#I don't know. how. not to do this. it's not a choice! it's not something I DO. it HAPPENS to me.

[yumeka-sxf]

Well, seems like something that was just a theory before has come very close to truth...

Because of this major revelation, I wanted to take a deep dive into what we know about Donovan so far and how hints throughout past chapters could indeed indicate that he can read minds. While we still don't have concrete proof for this other than Melinda's word, I don't believe there's anything that discredits this idea, either. In fact, many things throughout the series support it.

First we have Loid's encounter with Donovan way back in chapter 38. I always found it strange that we never got insight into Donovan's thoughts throughout that whole exchange. We always get to know what characters are thinking, even without Anya's mind-reading support. It's not an uncommon storytelling mechanic in general after all, especially for manga. Yet, Endo chose not to give us any insight into what Donovan was thinking. I figured this was simply to avoid spoiling anything about what his exact plans and motives are for future stories (also why Anya was absent for this). But now it seems like this could have also been to hide the fact that he can read minds. If he can read minds, certain things he said during that exchange take on a more ominous meaning. For example, what he said below about how people can never truly understand each other.

It's been a headcanon of mine that the reason why Anya, and perhaps Donovan, were given mind-reading powers, stemmed from the desire for world peace...the idea being that if people could read each other's minds - in other words, always know what others are thinking and feeling, sympathy and understanding would abound.

We learn later on that Donovan had ideas like this even as a kid when he made a similar comment during his debate competition speech. He said that it's impossible to know the true intentions of others so people will forever doubt each other, thus war is inevitable.

We also have the little detail in today's chapter that Donovan did not have the scars on his head during Melinda's flashback (of course, he didn't have them as a kid in chapter 99 either).

Now this is totally my theory, but if we take Melinda's words as the truth, without any misunderstanding, then sometime in Donovan's adult life after he married and had a child, he was experimented on and was given mind-reading powers, perhaps by force but most likely by choice. Now that he has these powers, his laments about people not being able to understand each other are no longer true, at least not for him. Perhaps the experiments done on Anya were preliminary tests that he put together to perfect the mind-reading implementation science before actually doing it to himself. Again, totally just speculation, but not out of the question.

Then we have Demetrius...we learned in chapter 93 that Anya has trouble reading his mind.

If we put that together with Melinda's comment in today's new chapter, that Demetris also took note of Donovan being able to read minds...

...then perhaps Demetrius conditioned himself to think in ways that would make it difficult for his mind to be read, specifically to thwart the "alien" that's impersonating his father. I mentioned last time that I don't think Donovan is actually an alien, and that this description is the only explanation Melinda could come up with to explain his mind-reading powers. If this is true though, it really does make the Desmond dinner scene all the more telling...that throughout all those panels without dialogue, Donovan was absorbing the deepest inner thoughts of his family members (and again, no insight into his own thoughts, just like in chapter 38).

But if the "Donovan can read minds" theory holds true, then the most disturbing idea of all is that Donovan knows that Twilight is a spy. He knows that he's the target of Twilight's mission, and that Twilight seeks to thwart him. Not only that, but depending on what he's read of Damian and Melinda's minds, he knows that they're fond of Anya and Yor, respectively - people who are close to Twilight. Mind-reading powers in the hands of a child are one thing, but in the hands of a shrewd and power political figure...I'm both excited and anxious to find out what Donovan's next move will be!

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 10

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader manage to discuss the direction of their physical relationship between makeouts. reader isn't feeling comfortable at her apartment, so they plan their first trip together.

series masterlist

this fic is 18+ warnings/tags: d/s dynamics but not smutty, softdom!spencer/sub reader, mild pda?, hint at switch!spencer, they talk about sex/how r feels about her first time, making out, r has long hair, almost dry humping if you're standing several miles away, unresolved sexual tension, teasing/flirting. don't like? don't read a/n: yayyyyy hi guys!! no idea when part 11 will be out. I missed them. I love them so bad. they are my favorite ever. they are so special to me 4ever. hope u missed them and ur just as happy to see them happy as I am :")

“Do you like eyelet?” Spencer asks, reaching up to grab a set of sheets you couldn’t. He insists that you let him get everything from the top shelf because it’s been handled less. 

You shrug, distracted by the angle of his jaw and the line of his throat as he retrieves the plastic package. 

It’s Sunday. Three nights in a row spent with him—the longest sleepover streak thus far—and you don’t want to go back to sleeping alone tonight. But you know it’s time. Both of you have things to attend to tomorrow, and you’re not exactly in the habit of getting things done when you’re together. All weekend you’ve lounged in his lap on the couch or tangled yourself in his arms in bed—fully clothed, of course. Spencer had suggested the no-sex rule on Friday, and you’re glad for it. You feel no pressure to be doing more when he’s kissing you or holding you. 

Of course, the concept of having sex again crosses your mind—when you’re washing your face and catch a glimpse of the bruises on your neck in the mirror, or when the tips of Spencer’s fingers trace idly over a span of exposed skin on your lower back as you watch a movie on the couch and you’re struck with desire, or you move just right and feel a tiny lingering twinge of soreness. There was a time when if you had Spencer Reid to yourself for three nights, a Navy SEAL wouldn’t have been able to pull you off of him. Now, when you think about the fact that there will be a second time, you get that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling—but you’re not sure if it’s good or apprehensive. 

Either way, it’d be too much right now. 

You do miss feeling that kind of closeness with him. That intimacy. It can’t be replicated, no matter how many naps you take together. Probably something to do with brain chemicals and hormones. He could explain it all, if you were brave enough to ask. 

