered, still staring at the table ahead of her.

“What do you mean?”

“Who’s dead?”

“That can’t be.”

Overlapping voices, overlapping questions, each with the same answer. “She’s dead, Liam. There was no body, but you know what The Mimic does to his victims.”

There was a new fury in her dark brown eyes as she stared at her former partner.

“There was no way she could have survived from that much blood loss. And her place… it was destroyed. If you had seen what I did. I just- we’re going to find her body in a day or two.” Emily went on with her explanation.

Everyone was silent. While her new team had no idea what the women meant to each other, Liam did. And he knew that if he had found his past lover in that state, even without a body, he would be distraught.

“Thought you had more faith in me, Emmy. You should know me better than that.”

The new voice made the agent freeze. But as soon as that was gone, she shot from her chair like lightning to whip around to face the voice. She looked just as beautiful as she did all those years ago, just with a new line or two on her face, and a long natural blonde wig on. Emily knew her well enough to know that she would never actually dye her hair to that color.

“Ya amar…”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Minds 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson

Summary: You start a new job after being fired as a programmer and it’s more than you could have anticipated. (maid AU)

Note: I should stop.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your second day at the House Odinson, as you call it in your mind, brings you little optimism. You spent the night trying to bleach the images from your mind. Almost literally but the internet says Clorox is no good for your eyes. You’re no prude, you admire a nice physique, but this is strictly professional. 

Just like the day before, you ring the bell, however, there is no answer. You figure that Thor would be busy. He is sort of important and well beyond this planet. As for his brother, he’ll probably want to distract himself from being stuck in the place he once tried to oppress to his will. That was a rather shady episode... 

You let yourself in with the door code on the app. The house isn’t as bad as it was. Mostly, because it hasn’t been long since your last visit. 

The deja vu continues to haunt you. You leave your shoes at the door and unpack your kit and folding vacuum. It should be quick work this time. You put in your earbuds and tap play on the podcast you downloaded last night. You don’t know much about Norse history but you figure you should learn some given the circumstances. 

You start in the living room. It’s not too bad when you’re alone. When you have reign of the place without worrying about a nip slip or the like. Oh, what is that? 

You bend to pull free the belt from under the chair and let out a screech as it moves. You throw yourself back in horror as the green snake slithers away with a flick of its tongue. A snake! Just lying on the carpet?! What in the hell? Or is it Hel? 

You fix your earbuds as they move around loosely from your tumble. You catch your breath and get up. Maybe you should keep a bit of caution. 

You run the vacuum through the front room and move on to the kitchen. It's a bit messier. More take out boxes, some wine glasses, and several unsealed food goods. It’s like being back with your brothers. Oh yes, the favourites. 

You put it all away, on your toes as you search for the right place to put the muesli. As you reach up, the lights flicker and a tickle runs down both your sides. You squeal and drop the box, spinning to face your accoster. 

Loki stands close, crowding you as he smirks down at your wide gape. You snap your mouth shut as you brace the counter behind you. You clear your dry throat and press on your earbud to pause the podcast. 

“Oh, hi, I didn’t know--” 

“Maid,” he proclaims as he smirks at you. “There is a mess I require assistance with.” 

“Uh, okay,” you grab the cloth from the counter top. “Where?” 

“My bed chamber,” he says with a tilt of his brow. You don’t like the way his eyes glimmer. 

“Mhm, right, do I need a broom or mop--” 

“You would be the professional. Let me show you,” he slithers. 

You blink. Are you stupid or is he being cryptic? You shrug, “sure.” 

He turns and struts away. You follow and twist the cloth in your hands. You watch his lithe figure as he seems to walk on air. 

You stop at the threshold of his room as he passes through the door. It’s tidy despite the state you of the rest of the house when you arrived the day before. You hesitate to enter as he lingers by the door frame. According to the myths, he’s a bit of a trickster. Still, those have to have been distorted by centuries of mortal storytelling. 

You look around as you inch inside, “can you show me where?” 

“Certainly, just on the other side of the bed. It would likely be easier if you crawl across and have a look underneath,” he points with a careless flick. He doesn’t seem very concerned. Alright. 

You do as he says and get on the bed. You move on hands and knees and bend over the far edge. You don’t see anything. Just the green and black pattern of the rug beneath.  

Something winds around your ankles and you’re pulled onto your stomach. You exclaim and roll onto your back, twisting your legs as you flail and look up at Loki as he tries to constrain you. Oh Jesus, or Odin, whoever! He’s naked again. 

“What’re you doing?” You squeal. 

“Hm? Just a bit of fun, maid.” 

“Huh? Fun?! No, I’m here to clean--” 

“Yes, yes, it’ll get done but I’d prefer a bit of your other services,” he drags you across the bed as he untangles your ankles and pulls them apart. 

“Other services?” You cling to the blankets as they bunch beneath you. “I’m not... not a prostitute.” 

“No, I didn’t take you as one, but in Asgard, a maid is often a good candidate for a concubine--” 

“Concubine!” You cry out shrilly. “This-- this isn’t Asgard, Lo—uh, sir?!” 

“Don’t remind me,” he pouts and puts his knee on the bed as he pushes your legs around him. 

“Don’t, er—no, I’m not done cleaning,” you protest. 

He sighs as he catches your swatting hands and pushes them to the mattress. He bends over you as you focus on his face. Don’t look down. It’s just bobbing there, right at the edge of your sight. 

“Please--” 

“Yes, go on and beg, the maidens all do,” he purrs with a grin. 

“No-- no! That’s not—I don’t--” You writhe desperately. “You can’t do this.” 

He hums and tilts his head coyly, holding himself over you as his chest and shoulders flex. You gulp as you feel his... snake. You push your lip out and shudder. 

“Please, stop.” 

“Mm, since when do the peasantry rule the princes,” he lowers himself little by little. “You should be thanking you for prizing you with such an honour.” 

[fear-is-truth]

INTERVIEW WITH THE ANTICHRIST

── michael langdon x gn! reader. || wc: 980

The chamber was eerily silent, illuminated only by the flickering candles and the warm glow of the fireplace. You were seated in a plush armchair, stiff and cold beneath your fingers, your back pressed tight against the cushions.

The air was thin, as if it was being slowly siphoned away. You felt small, trapped. Like an insect in a glass jar. Langdon had only arrived at the outpost a day ago, but already, you could feel the shift in power. Even Venable—the high and mighty bitch who ruled over all—was clearly shaken by his arrival.