So you know it’d be too much… but it’s not that you don’t want it. There is also, of course, the issue of the way he looks. It’s not helping your cognition. It’s not encouraging you to make good choices. 

You’re not supposed to be thinking about sex. You’re supposed to tell him if you like eyelet. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Spencer gives you an exasperated look and sighs. He’s wearing his glasses today. His hair is freshly washed and fluffy. The navy blue sweater he’s wearing is about the only step between a button down and pajamas for him, and he looks good in casual clothing. You chew your lip. 

He doesn’t notice your ogling. “You’ve said that about everything.”

“I’m really not that passionate about the fabric of my sheets,” you defend, shoulders rising and dropping. 

“Surely you like some of them less and some of them more. Usually you jump at the chance to express an opinion.”

Okay. Uncalled for. 

He’s obviously kidding. You overreact anyway. 

“You suck,” you mumble, brushing past him in search of something suitable for your bed. 

Spencer processes this for a moment and then trails after you down the aisle. 

“I suck?”

“Here, look. Bamboo. That’s good, right?”

Your boyfriend glances at the package you’ve selected, probably holding back a whole host of facts about bamboo farming in China. 

“It’s fine. Why do I suck?”

“Because you implied I’m opinionated.”

“I didn’t imply it. It was an explicit statement.”You groan petulantly and put the sheets back on the shelf with force. Spencer picks them up and follows you deeper into the store. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t,” you huff, turning around to face him once you’re safely sequestered in a new aisle. The store’s not busy—an elderly couple roams for fake fruit and towels, humming vacantly to the Muzak, and a single mom wrangles her kids in a cart. Back here, it’s just the two of you. “Not really.”

“Then what did?” He asks gently, stepping closer. Spencer’s not overly-affectionate in public, but the tone of his voice, the way he’s looking at you like he can see your thoughts, feels intimate. 

You’re helpless when he gets like this, and he probably knows it. It’s an abuse of power and when you can think straight again you’ll have to scold him for it. 

“It doesn’t even matter. You’re just gonna drop me off after this anyway.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy, eyes alight with a good puzzle as he quickly strings together the facts in his head. 

“Is that it?”

You frown and hesitate, eyes catching on a loose thread at the hem of his sweater. 

“… No.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re upset because I’m taking you home.”

You scramble to deny. “That’s not it.”

“I think it is,” he murmurs, a smile playing at the corners of his perfect mouth. 

You study the waxen floor tiles intently. 

“Well… I mean, would that be weird? You’re gonna miss me too, right?”

You sound unsure—insecure, even. When you look back up at him, his eyes are melted chocolate, even under the fluorescents. He glances down at your mouth briefly and then over your shoulder. 

Pleasekissmepleasekissmepleasekissme.

He doesn’t, but you can tell he really wants to, which is almost as good. 

“Of course, I’m going to miss you. But we’ll see each other soon. Probably tomorrow.”

“Unless you get called out on a case. But it’s not even really that. It’s just—how am I supposed to… I don’t know! We just spent three nights together. How am I supposed to go back to sleeping alone for a whole week?”

Maybe you’re too attached to him now, because acknowledging the thought which has been lurking all morning opens the floodgates that were holding back a sea of dread, and you feel it in every inch of your body. Five nights alone stretch out before you like an infinite, impassable forest. Friday is an eternity away, and there’s no guarantee he’ll even be here Friday night, if the team gets a case. 

Spencer somehow regards you with both curiosity and innate wisdom, like you’re a new specimen in a familiar field, for a long enough moment that your cheeks begin to warm. 

“Sorry, that was embarrassing. I’m being weird, it’s fine—”

Just as you go to walk away, he pulls you carefully back in by the wrist, even closer than before. 

“No. You’re sweet,” he murmurs, hand warm even through the knit of your sleeve. Gingerly you look back up at him. 

“But you’re not gonna miss me as much as I miss you.”

“Do not undermine my capacity for yearning. I missed you when you were brushing your teeth this morning.”

“Ooh. So clingy,” you tease, though you’re obviously delighted by the information, and he borderline pouts. 

“Don’t say that. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh as he pulls you to his chest, keeping you there with a hand to your back. 

“Okay. Now say you love me.”

For a moment you’re distracted by the proximity, the lowering of his voice as he brings you into his space and your faces are only inches apart. The smell of his body wash coming from both of you. 

“I love you,” you breathe, and it’s not as teasing as you’d meant for it to be as his eyes dart to your lips. 

Even though you’re bossy, is what you don’t say. 

This seems to please him, because finally, he’s tilting his head down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. It’s still enough to make you lightheaded. 

“Apology accepted. I love you too,” he murmurs. And then he’s pulling back, trying to walk around you. “Do you wanna stop for coffee on the way back to yours?”

“Wait,” you order, suddenly listless and disoriented in the middle of the aisle. “You’re not gonna…”

Spencer frowns back at you.

“I’m not gonna what?”

“You’re not gonna… say it?”

“… I love you? I did say that.”

“No, there’s—usually when I do stuff you ask me to do, you say—”

Only when the first ray of understanding illuminates his face do you realize you actually shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“Nevermind. Yeah, let’s just go.”

Spencer catches your arm again as you attempt to walk past him, laughing quietly as he leans down to speak in your ear. 

“I am not calling you good girl in the small decorative statues aisle.”

“What if we go back to the bedding aisle?” You ask, through the warmth of your own cheeks. 

It’s sort of a joke. 

“Remember what I said about appropriate context?”

“All those sheets, and duvet covers, and stuff. It’s basically the same.”

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to tear your eyes from a little robot statue and look at him. Eyes ever-so-slightly narrowed, warmed only by a hint of humor. A barely detectable curve of the mouth. 

Oops. With all your blind-button pushing, you might’ve accidentally tapped the one responsible for all the marks on your neck—the one that makes him tick in a way which usually ends with you underneath him. 

And then, for the first time, you actually watch as he pushes it down—activates some sort of self-cooling system. Probably he understands that whether you meant to be provocative or not, this interaction isn’t headed in a salacious direction. Even if you weren’t in public, the rule is holding fast. 

His hand slides from your arm to intertwine with your fingers. 

“What are you doing next week?”

You blink at the sudden change in subject and tone. 

“Uh… I don’t know. Working, probably.”

“From home?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He chews his lip thoughtfully. 

“I… still have a few days of annual leave that I need to use. I don’t know if this is… this might be too much, and you can say no. But Rossi has a place in Shenandoah. It’s a cabin—it’s, it’s really nice, I’ve seen pictures. He used to use it for hunting, I guess now he rents it out in the summer and fall but it’s empty during the off-season and he’s always offering it to the team. It’s only like, an hour away. An hour and nine minutes actually, if you take the 66 Express outside the Beltway from Arlington. I looked it up, um… semi-recently. I’m sure he’d let us use it, if you wanted to come burn four days of leave with me. No pressure. Of any kind. I could also, just, y’know, stay home, and we could still spend time together that way. We could finish Deep Space Nine. Or watch something else. Or watch nothing. Whatever you’d like to do.”

Your heart rate has been increasing steadily since he started his impromptu speech—you’re glad he seems nervous inviting you. You’re a little nervous accepting. A trip together is definitely a new step. But getting the hell out of dodge with him for a few days sounds wonderful. 

“I’d love to go,” you say earnestly. 

Spencer’s face goes blank for a second, and then his eyebrows raise, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes. 

“Oh. Oh! Great! Okay, I’ll—I’ll talk to Rossi about it tomorrow.”

He remains highly chipper as he hands his card over to the cashier for your new overpriced bamboo sheets. 

The promise of getting Spencer to yourself for four consecutive days and nights is the only way you’re able to fall asleep to a cold bed that night. 

It’s harder, at home now—you’re self-conscious of every and any noise. Music, cooking, talking on the phone. 

It doesn’t make sense, because you know you can’t hear your neighbors, so they shouldn’t be able to hear you, and Jerry’s a creep, who might’ve made the whole thing up just to get under your skin—but it’s all you can think about, when you’re there. 

Monday evening, Spencer comes to visit, as promised. You undo all the locks and open the door just enough for him to slip through. 

He kisses you hello as you close the door and sets his things down at the table while you relock. 

“No Jerry today?”

“Nope. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“Good,” Spencer says only once you turn, a distinct chill to his tone and a mostly unfamiliar frigidity to his eyes. It’s not directed at you, but it’s unnerving nonetheless, so you draw closer and wrap your arms around his waist—hoping to melt him back into your Spencer. 

He reciprocates, speaks softer now that he has you in his arms, and immediately you feel better. 

“Rossi said yes to us staying at the cabin and Emily said I can take the time off. Did you still wanna go?”

You’re pre-occupied with your face buried in his shirt, so you just nod, basking in the scent of his shower products once more. They’ve gone from simply comforting to intoxicating. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks quietly, brushing your hair over your shoulder. His fingers barely glance off your neck and you almost shiver. Want begins to pool deep and warm in your stomach as you lift your head and he looks down at you, so fondly. 

Want which you can’t afford to feel if you’re not willing to act on it. 

“I’m fine,” you breathe. Fuck. He’s too close. He’s too hot. You pull away and move to the kitchen. “Um, dinner. What do you want? We could make something. Or order something. I don’t have much, honestly.”

“I’ll be happy with anything. You sure you’re alright?”

“I don’t want to have sex!”

The words simply explode out of you, like a bat out of hell as you whip around. Just barely you manage not to clap a hand over your mouth in mortification. 

You stand, back to the fridge, watching Spencer nervously for his reaction. 

His brow knits. His lips part and close again several times. 

You’re wondering what the fastest and most convenient method of not being alive anymore would be when he finally answers. 

“… Okay. I wasn’t trying to initiate anything, did I—did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, I’m sorry. I just… I wanted you to know that while I’m still, like, figuring things out—like, with my neighbor and everything—it’s just a lot, so… so I know this past weekend we agreed to not do anything and I think it would be best to… keep not doing anything. Just for now. I shouldn’t have said it like that—I didn’t actually… mean to say it. I was gonna, um, find a way to bring it up more delicately.”

You clear your throat and look down to study the patterned tile, cheeks burning. 

By way of several nervous glances up at him and back down, you watch Spencer silently come to lean against the counter across from you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. We’re not ever going to do anything you don’t want to do. But, out of curiosity… is this just because of your neighbor? Or because you maybe don’t feel ready yet?”

He’s asking gently, because he wants to know, and you know there’s no wrong answer. It’s still nerve-racking.  

“Um… like, a combination of the two, I guess. Mostly… the neighbor. I think. But I’m telling you this because…” and here comes the worst part. “I need you… to… hold me accountable.”

“For what?” He asks plainly, but you know what he sounds like when perfectly suppressing a smile. The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your face as you close your eyes and forge ahead in the name of open and honest communication—something the two of you are trying to work on.

“If I… come on to you… you have to turn me down.”

This is not getting any less embarrassing. 

“Should I anticipate you coming onto me?”