No one knew much about him, only that he was important. And dangerous.

The interviews with Langdon had quickly become a topic of annoyance among the other inhabitants. Each person who had been interviewed complained about his cryptic nature and nonchalant attitude. Whatever his purpose here, it felt like a game to him—a clever farce meant to toy with you all.

And now it was your turn to entertain him.

You kept your gaze fixed ahead as Langdon rose from behind his desk, the sound of his boots against the floor the only disruption to the stifling silence as he approached you. He did not bother to sit. Instead, he stood before you, arms clasped behind his back, his expression inscrutable as he studied you.

“You’re the seventh,” he announced, and his voice was smooth, like a glassy winter pond. You nodded, swallowing hard, unable to tear your eyes away from him as he began to circle you. The way he moved was languid, graceful.

You fidgeted slightly, trying to suppress your nerves. Langdon was, undeniably beautiful— angelic, even. He looked as if he had been sculpted from marble, with sharp, almost impossibly perfect features—chiselled cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. Long, golden hair fell in soft waves over his shoulders, and his pale skin stood out against his all-black attire. The dark clothing gave him an air of authority, likely because he was sent by The Cooperative.

“Tell me. How do you feel your life here, at the Outpost?” he purred, his voice curling in the air around you. The question seemed casual, yet there was something in the way he said it that made you feel anything but.

“It's...” You paused, your throat suddenly dry. “It’s fine,” the words felt hollow on your tongue, laughable, given the bleak reality of your existence here. Sure, you were relieved to be alive, the temptation of sweet oblivion often lingered at the edge of your thoughts. Langdon moved behind you, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could feel his bright blue gaze drilling into the back of your skull.

When he spoke again, his voice was a soft, coaxing whisper, like honeyed velvet.

“What do you miss the most?”

The question struck you off guard. It wasn’t what you had anticipated—then again, you hadn’t known what to expect.

“…I’m sorry?”

“Prior to… all of this,” he clarified, gesturing vaguely at the surrounding walls,

“What do you miss most?”

You exhaled shakily, gripping the armrests tighter as you spoke.

“I… I miss the colours. The sky, the sunsets. And the trees, the ones that lined the sidewalks. The way they change in autumn.”

He chuckled softly, and you swore you could detect genuine humour in the sound. Embarrassed at the wistfulness in your tone, you stared down at your lap, at the monotonous gray of your uniform.

“You miss beauty, don’t you?”

he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned closer. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw in the lightest of touches. Stunned into silence, you simply nodded.

He stopped in front of you now, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if appraising your response. The silence stretched, tension pulling at the edges of the room until it felt unbearable. Then, he deadpanned,

“The world outside is a wasteland now,”

There was no trace of emotion, his words as detached as if he were reading from a script. He stepped closer, leaning in. The cool press of his hand settled against your cheek, the metal of his rings biting into your skin. You froze under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

“But perhaps,” he mused, his voice soft, almost to himself, “some beauty has survived after all.”

Just as quickly as he had touched you, he withdrew his hand and resumed circling. Every step he took only made the knot of anxiety in your chest tighten further.

The questions that followed were innocent but somehow, simultaneously intimate. He asked about your favourite book, about what scared you most as a child, your childhood best friend.

Throughout it all, his piercing blue eyes never strayed from you. They stripped you bare, as though he was peeling back the layers of your very soul. You answered as best you could, because you had a nagging suspicion that he already knew the answers before you spoke.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, the interview ended.

“That’s all for now.” Langdon turned on his heel, striding toward the door with the same measured grace. His fingers brushed the sleek panels, sliding them open with ease. He paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. His expression was unreadable, yet there was something lingering in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite put your fingers on.

“I look forward to our next meeting.”

You blinked, unsure if this was the end. The knot of nerves tightened in your stomach as you stood from the armchair, wringing your hands together.

“Wait,” you called after him, your voice trembling slightly.

“Have I… did I get in?”

Langdon turned fully to face you, a faint, almost amused smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“You were already in before the interview,” he murmured, as if it were an afterthought.

“I just wanted to speak to you nonetheless.”

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: Chapter Five

How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: After saving a strange man from a fishbowl cage, you earn yourself a favor. When you cash in said favor, you don’t realize that you and the man aren’t on the same page on what you need from him.

Warnings: Misunderstanding.

To Note: Morpheus x Afab!Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

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While you are helping your mom wash dishes, your dad shows Morpheus his garden. Your mom finally doubled down.

"Did you pay that handsome man to be your husband?" your mom asks, hands submerged in soapy water. Her eyes narrow slightly, a mix of suspicion and concern etched across her face.

You nearly drop the plate you’re rinsing. "Mom, what kind of question is that?"

"Well, he's too perfect," she replies, not missing a beat. "And you’ve never mentioned him before."

You sigh, trying to gather your thoughts. "Morpheus is real. We met… unexpectedly. Things moved fast.”

Your mom turns off the faucet and wipes her hands on a dish towel. "Unexpectedly? What does that even mean?"

"It means," you say, struggling to keep your voice steady, "that sometimes life surprises you. And sometimes those surprises are good." That technically isn't a lie. She finally huffs in resignation.

"I just want you to be happy, but I also want my grand babies."

You swallow hard, the pressure of your mother's expectations pressing down on you. The clinking of dishes in the sink becomes a background symphony to the thoughts racing through your mind. "Mom, we're happy. That's what matters, right?"

She eyes you carefully, as if weighing your words. "I suppose," she says slowly. "But I still don't understand why you never mentioned him before."

You force a smile, trying to appear nonchalant. "We wanted to keep things private for a while. Morpheus has a very demanding job as a sleep doctor. The fact that we even met is still mind boggling to me. We come from different worlds." Literally.

The back door creaks open and your dad steps in with Morpheus trailing behind. Their conversation, a low murmur, fades as they enter the kitchen. Your dad beams, patting Morpheus on the back.

"Y/N's husband is quite the gardener," your dad says, pride evident in his voice. He is? That was news to you.

Morpheus nods, his expression serene. "Your father's garden is a reflection of dedication and care."

You give him a grateful smile. "Glad you two hit it off."

Your mom snorts softly but says nothing, resuming her task at the sink. Morpheus moves to stand beside you, his presence both comforting and disconcerting. He picks up a dish towel and starts drying the dishes you pass to him.

"How was the garden?" you ask, trying to keep things light.