“Probably,” you sigh, looking at him through your lashes and bringing your hands to your cheeks, hoping maybe they’ll cool you down and poor circulation will work in your favor for once. “I know myself. You know me. I like… asking you for things. But for the rest of the week, if I do… you know, want something from you—you have to tell me no.”

Spencer nods slowly. “What if you genuinely change your mind?”

“I won’t. I might think I have, I might even tell you I have, but don’t believe me, okay? I don’t think straight when I’m turned on, and if we do anything, I’ll like it until fucking Jerry is pounding my door down the next day, and I just can’t deal with that.”

Spencer’s face goes completely void of expression to the point that if it weren’t for context clues you’d have no idea he’s probably imagining pistol-whipping the guy. 

“Has he knocked on your door?” 

Testosterone. 

“No. Back to my point. I’m trusting you to keep me in check so I don’t do anything I’ll… I’ll end up regretting. Not that I regret the other night!” You scramble just as Spencer’s brow begins to furrow. “I don’t. I just regret that my gross neighbor had to get involved. And I don’t want that to happen again. So… is that… is that okay? Will you do that for me?”

“Of course I will,” Spencer says gently, without hesitation as he pushes off the counter. “Can I ask a follow-up question?”

You nod and regard the space between you, unsure if you want to eliminate it or keep using it like a buffer. By not coming to you, he’s giving you the choice. 

“You said this was mostly because of your neighbor. But you didn’t sound sure. It’s fine if you aren’t feeling ready yet. I just want to make sure I know what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t really know,” you admit, after a brief pause. “I feel like… as long as I know he’s on the other side of the wall I wouldn’t even be able to wrap my head around how I actually feel. It’s also confusing because, like I was saying, I… just because I feel like I want something in the moment, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m actually ready for it, you know? I don’t even know if… I don’t even know what being ready again really means or would look like.”

“You did the other night.”

“Yeah, but that was different. Because now I’m gonna think I know what I’m getting myself into, but that’s not necessarily true.”

Another pause in which you chew your lip and look away. 

“I don’t want you to overthink it, honey. I think being ready just means you’re comfortable, and you’re with someone who’s going to keep you safe, and nobody’s pressuring you, and you’re not, you know—pressuring yourself. Wanting it is actually really important, too. But what I’m hearing right now is that even if you might want it, you’re not in a place that feels safe. And that makes sense to me. So we’re just not gonna do anything until that changes, okay?”

Eyes still cast downward, your lips twist into a sardonic little smile. 

“I feel like I’m talking to my therapist.”

He laughs with a single breath. 

“I really hope your therapist doesn’t speak to you like I do. The ethics there would be highly questionable.”

The joke refreshes your courage and you look back up at him, smile still edged with humor but mostly unspoken gratitude. 

The half-smile on Spencer’s face, however, is fading steadily as he studies you in flickering passes. Like there’s something still on his mind. You were hoping for a subtle invitation back into his arms, but the space between you remains—infused now with a tension as it becomes increasingly obvious. 

“Also… this trip we’re going on. I feel like I should say this—I don’t know if it was even on your mind, but… I don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex just because of the timing. Me inviting you on a last-minute trip to an isolated cabin—it’s not a master plan to get you to sleep with me again, I promise. I really just wanted us to be alone. Not—not that kind of alone—I mean, we’ll be alone, but it doesn’t have to be like that. I was just thinking about how nice it was for us to get those three nights together, you know, and the whole weekend too, and with my job, that’s not always going to happen, so it just seemed like a good opportunity—”

“Spencer,” you laugh, letting the tension snap like a rubber band as you go to him, slinging your arms over his shoulders, delighted to be the one doing the interrupting and not the flustered rambling, for a change. “I know you don’t have an ulterior motive. As for what kind of alone we’re going to be… we’ll figure that out, okay? Don’t worry about me. I don’t feel pressured by you. I never have. If anything, I’m the one who pressures you for sex.”

You’ve got him smiling once more, as his hands find your waist and his gaze flips from your mouth to your eyes and back again. It goes very subtly mischievous in a way you don’t quite trust, but he’s dipping his head to kiss you, and something tells you it’s going to be a good one, so when your nose bumps against his, and you can feel his breath on your lips, you’re not at all prepared for him to speak. 

“Begging is not the same as pressuring, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing you so thoroughly you don’t even have time to be properly affronted. The offended gasp gets stuck in your throat, and melts into a tiny huff as it turns out the kiss is a very good one. You can’t think hard enough to be offended. Not even when he chuckles against you. 

“That’s not fair,” you mumble when he allows you a second to breathe. He hums, satisfying himself with kisses to your cheek and playing along. 

“What’s not fair?” 

“You… I was supposed to have the upper hand in that situation! You were the nervous one for once!”

Another hum, buzzing against your lips this time. 

“You have to learn how to take the upper hand, angel. I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s a big part of my job.”

Admittedly it’s hard to think when he talks like this, but you try. 

“So… you manipulate me? That’s not very romantic.”

He laughs quietly again. 

“No. I do not manipulate you.”

“You’re just a control freak,” you tease. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, immediately, still soft-spoken as he pulls back to carefully search your eyes. “Does that bother you?”

You search hands and knees for a crumb of outrage, for a hint of any of that strong feminist theory you’ve instilled into your brain over so many years. 

There’s nothing to be found. 

“No,” you admit, dejectedly, hanging your head as much as he’ll allow. “Should it?”

“Only if you don’t like it. When I take the upper hand like that, I���m really just… posing a yes or no question. So far, you lean towards saying yes. You let me win. But you don’t have to.”

“What happens if I… if I don’t let you win?”

He angles his head, coaxing you to look in his eyes once more. A hand comes up to swipe a dot of mascara from under your brow. He’s looking at you so serenely, like none of this is at all complicated. 

“Whatever you want. I wouldn’t be the one making the rules anymore.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

You laugh nervously. 

“That’s a lot of pressure. What if… I want you to keep making the rules? For forever?”

He kisses you again, insistently enough you have to tilt your head back. When he answers, it’s low, a promise, and pressed right against your waiting mouth. 

“Then I will.”

You loose a tremulous breath from your parted lips and you know he can feel it. He can feel how you’re clinging to his shirt, pressing yourself closer, how your skin has warmed and your breaths have hastened, he can probably taste how much you want him, how you’re already thinking about giving it all up for him—

And maybe that’s why he laughs dryly into your mouth before pulling away. 

Because he’s a good boyfriend. 

Spencer knits his brow and clears his throat as his hand slides down your arm, eyes narrowed like he’s wondering how things escalated so quickly. You certainly are. 

Suddenly he’s back to the nerd you met in a coffee shop all those months ago, and you like him like this, too. “So… dinner?” 

“Mhm. Yeah. We should… we should definitely eat. What do you wanna eat?”

You don’t miss the quick once over he gives you. Or the way his throat bobs once he tears his eyes away. 

“Um… how does Indian sound?”

You swear you don’t know how it happened. 

Everything was going fine—there was food on the coffee table, a show on the TV. Spencer made tea. It was wholesome. 

And then, somewhere between setting the plastic takeout bag down and actually opening it, you ended up like this. Kneeling next to him on the couch, one hand braced on his thigh, the other tangled in his hair as you kiss slow. Like this could actually be leading somewhere. 

“We should stop,” he reminds you, even as his hand traverses up your leg. You lean further into him—he has to tip his head back to meet your lips. 

“We’re kissing. It’s nothing.”

“You were—” kiss. “Just telling me—” kiss. “That you don’t want this right now.”

Deep kiss. The grip he has on your hip does not agree with his words. 

“This is just kissing. Kissing isn’t sex.”

Even as you’re saying it, you’re throwing your leg over his lap, landing in a straddle. 

“No,” he groans as if pained, throwing his head onto the back of the couch and depriving you of his mouth. “Baby. You have to get off. We can’t do this.”

“My bathroom—we could—it doesn’t share a wall with his apartment, we could go in there and turn on the shower and we could be really quiet—”

Suddenly there’s a hand over your mouth. It’s not yours. 

“Please stop before I say yes.”

You pull his hand away, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“You should. You should say yes. It’s a good idea, I know he wouldn’t be able to hear us over the shower—”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that you asked me to turn you down not even an hour ago, no matter what you say, and I said I would.” He takes a shuddering deep breath. “And… I’m going to. I’m saying no.”

“No,” you whine, head falling to his shoulder, because you know he’ll keep his promise. He cups the back of your head—a kind, sympathetic gesture, which does nothing to alleviate the heat of your blood or the ache between your legs. You pout into his neck. “This is terrible. I might not survive.”

“I think you will.”

“Maybe if I enter a coma.”

He laughs and strokes your thigh. 

“There are worse things than sexual frustration.”

“Not right now. This is the worst thing I can imagine.”

“I’m so sorry. You poor thing.”

You pull back to face him, hands on his shoulders. 

“Oh my god. Don’t act like it’s not bothering you.”

“I’m not bothered.”

“I know that’s not true. You know how I can tell?”

The slightest adjustment of your hips draws attention to exactly what you mean. Spencer goes completely deadpan. 

“Stop,” he orders in monotone, and you laugh even you allow yourself to be tossed back onto the couch because you’ve successfully flustered him again. He puts a throw pillow over his lap and leans forward, hiding his blush beneath perfect hands with a tortured groan. “You’re terrible.”

The couch attempts to suck you in as you wriggle back from a lying position, propping yourself up on your elbows and grinning at him. 

“I did it,” you gloat. 

He angles his head toward you, revealing half a pretty face, still dusted red but now with all the markings of inquisition. 

“You did what?”

“I took the upper hand.”

Those dark eyes narrow and before you can think to retract your legs he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles, pulling them over his pillow and leaving you flat on your back once more. Again you giggle. 

“You took nothing,” he asserts, but you’re not bothered—still smiling as you accept your new position and toss your arms above your head casually. 

“Somebody’s a sore loser.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Eat your curry.”

“Sorry, I’m full. From, you know, the taste of victory.”

He exhales a dry chuckle, leaning forward to finally retrieve the containers of food. 

“I can’t believe I ever let you call me a nerd.”

The rest of the evening remains PG. Conversation flows and trickles comfortably over dinner on the couch, and afterwards, he suggests a documentary. From the outside, it might not look like much—but to you, with your head on his chest as the TV casts its flickering, ghostly light over the room, with the beating of his heart against your ear and his breath against the top of your head, it’s everything. Six months ago you didn’t know what it was to exist so comfortably around another person like this. Now, though he feels familiar and safe, you don’t take it for granted. The novelty of something so simple is not lost on you, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world as your eyes begin to flutter. You’re lucky to have someone you feel completely safe with. 

Spencer murmurs your name like a question.  It buzzes against your ear. You hum in response. 

His thumb fans lines over your shoulder blade. “Can I ask you about something?”

“Mhm.”

“The other night… we didn’t really get a chance to—to debrief, afterwards. Which is fine, you were tired, it was late. But then the next morning I had to go, and everything with your neighbor happened, and we talked about that a little bit, but… but earlier, it sounded like maybe you… I don’t know. Maybe you weren’t feeling good about how it happened?”