"Enchanting," Morpheus replies, eyes meeting yours. "It reminds me of the Dreaming in its own way."

You feel a twinge of warmth at his words. "I'm glad you liked it."

Your dad grabs a chair and sits down, looking more relaxed than he has all evening. "So, Morpheus, what do you do when you're not working or being married to my daughter?"

Your dad's question hangs in the air, and you feel a moment of panic. Morpheus isn't exactly versed in mundane small talk.

Morpheus pauses, considering his answer. "I enjoy the creation of artistic expression through my sand."

You watch your dad’s eyes widen, trying to make sense of Morpheus's cryptic reply.

“Sand, huh? Like those fancy sand sculptures?” he asks, scratching his head.

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, a flicker of confusion passing over his face. "In a manner of speaking. It’s more… ethereal."

You interject quickly, sensing the need to steer the conversation. "Morpheus has an artistic soul. It's one of the things I love about him."

Your mom gives you a sidelong glance, but your dad seems intrigued. "Artistic, eh? Maybe you can help me design the new flowerbed."

Morpheus inclines his head graciously. "I would be honored." There is a little more small talk as the dishes are finished and you finally decide to retire from your mom's scrutiny for the night.

"I think I am gonna head up to my room for the night." You speak up. "It's been a long day. For both of us."

"Shall we turn in then, beloved?" Morpheus questions, stepping up to you and softly taking your elbow.

Your mom's eyes narrow slightly at Morpheus's gesture, but she says nothing. You nod and start heading up the stairs, Morpheus’s presence close behind you. The air feels thick with unspoken words as you ascend, each step echoing in the silence.

When you reach your room, you push the door open and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The room looks the same as always—comfortingly familiar. You glance at Morpheus, who stands just inside the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"Well," you say, trying to break the tension. "That was... intense."

Morpheus steps closer, his eyes softening as he looks at you. "Your parents care deeply for you. It is... admirable."

You flop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah, well, they have a funny way of showing it sometimes. I really don't need my mother breathing down my neck about grandchildren."

Morpheus sits on the edge of the bed, his presence both grounding and otherworldly. He looks at you with those endless eyes, a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Do such matters weigh heavily upon you?" he asks, his voice a soft murmur.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "It's just... a lot. My mom has these expectations, and I feel like I can never measure up."

He reaches out, almost hesitantly, and takes your hand in his. "You are more than enough," he says with quiet conviction.

Your heart skips a beat at his words. "Morpheus, you really don't have to—"

"I do," he interrupts gently but firmly. "You are my wife. Your burdens are mine as well."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. You sit up, turning to face him fully. "This is a lot harder than I thought, pretending in front of her," you speak absentmindedly.

"Then do not pretend," Morpheus says as if it is the simplest thing in the world. "Be yourself, for that is the one whom I married."

His words fly right over your head as mental fatigue plagues your mind.

You lie back on the bed once more, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything. Morpheus's words echo in your mind, but the exhaustion makes it hard to focus.

"Do you think my mom will ever stop questioning us?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Morpheus looks at you with an intensity that feels like it's piercing through your soul. "She will see the truth in time," he says simply.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting Morpheus's words wash over you. The fatigue is almost overwhelming, but there's a strange comfort in his presence.

"I hope you're right," you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

Morpheus doesn't reply immediately. Instead, he stands up and walks to the window, looking out into the night. His silhouette is bathed in moonlight, making him seem even more otherworldly. He really is handsome, isn't he…

"Your world is so different from mine," he muses softly. "Yet, it holds its own kind of beauty."

You turn your head to look at him. "The Dreaming is incredible."

"It is," he agrees, still gazing out the window. "But it can also be... lonely."

The admission catches you off guard. Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, feeling lonely? It's a concept that seems almost impossible.

"Morpheus," you say gently, sitting up on the bed. "You're not alone anymore."

He turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. "Nor are you."

The room falls into a comfortable silence. You both sit there, sharing a moment that feels both surreal and incredibly real.

The night stretches on, and you find yourself unable to sleep. The weight of Morpheus's presence beside you makes it impossible to relax. He's lying on his back, staring off into space, eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the window.

You shift slightly, trying to find a comfortable position. "Do you ever sleep?" you ask quietly, breaking the silence.

Morpheus turns his head to look at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "I do not require sleep as mortals do. My realm is the domain of dreams, not slumber."

You let out a soft sigh, staring at the ceiling. "It must be nice, not having to worry about sleepless nights."

"It has its advantages," he admits, his voice a soothing balm in the quiet room.

The minutes tick by slowly. You can hear the soft hum of crickets outside and the distant rustle of leaves in the night breeze. Morpheus's presence is both calming and disconcerting, an enigma you still struggle to understand.

"Morpheus," you say after a while, your voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever feel... restless?"

He considers your question for a moment before replying. "In my own way, yes. There are times when even dreams cannot provide solace."

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on one elbow. "What do you do then?"

"I wander," he says simply. "Through dreams and realms, seeking understanding and purpose."

His answer leaves you with more questions than it answers. You lie back down, staring at the ceiling once more.

"I guess we both have our issues,” you murmur.

"Indeed," Morpheus replies softly. "But burdens are lighter when shared."

You close your eyes for a moment, letting his words sink in. The night feels endless, each second stretching into eternity.

"Do you miss the Dreaming?" you ask suddenly, opening your eyes to look at him.

Morpheus turns his head slightly to meet your gaze. "It is my home," he says simply. "But being here with you has its own unique beauty."

Quiet stretches between you for a few moments and you toss and turn, unable to quiet your mind. Each shift in position only seems to amplify your restlessness. Beside you, Morpheus watches with an unreadable expression.

"You're struggling to find sleep," he observes, his voice a gentle whisper in the dark.

You let out a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, it's just... everything. I can't shut it off. Plus, I've never slept next to someone before."

Morpheus reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your forehead. "Would you allow me to help?"

You hesitate for a moment, the idea of letting him into your mind both comforting and unsettling. But the exhaustion wins out, and you nod slowly.

"Okay," you whisper. "Please."

Morpheus's touch grows firmer, and you feel a strange warmth spreading from his fingertips. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

"Close your eyes," he instructs softly.

You close your eyes, trusting Morpheus as his touch sends a soothing warmth through you. His fingers linger on your forehead, a gentle caress that feels like the promise of a peaceful night.

"Sleep," he murmurs, his voice a soft command. You feel the weight of his presence deepen, the air around you shimmering with an almost tangible energy. A gentle dusting of sand blows over face, the grains drifting down like tiny stars, each one glowing faintly as it touches your skin.