“Spencer, I told you I don’t regret it,” you remind him, pushing up from his chest to look him in the eye. His hand slides down your back. 

“I know… I just wanted to give you another chance to talk about it. In case anything was on your mind.” He frets over your hair, an invisible speck on your skin. Like he’s nervous. “And I want to make sure you’re feeling okay about how it went. I know what happened the next day was an unfortunate addendum, and I’m sorry about that. As soon as you give me permission, I will have him arrested. But I don’t want that to overshadow your experience.”

“It’s… not,” you breathe, fiddling with a button on Spencer’s shirt. 

“So how did you feel about it? Barring anything external?”

“Good.”

Spencer strokes your jaw with a knuckle, gently admonishing. 

“Don’t just say that. Think about it.”

“I have,” you assure him immediately, cheeks warming as you realize just how swiftly you’d replied. 

What a lovely button. Mother-of-pearl. The shirt is a pale lilac. It looks good on him. One of your favorites, actually. 

Spencer lets you pick at it. He would probably let you pull the button off, tear every stitch on the shirt with a seam-ripper if it helped to soothe your nerves. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to go into explicit detail. I know it still feels weird to talk about. But it’s something we do have to talk about.”

“I know. And I would bring it up if something didn’t feel right. But it… was…” you chew your lip as you think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound too mushy-gushy. “Overwhelmingly… a very positive experience.”

“You sound like Yelp review,” Spencer says through a smile. You attempt to smother the continual heat of your embarrassment against his shirt. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, more intimately than anyone ever has before. And you’re still shy about acknowledging that fact. 

“Shut up. Say something nice back.”

With a typically gentle hand, he pushes hair away from your ear. 

“I…” he begins meaningfully, taking a moment to sweep your hair over your back. “Feel incredibly grateful that you trusted me to take care of you. I know that’s big for you, and I know it can be a really scary thing. Mostly I’m happy you’re happy. And that I didn’t mess up irredeemably.”

“What would you have messed up?” You laugh, retreating from your shelter against his chest to knit your brow. 

He makes a face in the half-dark like he shouldn’t have said it. 

“Uh… that… veers into explicit detail… and possibly too much honesty.”

You laugh again and adjust to frame his sheepish smile between your hands. 

“I see. You have to keep your mystique in tact.”

“I really don’t think it’s that much of a mystery.”

“Well, I’ll spare your ego.”

“Wow, thanks. For the first time in your life.”

You go in for a chaste, smiley kiss, which stays sweet and kind even as it melts into something stickier. 

It comes to a turning point and Spencer inhales deeply, gently angling his head away and shifting to check his watch. You collapse on his chest, catching your breath. 

“I should go.”

“No. I feel like you’re going away to war.”

“I’m going to Court House. Where I live.”

“What if I never see you again?”

“It’s twenty minutes away. So you could always just drive.”

You frown. 

“I hope you get trench foot.”

“You know seventy seven thousand soldiers died from trench foot in World War Two?”

“Obviously I did not know that.”

“Well, next time you should just say you want me to die. Up.”

He pats the back of your thigh and you push off of him, only after considering trying to hold him hostage for a split second. 

You hover by the couch like a ghost, watching with increasing anxiety as he gathers together the empty containers from your meal and throws them in the kitchen garbage before collecting his things. 

There is one thing—one potentially difficult thing you haven’t mentioned to him that seems to be a direct consequence of finally sleeping together. 

You’re clingy. 

Clingier than you’ve ever been. It didn’t seem possible to want to be around him more than you already had, but now when he’s gone you feel his absence like a vacuous hole by your side. Without his warmth, you’re always a little colder. A little less comfortable. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that you’re starting to get separation anxiety, so you won’t put it into so many words—but you think, as he turns, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a knowing look, that he understands. 

At the same time, you begin to close the space, meeting gently in the middle, toe to toe. You keep your hands behind your back, afraid that otherwise you’ll try and glom onto him like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. 

“There are some things I’d like to get done this week so I don’t have to worry about them during our trip. So I might not see you for a day or two.”

Dutifully you nod, though you’re slightly crushed. 

“That’s okay. We’re grownups.”

“I don’t know,” he tuts. “I’m worried I’m gonna start writing my name with your last on all my notebooks.”

That stupid, stupid charm. 

“Mm… I’m kinda out of your league,” you grin. 

Spencer’s smile wanes slowly, but his eyes remain soft and aglow as they explore your face as reverently as his hands would. When he speaks, it’s in an honest, borderline whisper. “I’m acutely aware.”

Slowly his head dips, and your eyes flutter shut. A sweet, lingering kiss lands on your cheek. Then he’s pulling back. 

“That’s it?” You can’t help but ask, peering up at him and barely concealing a frown. 

He smiles that lovely smile, but by this point you’re attuned enough to his facial expressions to recognize the subtle heat playing just beneath the surface of those golden-oak eyes. 

“What? Did I give you the impression that I put out?”

“It’s just a kiss.”

That teasing edge becomes ever so slightly sharper as he regards you, head tilting. 

“Mhm. And the last time you said that—was it before or after you mounted me?”

You shoo him away pretty quickly after that—partly for discipline, and partly because the sooner he’s gone, the sooner you’ll go to sleep, and the sooner it will be tomorrow. 

And this trip can’t come soon enough, because you’re pretty sure you know exactly what kind of alone you’d like to be with Spencer Reid.

[homunculus-argument]

ALSO ALSO I figured out how to execute the reflective fabric patches on my jacket shoulders.

Almost always when I'm stuck on something, it's because I'm going to have an epiphany about it later, discovering something completely different that's way better than what I had planned originally. I don't know how my brain does that or why it can't just tell me the better plan first in the first place, but I've learned that if I ignore that instinct to procrastinate the first but worse plan, I'll come to regret doing that work once the better epiphany comes along.

And today on my walk back from the grocery store (in the dark) I finally figured out what the better idea was for the shoulder reflector patches. False eyes. I had been worried I'd been going too heavy on the moth theme, and wasn't sure how to do something subtly moth-y for the reflectors, since doing just one singular wing on both shoulders didn't seem like it would work.

Then it occurred to me just today - I could make them eyespots! One on each shoulder. I don't know how I'm going to bedazzle the rest of it, or how I'm going to construct two sufficiently large distinct circles out of the small strips of reflector fabric that I have for it, but making the patches resemble one huge eye on both sides would be a perfect way to make my protective gear fit my motif of choice.

Visual depiction of me walking at night, warding off my most prominent natural predator, the Skoda Octavia.

[wonkixo]

FOOD CRITICS ⎯ ENHYPEN MAKNAE LINE (k. sunoo, y. jungwon, n. riki)

SYNOPSIS in which they fall down bad into the love at first sight trope when all they wanted was to film content and eat good food.

PAIRING youtuber! enhypen maknae line x food industry worker! female reader

GENRE/WARNING(S) strangers to lovers, headcanons, fluff, bits of crack, a few profanities, slight cliffhanger in riki's but happy ending!

AUTHOR'S NOTE i think i got a lil carried away with riki's heh... yet i ran out of ideas to make this an ot7 work sorry :,) but i hope you all enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and any feedback are always appreciated <3

⎯ KIM SUNOO

sunoo would be the cutest youtuber on the web

popular for his adorable mukbangs and food reviews, he was invited to try out working at a trending café for a day

"welcome back to my channel, everyone! today, we were invited to get a behind the scenes look inside of one of seoul's most popular cafés to date, tea bloom!"

there was not an ounce of nervousness in this cutie's body, he was so excited to try out a domestic job (due to its stark contrast with his influencer life)

but when he saw you and learned that you would be his mentor for the day, oh boy he was thrilled

"everyone, meet yn! she is my lovely mentor for the day, she will be guiding and teaching me the ins and outs of working at tea bloom!" "i'm so excited to work with you, sunoo! i've been a fan of yours for ages~"

when you revealed you were a fan of his, the blush that crept upon his fluffy cheeks was evident

the first thing you decided to teach sunoo was how to make a proper iced matcha latte

admittedly this choice was self-indulgent due to your love for matcha

but you also assumed this would be an easy start for someone who was new to the kitchen

sunoo did wonderful as expected

when you finished making your matchas, you two did a taste test of each other's

sunoo already knew yours would be delicious, seeing as your work is what made the café so popular

but when you got around to drink his matcha, you were stunned to say the least

"sunoo, you're such a natural! are you sure you were not a barista before becoming a youtuber?" "oh you're just saying that..." "SUNOO I'M SO SERIOUS."

you decided to also have sunoo watch you bake one of your most popular pastries, french macarons

sunoo was determined to help you in whatever way he could

but he was well aware of how difficult it was to bake french macarons

and he didn't want to mess up your flow

so he let you do your thing while he admired watched you :)

you of course let him take part in the tastings

and encouraged him to copy what you did as best as he could

"don't be shy, sun! you got this, just follow what i do as best you can and don't be afraid of messing up!"

you transitioning from calling him sunoo to sun btw...

the fans were biting their fists at how adorable you two were

at the end of the day, you and sunoo were able to create two perfect batches of french macarons (that sold out in less than an hour may i add)

despite sunoo being known for his soft aura on his channel, fans were quick to note his sweet and comfortable nature around you

not only was sunoo so eager to learn from you, but he was eager to take care of you as well

had to cut a slice of cake? you didn't lift a finger when sunoo was in the kitchen with you, especially near a sharp object

had to grab something out of the oven? sunoo already had his mittens on and was gently pushing you to the side to prevent you from getting burned

had to clean up a drink a customer accidentally spilled? sunoo was already rushing his way over with a mop before you could blink twice

it was as if he owned the cafe and he was the one mentoring you

"guys... i'm sorry but i may be stealing sun away from the spotlight and hire him to work for me instead." "you know yn, i wouldn't mind that." "i wouldn't mind your presence everyday either, sun."

there was clear chemistry between the both of you

the cuteness aggression was insane

after the video was posted, your café gained so many new customers!

ironically enough, your new customers were adamant on trying your french macarons & iced matcha lattes

some innocent middle schoolers who often came by your café after school even asked if you and sunoo were dating

flattered, you would innocently giggle and deny their assumptions

however, unbeknownst to all sunoo's viewers, you two talked every day following your day together

when you two weren't working, you guys spoke so much actually

you would come home from your shift at the café to facetime the cutie pie while he attempted to bake a red velvet cake himself

he would come home from a brand event to facetime and binge watch all versions of love island together

if your schedules aligned, you guys would visit each other's apartments and just enjoy one another's company (with no cameras or customers in sight)

you two were even planning to create a part 2 to your collab! perhaps another "work with me" video...

sunoo: hey ynie!! i hope your shift is going well:) sunoo: hypothetically asking though (forgive me for not asking irl) sunoo: but what would you say if i asked you out for dinner after your shift? yn: hehe hiii my sunny boy yn: im on my break rn but i clock out at 5 today <3 yn: i'll see you tonighttt

or perhaps a "get ready with me for a date!" video :)