Morpheus's voice reaches you again, barely more than a whisper now. "Sleep, beloved."

Your body relaxes, sinking into the mattress as if it’s made of clouds. The tension in your muscles melts away, and your racing thoughts quiet to a gentle hum. It's as though the world itself is lulling you into sleep.

You find yourself standing in the heart of The Dreaming, the familiar yet ever-changing landscape unfolding around you. The air shimmers with a soft, ethereal glow, and the distant murmur of dreams creates a symphony that feels both comforting and surreal.

"Wow that was fast," You comment to yourself, blinking rapidly. Had it not been only moments ago that you were speaking with Morpheus in your bed?Lucienne is cataloging books nearby. She looks up as you approach, her eyes warm and curious. Matthew the Raven perches on a nearby shelf, preening his feathers.

"Hey, kid," Matthew greets you with a casual flap of his wings. "How's it going? How'd the ol' meet'in the in-laws go?"

"My mother wants Morpheus and I to start making babies, immediately," You say in a dry tone. "But Morpheus has charmed my father so that's a plus…"

Lucienne's eyes widen behind her glasses, her usually composed demeanor faltering for a moment. "Your mother said that?" she asks, clearly taken aback.

Matthew, on the other hand, bursts into laughter so hard that he loses his balance and falls off the shelf, flapping his wings frantically as he tries to regain his footing. "Oh man, that's rich! Babies! Immediately!" He caws, his voice full of mirth. "Your mom doesn't waste any time, does she?"

"That would be a firm no," you respond dryly.

Lucienne adjusts her glasses and gives you a sympathetic look. "That is quite the demand," she says softly. "But I'm sure Lord Morpheus will handle it with his usual... grace."

Matthew snickers again, still perched awkwardly on the edge of the shelf. "Grace? More like he's probably planning a whole dream nursery as we speak!"

Lucienne shoots him a disapproving look, but there's a hint of amusement in her eyes as well. "Matthew, be serious."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Matthew replies, flapping his wings and finally managing to get back onto the shelf properly. "The guy's got a thing for creating worlds. A nursery wouldn't be that far off. Besides, have you seen the way he looks at Y/N? They'd make cute babies, I'm sure of it."

"Matthew!" You exclaim as heat blisters its way up your neck and all the way to your ears. The raven is unperturbed and cackles louder, his wings flapping in excitement.

Lucienne shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Matthew, you're incorrigible."

You rub your temples, feeling a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You two are going to be the death of me."

Matthew hops closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Hey, if you can't laugh about it, what's the point? Besides, you've got Morpheus wrapped around your little finger. He'd do anything for you."

"Um, please remember that this is supposed to be temporary," You reminded the raven.

"Yeah try telling the boss that," Matthew mutters. You chuckle, shaking your head at Matthew's antics. The raven’s sense of humor is infectious, even if it does hit a little too close to home.

"Well, let's hope my mom eases up a bit," you say, glancing around the Dreaming's library. The shelves stretch endlessly, filled with books that you can only dream of reading. "I don't need any more baby talk. It's embarrassing and mortifying."

"What is mortifying?" You jump at the sound of Morpheus' words and whip around in place, hand over your heart. Your heart races at the sudden appearance of Morpheus, his presence commanding even in the familiar setting of The Dreaming. "What's mortifying?" he repeats, his tone neutral yet inquisitive.

You take a moment to compose yourself, trying to ignore the way Matthew snickers from his perch. "Just... my mom's expectations," you manage to say, meeting Morpheus's gaze. "She's got some pretty outdated ideas about marriage and family."

Morpheus considers this, his expression unreadable. "Your mother's views are not uncommon among mortals," he remarks. "The desire to see one's lineage continue is deeply rooted."

You nod, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. "Yeah, I get that. It's just..." You pause, searching for the right words. "Babies…"

"Indeed," Morpheus says, his voice devoid of the amusement that bubbles up inside you. "But let us not dwell on such matters now."

Matthew flutters down, landing with a slight hop beside you. "If I were you, I'd start thinking of baby names," he teases with a wink.

You shoot him a glare. "Don't even joke about that."

But Morpheus tilts his head, considering Matthew's words. "Names hold power," he muses aloud. "It would be wise to choose carefully."

You freeze, your eyes widening as you realize the potential misunderstanding. "Wait, Morpheus, no," you say quickly, trying to ward off any ideas forming in his head. "We're not actually naming children here. It's just Matthew being... Matthew."

Morpheus nods slowly, though you're not entirely sure he grasps the sarcasm. "Of course," he says. But then his gaze drifts away, contemplative, and you have the sinking feeling that he's still pondering baby names.

Matthew bursts into raucous laughter again, nearly toppling over from the force of it. "This is too good!"

Lucienne steps forward, her expression one of gentle reprimand aimed at both Matthew and Morpheus. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she chides softly. You need to get out of there.

"I'm gonna go get some air," You blurt out, turning on your heel and darting away before the conversation can turn you into a ripe tomato.

Date Published: 2/8/25

Last Edit: 2/8/25

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[iliveformanyfictionalcharacters]

The One Who Believes Chapter 3

Bernard (The Santa Clause) x Reader

Summary: [Reader] stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago - around the same time she stopped believing in Santa. What happens when she's finally given a reason to believe in both.

<Chapter 2 Chapter 4>

When I awoke the next morning, Mrs. Dorothy’s words still rang in my ears. But after a few minutes of lying in bed, I realized I had too much to do to just stay there and wonder what she meant. Still, her words—His favorite color is burgundy—kept echoing in my mind. No matter how hard I tried to push it aside, it lingered like a puzzle piece that refused to fit. Ever since I’d gotten home from the bookstore, I couldn’t shake the odd sense that something was happening—something I didn’t fully understand. But I had no time to dwell on that right now. I dragged myself out of bed with a grunt and got ready for the day. I brushed my teeth, showered, and got dressed. As I finished getting ready, I grabbed my To-Do List and skimmed over it to make sure everything was written down.

Pick up groceries Pick up dry cleaning Bring new books to store Visit antique store

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled over me since Mrs. Dorothy's cryptic comment. Today was busy enough to distract me, I hoped. The list in front of me was fairly straightforward. I grabbed my coat, my purse, and headed out the door, feeling the cold air bite at my cheeks as I stepped outside. My first stop was the grocery store, which, thankfully, wasn’t too far. I made my way through the aisles, mentally ticking off items as I placed them in my cart: eggs, milk, some fresh vegetables, and, of course, ingredients for holiday cookies. I lingered in the baking aisle, debating between chocolate chips and peppermint extract, when a flash of burgundy caught my eye. It was a deep red ribbon, sitting right there on the shelf, nestled among a row of other holiday decorations. I paused, staring at it for a moment, feeling an odd pull toward it. I shook my head. It's just a color, I told myself. I’m being ridiculous. I grabbed the ribbon and tossed it into the cart, then continued with my shopping, but Mrs. Dorothy's words returned to haunt me. His favorite color is burgundy. After checking out, I made my way to the dry cleaner’s. I was surprised when I walked in to find the place nearly empty. The owner, an older gentleman named Mr. Thompson, smiled warmly as I handed him my bag of clothes. “Got some special occasion plans, eh?” he asked, noticing my Christmas sweater. I chuckled. “Nothing too special. Just getting ready for the holidays.” I glanced around the store, and once again, something caught my attention. In the corner of the room, there was an antique-looking chair with a burgundy cushion. It was simple, yet elegant, with fine detailing on the wood. I had never noticed it before, and I certainly hadn’t expected to see anything so striking in a dry cleaner’s. “That's a new addition, isn’t it?” I asked, trying to push down the strange feeling in my chest. Mr. Thompson nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, it just came in. I thought it’d make the place feel a little more festive.” I smiled, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was trying to tell me something. Burgundy. Again. It was starting to feel less like a coincidence and more like a sign. After picking up my dry cleaning, I decided to follow through with my list and head to the bookstore. As I stepped inside, the familiar smell of old paper and fresh coffee wrapped around me like a warm hug. Mr. Lou was behind the counter, sorting through a pile of new stock. He looked up and smiled when he saw me. “Ah, [Reader], just in time! Mrs. Dorothy said you were coming by with some new books today.” I placed the stack of books down on the counter, then glanced around. The bookstore was cozy, with its little nooks and crannies. But something felt different today—like I was on the cusp of something, as if I were standing just outside of a door that was about to open. “I brought the latest Christmas novels. The holiday rush should keep us busy this week,” I said, trying to focus on the task at hand. As I turned to arrange the books on a nearby shelf, I froze. On the table next to the window, there was an old, leather-bound book—its cover a deep, rich burgundy. I couldn’t help myself. I reached for it, brushing my fingers across the smooth surface, and I immediately felt a strange warmth spread through me. My heart skipped a beat.

"What's this?" I muttered to myself, as I opened the book. The pages inside were filled with handwritten notes and sketches, like some kind of journal or diary. The title was in faded gold lettering, but I couldn't make it out. Just then, I heard Mrs. Dorothy’s voice, soft but clear, in the back of my mind: His favorite color is burgundy. A shiver ran down my spine, and I quickly closed the book. What was going on? “Is something wrong, dear?” Mr. Lou asked, noticing the way I hesitated with the book in my hand. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just… thought I recognized something,” I said, placing the book back down gently. I felt unsettled, but I brushed it off, deciding to focus on the rest of the day. I finished stocking the books and made my way out of the store, my mind still whirling with the strange events of the day. Next, I went to the antique store—my final stop. The little shop was filled with dusty treasures, and the faint scent of lavender and old wood lingered in the air. I roamed through the aisles, eyeing vintage trinkets and furniture. And then, tucked away in the back corner of the store, I saw it. I wandered deeper into the antique store, my senses overwhelmed by the scent of aged wood and lavender that seemed to seep from the very walls. The soft creak of the floorboards under my feet only added to the atmosphere of timelessness. My mind was still spinning from the strange series of events, but I pushed it aside, focusing instead on the little treasures scattered throughout the shop. The rows of shelves were filled with vintage trinkets, old paintings, and delicate china. I paused at a display of antique clocks, their tick-tocking filling the air with a steady rhythm, before my gaze shifted to something more familiar. At the far end of the store, tucked away on a high shelf, I spotted a small glass ornament. I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat. There, in the dim light, hanging delicately on a gold string, was a small ornament. It was made of glass, shaped like a delicate ball, and it was painted in a deep, velvety burgundy. A faint swirl of gold and silver leaf traced over its surface, giving it an ethereal glow.

I slowly walked over, my fingers trembling as I reached up to gently pull the ornament from its place on the shelf. It felt almost warm to the touch, as if it had been waiting for me to find it. Holding it in my hands, I marveled at the intricate details of the glasswork. The gold and silver swirls seemed to shimmer in the low light, and I felt an overwhelming sense of recognition, like this ornament had been a part of my life for far longer than I could remember. "Ah, you've found it," came a voice from behind me. I jumped, startled, and turned to find the shopkeeper standing just a few feet away, her silver hair glinting in the soft light. "How did you…?" I began, but she simply smiled, her eyes twinkling with an almost knowing glint. "That ornament has been here for a long time. But I knew it would find its way to the right person eventually." Her voice was soft but laden with meaning. "Some things are meant to be passed on. Some things are meant to be found." I stood there, clutching the ornament, unsure of what to say. Mrs. Dorothy's words echoed in my mind, and a strange feeling of destiny began to settle in the pit of my stomach. The shopkeeper continued, her voice gentle. "There’s more to that ornament than just its color. It’s part of a set. A set that’s been separated for many years." I blinked, confused. "A set? What do you mean?" "The set has a story," the shopkeeper said, her voice now carrying a hint of mystery. "But it’s not just about the ornaments. It's about something more. Someone who has been waiting for you." I felt the ground shift beneath me, as if the room itself was tilting toward an unknown truth. I looked down at the two ornaments in my hands, now reunited. Burgundy. The color. The message. It was no longer just a coincidence. This was a sign—a puzzle, finally coming together. "Do you know who this is for?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The shopkeeper smiled knowingly. "You will know when the time is right. Just hold onto the ornaments. When the moment comes, you’ll understand." I felt the weight of her words, as if they were a key to something much larger, something I had yet to discover. But one thing was certain: these ornaments, and the color burgundy, were no longer just a simple detail—they were the beginning of something much bigger.

I carefully placed the second ornament in my bag and paid the shopkeeper, my hands still shaking with the overwhelming sense that I was on the brink of uncovering something important.

As I walked out of the store, the cold winter air hit me, but it didn’t matter. I was no longer just going through the motions of a normal day. The universe was speaking to me, and it was up to me to listen. As I stepped outside the antique shop, the cold air felt sharper than before, biting at my cheeks and nose. My mind raced, the strange pull of destiny still lingering in the back of my thoughts. What was all of this leading to? I glanced down into my bag and something caught my eye. A small book. I took it out. It was The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. I must have accidentally taken it with me instead of leaving it at the bookstore. I sighed. I glanced at my watch. It was getting late. My next stop was the bookstore, and then I could finally head home for a much-needed rest. When I arrived, the soft jingle of the doorbell echoed in the quiet space as I entered. The bookstore smelled like coffee and old pages, a familiar comfort. Mr. Lou was behind the counter, his face lighting up when he saw me. "Ah, [Reader], what are you doing back already? How's your day been?" "It's been… interesting." I set the book down next to the others. My eyes caught the little journal from earlier again. “That book,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s been waiting for the right person. Sometimes, the right books find you when you need them most.” “You know, that's not the first time I've heard that today.” “I’ve never seen it before,” I said, looking up at Mr. Lou. “Is it new stock?” He shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. “No, it’s been here for a while. You just haven’t noticed it yet.” I hesitated, still feeling the pull of the book. "It… feels familiar somehow." Mr. Lou’s smile grew a little wider. “Books often have a way of doing that, don’t they?” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I could feel my curiosity growing. “I—” Before I could finish, Mr. Lou leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “You know, there’s a man who might be able to help you understand all this. He’s been around for a long time, helping people just like you.” “Who?” I asked, almost breathlessly. Mr. Lou's eyes flickered toward the window, where a figure in a long coat was walking past. The man’s face was obscured by the dark evening light, but there was something unmistakably familiar about his presence. “His name is Scott Calvin,” Mr. Lou said, his tone serious. “He’s someone who can help you make sense of the things you’re starting to notice. I’d suggest you seek him out. He’s accessible in town right now, visiting family. You know the Millers?” I did; I used to babysit Charlie. I blinked, startled by the sudden turn in the conversation. “Scott Calvin?” The name echoed in my mind, but I had no idea how they could help me. Mr. Lou nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Trust me. If you’re meant to meet him, you will. And when you do, you’ll understand everything. The color, the ornaments, the book… they’re all connected.” I didn’t know what to say. I stared at Mr. Lou for a moment, then at the book in my hands. Something inside me told me that this wasn’t just some bizarre coincidence. With a shaky breath, I nodded and left the bookstore. The chill of the night air hit me once more, but this time, I didn’t feel as lost. I felt… guided. It was as if something—someone—was leading me toward a deeper understanding.

[xxwhiskeyxx]

Penis Fly Trap

Summary: Well, hello, it's been a while since I've done one of these!

So, in a thread, @miasmaghoul came up with the idea of Mountain having a cunt that will clench so hard around a cock that it is like his knot that he won’t let go until he is ready too and has milked the holder’s balls dry. As she said, ‘It’s like one of those milking machines they use on dairy farms, and no one else has a clue how he manages it, but if Mount’s in the right mood, he’ll make the rounds and drain every pair of balls, he can find just to leave their owners sprawled and drooling in his wake.

Now, this gave me the idea of what if getting milked by Mountain is one of the initiations into the band you do to finally be a part of the pack?

Think of it like this, Phantom and Aurora have been on Earth for around 7 months now, and due to them having been on tour, it’s taken a while for them to get their “initiation” done. Of course, they’ve had sex with the rest of the band at least 5 times each by now, even with Mountain, but they have only heard stories of his cryptic power, which is his milking knot.

But today is the day.

Notes: I know I'm not the best at smut, but I tried my best, I hope y'all enjoy this! And happy new year!

-Love Whiskey <3

Words: 1.7K

The ghouls have been home for a month now, and everything has been set up for the event, which is essentially an all-day orgy. Poor Phantom and Aurora are already fucked out and stupid when it’s their turn with Mountain, having made their rounds with every other ghoul in the pack, from Dewdrop and Aether to Alpha and Omega to Zephyr and Ivy.

Utterly fucked out, holes loose and leaking with slick and cum, cocks sensitive and aching from overuse, Phantom and Aurora cling to each other as they approach Mountain, who is laid out prettily on the couch, idly stroking his hard little t-dick and smirking as a glob of slick drips out of his hole.

“Well, well, well, is it finally my turn?” he purrs as he beckons them closer with his wet fingers, offering the soaked appendages once they’re close enough.

Phantom can’t get his mouth around them fast enough, almost choking himself on them as he licks them clean.

“Oh yes, they’re ready to experience that tight little cunt” Aether chuckles darkly while he’s basically holding Swiss and Dewdrop upright. The giant smiles, “Is that right? Well, I think Phantom can go first since he’s being such a good boy for me. Why don’t you come give me that pretty cock”

The young Quintessence ghoul rushes between those pretty thighs, barely coherent enough to push his cock against that fluttering hole, but he manages. Managing to push all the way to the hilt in one go, making them both let out punched-out noises.

“Fuck-” Mountain groans as he’s filled with a cock for the first time today, having wanted to save himself for these two and not wanting to risk knotting anyone besides Phantom or Aurora. “Go on, sweet boy, take what you need.” the drummer coos, feeling the little ghoul kick inside him.

Phantom whines as his hips draw back before shooting forward, building into a frantic, needy pace that makes Mountain pant. That thick cockhead drags against his gummy walls, slamming into that sensitive spot in just the right way to make that knot in his taunt stomach begin to tighten rapidly.

The poor, needy Quint mewls as he feels Mountain clench, “So, so tight! Need…need more….wanna..feel” Placing a hand on that taught stomach, he pushes down until he feels his cock pistoning in and out, making the giant choke. “Lucifer below, Bug! Gonna make me cum. Is that what you want, to make me knot that pretty little cock and lock you inside me?” he pants out, long legs wrapping tightly around lean hips.

“Please da..mountain, wanna be stuck in you, wanna be knotted” Phantom babbles out, pleading with his big purple eyes, tail curling around his waist to rub that hard little t-dick. Moaning, the Earth ghoul sits up just enough to grip the Quint behind the head and yank him into a filthy kiss, licking into his mouth.

It only takes a few more well-aimed thrusts before Mountain’s eyes roll back into his skull as the knot in his stomach bursts. Clamping down around Phantom’s cock like a vise, locking him in place just as he cums as well. Shooting rope after rope of hot cum into that needy cunt.

Shaking, Phantom drops exhausted into Mountain’s arms, mewling and clawing at the couch as he babbles about how tight it is, how it’s milking him, that it’s too much.

Meanwhile, Aurora bursts into giggles as she watches, “Aww, poor Tommy can’t handle it!” but no one else joins her, making her slowly stop. “You’re laughing now, little songbird, but that’s the standard reaction for anyone experiencing Mountain’s cunt for the first time,” Swiss warns her with a sing-songy voice, smirking at her.

Her mismatched iridescent eyes widened, “Wha..what do you mean, no way?!” her voice cracks slightly as Sunshine presses up behind her, her spent cock slotting against her soft hip, “Oh honey, that tight little hole will quite literally eat you alive, we call it her Penis Fly Trap.”

Poor Aurora feels like she might explode before she gets the chance to experience this god who is so close yet so far as she watches Mountain rub Phantom’s back and coo soft praise to him as they both calm down. “Just…just how intense are we talking?” she asks nervously.

All the ghouls in the room look at each other, “Think about his normal tightness and multiply it by 10.” Alpha smirks at the little ghoulette, making her shudder just imagining it. “I…I think I can handle it better; I’m not nearly as dramatic as Phantom,” she stutters, making the older ghouls laugh.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re about to eat those words. It’s your turn now.” Zephyr nods to see Phantom sliding out of Mountain with a whimper, immediately collapsing beside him.

The giant sits up with a smirk as Aurora creeps forward. “Hello, little one, are you ready for your turn?” his deep voice made her shudder and thick cock kick between her thighs. Mountain licks his lips as he studies her.

While Phantom is by no means small, Aurora is certainly the bigger of the two. Her cock is at least 7 inches long and almost as thick as Aether, about the width of a beer can, with a pretty pink head that makes his mouth water. It would be such the perfect mouthful for him, imagining just cockwarming her in his throat until she's mewling. But he quickly shakes off the thoughts as she comes within reach.

Holding out a hand, “Why don’t you sit, songbird? No offense, but I’m not quite sure you’re tall enough to fuck me standing,” he teases as her small soft palm meets his.

Aurora’s cheeks flush as she lets him pull her to sit beside him, just for the giant to suddenly move to straddle her lap. Chest heaving, she stares up into those intense green eyes as he takes her cock in hand, “Deep breath, little daffodil, I’m not stopping until I’m done,” is the only warning she gets before Mountain sinks down on her cock with a debauched moan.

Eyes rolling back in her skull as she’s engulfed in tight, hot, gummy walls, Aurora lets out a high-pitched cry, hips stuttering up to try and follow as he lifts himself up. “What did we say, honey? Now enjoy the ride 'cause you just got yourself stuck,” Aether’s voice comes from somewhere she could care less from, focused solely on the tight cunt swallowing up her cunt with each bounce of the large ghoul in her lap.

Her little tits bounce as she grips those lean hips, “Aww sweetheart, did you talk a big game but are unable to keep up with it? Such a stupid little girl, why don’t you just sit there and let me use you like the pretty little toy you are” Mountain coos are he reaches down to stroke his cock in quick little movements.

Poor Aurora feels her brain melting out of her ears as she feels her balls begin to draw up, “Cl..close! Go..Gonna cum” she mewls as she feels the giant clench around her. “Go right ahead, sweetheart. But like I said, I won’t stop until I’m done.”

Aurora lets out a panicked noise as she feels him speed up even more, “Fuck, I’m gonna have to use you two more often, such perfect little toys,” Mountain groans; this is when she notices Phantom kneeling behind them just before his tongue runs from her balls all the way up Mountain’s slit.

The sensation of both Mountain’s cunt squeezing her cock and that filthy little tongue lapping at her is her ultimate downfall. T only takes two passes before she’s shooting deep inside that pretty cock. Squelching noises fill the den as cum begins to leak out that tight hole around her cock, but Phantom is quick to clean this up.

Unfortunately, Aurora realizes Mountain wasn’t kidding as he chuckles darkly, “Aww sweetheart, did you cum?” he coos as she begins to squirm under him, “I told you, I'm not stopping until I am done,” his voice dark as he pins her wrists to the couch when she tries to unsuccessfully shove him off to no avail.

“You know what you can say to stop this, but you won’t feel that pretty cunt cum around you,” Swiss teases from somewhere, but she can’t even hear him as blood pounds in her ears.

It’s all too much, the wet, silky walls squeezing her like a vice, the weight atop her, the hot tongue lapping at her balls. It all leads to her squirting again less than two minutes later.

The poor ghoulette squeals when she finally feels Mountain's cum; that already too-tight vice becomes even tighter, slick gushing around her when he squirts, moaning like a whore as he desperately rubs his clit until he's gushing a mess on Phantom’s face and Aurora’s lap.

Phantom laps desperately to try and catch every drop of cum he possibly can until Mountain is shaking with overstimulation.

There are whoops and hollers of excitement from around them from the ghouls as Mountain slumps onto the couch, curling his large body around Aurora’s tiny one.

Aether comes behind them a few minutes later, running a gentle hand up Mountain’s spine after pulling Phantom up to sit back on the couch. “Lucifer, dammit, Mount, I think you broke the poor thing,” he chuckles when he sees the ghoulette is crossed-eyed and drooling. To which the giant chuckles himself, “Well, I did warn her; she should’ve held it,” he hisses as he slowly lifts himself off, groaning as he collapses on the couch.

Chuckling while Sitting down, Aether pulls those thin but powerful thighs apart to inspect that swollen cunt, lips puffy and clit standing at attention as slick and cum drools from his hole. From behind him, Phantom whines.

Smirking, “Aww buggy, do you wanna clean Mounty out?” he asks Phantom, who nods. “Well, go ahead.” Aether pulls him by the back of the neck between those thighs as Mountain’s eyes widen.

That night, the giant broke in two new members of the pack and was thoroughly rewarded by Phantom’s mouth and the rest of the pack. Let’s just say that the poor giant couldn’t walk right for a week afterward

[kazuhahalol]

Hii ^_^ Could you write some Yelena (AOT) headcanons pls?? Any type is fine :P If u can then thanku‼️

▹ Yelena AOT General Headcanons ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹

Hiii! I’m sorry for taking so long, but it’s finally here! Thank you so much for requesting!

warnings: season 4 spoilers

Disclaimer: Everyone is welcome on my page and I will not turn you away. However, it is your fault if you’re uncomfortable or peeved with my writing because I give multiple warnings prior to my content. thanks!

❥ Yelena has a very dry unsettling sense of humor. She’ll make deadpan and cryptic jokes that make people wonder if she was joking or being serious. Like, if you were to come complaining to her about someone, she’d be like “let’s kill them” with a straight face and you wouldn’t know if she was joking or not.

❥ Yelena’s entire life revolves around Zeke’s plan. She views him as a Godly figure and has internalized the idea that she is part of something greater than herself. So in order for her to like you even the slightest bit, you have to like and worship Zeke as well.

❥ Her love language is acts of service. She thinks actions speak louder than words, so she doesn’t say “I love you” very often.

❥ Is definitely a scissor sister. She idolizes Zeke as an otherworldly figure that saved her life, but that does not mean she likes him romantically. I just don’t see her as someone that could ever be with a man.

❥ Despite her scary and stoic demeanor, Yelena enjoys simple tasks like cooking or cleaning. She sees no point in her dishes being overly fancy, so a good bowl of homemade soup is enough to put a smile on her face.

❥ If you’re Yelena’s partner and something comes up where she had to choose between you or Zeke, she would choose Zeke. Her loyalty towards him is unwavering. With Yelena, it’s hard for me to differentiate whether or not she loves you or if she’s using you. She is a very complex character, but people just weren’t ready for that yet.

❥ Has a superiority complex.

❥ She is a perfectionist. She’ll tweak out if a fork on the table isn’t placed in the right spot.

❥ Yelena has a hard time forming genuine bonds with others. She sees most people as pawns in her game and stepping stools to get to where she needs to be, so when someone takes the time to actually try and get to know her personally, she doesn’t know how to react, though it’ll be easier for her if they already see the same visions she does.

❥If you’re simply just an ally, she would not hesitate to betray you, whatever the situation is. But if you’re someone special to her, she’d try and make a way to keep you out of whatever she’s gotten you both into.

❥ Everyone is scared of her and she takes pride in it.

❥ Relies on psychological warfare and guns because she is weak and cannot fight for shit (as we saw Magath HANDLE her). I doubt she’d be getting into any physical fights anytime soon.

❥ I also believe that Yelena is not emotionless. I see a lot of people say because she’s stoic she doesn’t “care” or “feel”. She cried when Zeke died and I truly do believe if she were to find the right person, she would love them and do anything for them, just like she did with Zeke.

[yumeka-sxf]

Spy x Family merch updates and manga hiatus

I wanted to post about some recent fandom news, starting with the good news: while I mentioned in my 2-year anniversary post that we've been in a dry spell lately as far as SxF content, we just recently got a bunch of new merch/designs! (mostly from various Jump Festa vendors) I'll start with my favorite of the new designs, from HMV's Jump Festa set - Forgers in winter outfits ❤️

Next is the "French casual" set from Chara-Ani~ Bond's little red beret looks so cute!

Another winter outfit set, from Animate. Gah, this one's so adorable, too 😭

Next is merch from Ichiban Kuji. Not sure if it's for Jump Festa as well, but either way, I want the acrylics and the plate!

And lastly, Ensky's merch for Jump Festa - Forgers baking cakes/cookies!

Again for those who don't know, Jump Festa is a yearly event held in Japan in late December that's dedicated to Shonen Jump IPs. SxF will have its own panel with the four Forger voice actors in attendance. We've always gotten exclusive announcements and content at past Jump Festas, so fingers crossed it will be the same for this year! I'm gonna try my best to get some of this merch when it goes on sale in late December. And of course, if I'm able to make high quality scans of these new designs, I will post those as well!

Now onto the bad news, which most of you probably heard about already: the hiatus for the SxF manga has been extended to December 23rd. I believe this is the longest hiatus the series has had so far, and what makes this one concerning is not only that the date kept changing, but also the noticeable silence from Endo and other official outlets.

In the Japanese version of the manga, the last page of each new chapter typically notes the date the next chapter will come out. In the case of the most recent chapter, 107, it said it would release on November 25th, meaning Endo would be taking a break from the bi-monthly schedule, which isn't uncommon. But then, just a few days before the 25th, official English manga outlets like MangaPlus updated the release date to December 9th. It was disappointing since we had all been waiting longer than usual for the new chapter, but again, a second postponement wasn't too alarming...what was alarming though, was the third one that came just yesterday, only a few days after the last. People started noticing that official manga outlets had, again, changed the date for the next chapter to December 23rd this time.

The fandom got stirred up quite a bit when this happened, mostly out of concern for Endo's well being. What made me particularly worried was the fact that, while these hiatuses had been going on for the past month, Endo hadn't posted anything on his Twitter account, which is very unusual considering every month prior he's posted at least a few unique illustrations. Not only that, but the last thing he posted was this oddly cryptic image on October 19th, with text that says "Don't look for me." And he then deleted it soon after, which makes it even stranger.

But thankfully, Shonen Jump must have noticed the pandemonium happening in the fandom, because just a couple hours later, they made this statement on the official Jump+ Twitter, apologizing for the delay and confirming that chapter 108 will indeed come out on December 23rd.

This to me was good news, since their official statement about it makes it unlikely they'll change the date yet again. But some sort of explanation would have been nice, even a vague one. I'm not someone to spread rumors, but my own personal speculation (which could be totally wrong) is that there was some dispute between Endo and Jump. This is the only explanation I can think of as to why his Twitter would suddenly be barren for a month after he posted consistently for so long - my guess is that he has to get approval from Jump for all the illustrations he posts there. I don't know much about the inner workings of the manga industry, but I would assume he has some contractual obligations where he can't freely post stuff on social media without some sort of publisher's approval. It is possible he's just been too busy with Jump Festa and other things, but he's still posted at least a couple times a month even when he's sick or busy, so I don't think that's the main reason. Again, this is just my speculation that could be completely wrong. There's also the fact that they so quickly changed the release date to the 23rd, the day right after Jump Festa ends, which could indicate that Endo's been busy cooking something big to be announced there. Regardless, I'm happy we finally have a new chapter release date that's pretty set in stone now, though I won't feel totally better until we get clear acknowledgment that Endo is okay, either from himself on his own Twitter or somewhere else official.

Anyway, despite this setback, I'm relieved that SxF is still going strong with all the hype for Jump Festa and season 3. Between that and the new chapter right after, we'll be eating good this Christmas!