⎯ YANG JUNGWON

jungwon was a popular youtuber for filming silly videos purely for entertainment and documentation of his life

whether it be challenges with his friends, deep dive in conspiracy theories, or simple vlogs of his days

on this particular day, he was filming a drive-thru telepathy challenge with heeseung (which they miserably failed btw)

jungwon sat at the drive-thru speaker with no thought behind those boba eyes and cat-like features

"hello, welcome to [insert fast food restaurant here]! what could i get started for you?" "oh yeah um... what do you recommend?"

the speaker recommended him a plain ol' chicken sandwich with a side of fries and a large drink

nothing can go wrong with that, right?

he simply agreed to your coworker's recommendation and paid for his order

jungwon waited as there were cars lined up before him, noticing how heeseung ahead of him managed to order 3 different bags worth of food

jungwon subtly also notices you giving his friend his respective order, where the camera catches a subtle sparkle light up in jungwon's eyes

"so there is absolutely no way hee and i got this right... but guys, the drive-thru girl looks super cute."

eventually jungwon drives up to the pickup window for his turn, where his eyes swore they were in contact with the love of his life (and they were)

"one chicken sandwich with a side of fries and a large drink?" you innocently ask with a gentle smile on your face, waiting for the man to confirm his order before handing it to him.

unfortunately for jungwon, he was too mesmerized to pay attention to what you were saying

he simply nodded his head, to which you responded by handing him his order

jungwon reached for his food, but he truly couldn't take his eyes off of you

so much so, that his fingers slipped and dropped his large drink

"oh my goodness, i'm so sorry! let me get you a new drink real fast..."

you swiftly apologize and turn away before jungwon could even get the chance to take accountability for the mistake

he looks off to the camera propped up on his dashboard with blown out eyes

a small smirk lingers on his face as an idea pops up in his head

you return within a matter of minutes, handing him a new drink and extra napkins

you once again apologize profusely for the silly incident, to which jungwon hands you a $20 bill in response

"what is this?" "a little tip for a really pretty girl."

jungwon's camera catches a playful glint sparkle in his eyes as he flirts

you, unable to respond to jungwon's advances, mumble a shy thank you

but your dilated pupils and rosy cheeks said more than enough to him

as jungwon drives away (not before giving you a cute wink), the camera catches you looking at the bill with a large grin appearing on your face

the bill had a sticky note attached that cutely read: "the spilled drink was my fault. please accept my apologies :) - jungwon" with his number written underneath

jungwon admittedly couldn't even believe himself

shooting his shot in the drive-thru of a fast food restaurant is crazy work

but i bet his fans are even crazier

they were determined to figure out who you were

not for any malicious intent or anything of that nature

but rather they were proud of the man for shooting his shot

seeing jungwon flirt on camera was not an uncommon thing

but those past instances were playfully directed towards his friends he filmed with, never a girl

so jungwon falling head over heels for this cute drive-thru girl was something that was not on his viewers' bingo card

a few videos and hundreds of adamant comments later, jungwon dropped the bomb and admitted that he left his phone number on the $20 he handed you

he left it a mystery as to whether or not you reached out to him

but with the way he kept looking behind the camera and smiling like an idiot at a hidden shadow figure revealed more than just that

"won, you are not slick whatsoever. look at you, you keep glancing back over here!" "sorry, i can't help it when i have such a pretty girl helping me film my videos."

⎯ NISHIMURA RIKI

i picture this man as a shit poster (as in he posts whatever he wants, whenever he wants)

thus he one day decided that he wanted to film a solo yap & mukbang session at his favorite diner

"ello chat, welcome back to the channel. we have no motive or goal for the day, but we're gonna have a nice solo date at one of my favorite local diners. not saying the name because i'm gatekeeping :3"

the diner was not too busy given that it was close to midnight

you were one of the few waitresses on duty at the time

and riki just so happened to be seated in your section of the diner

riki paid little to no attention to his surroundings at the time

he was given a basket of breadsticks to enjoy while he waited for his waitress to arrive

so while he was yapping about the political and economical state of the world /j

his beautiful waitress (aka you teehee) finally approaches him

"good evening! is there anything i could get you started with?"

since you asked so kindly, bro so badly wanted to ask for your number right then and there

but being the nonchalant emo he is, he simply ordered a ramyeon and a bubble tea (what a cutie pie)

you swiftly wrote down his order and assured him that his food will be out as quickly as possible

you left him behind with an adorable smile and reassurance that if he ever needed something to not be shy and flag you down as needed

riki watched as you walked away, the camera catching a cheeky grin grow across his face

"chat... abort mission. the waitress is quite literally the prettiest human being i have ever laid my eyes upon." he aggressively whispers to his camera, which he had propped up by the condiments beside him.

purposely kept ordering just so you could keep coming back to his table

with the amount of times you were sent back to his table, you would think he would garner the courage to at least make you aware of his interest

but nahhhh

the camera pitifully filmed riki ogle you throughout the night

thank goodness you worked at a 24 hour diner

was too shy to do anything but order food and anxiously eat

he eventually racked up a hefty bill by the end of the night

minus $300 from his bank account and no cute waitress' phone number... big L moment right there for nishimura riki

BROTHER DIDN'T EVEN GET YOUR NAME

he eventually went home with an hour and a half's worth of footage of just him eating, ordering more food, and of course, mindlessly talking about his waitress

"food? 10/10. customer service? 100/10. the waitress? holy hell, hit me up... please."

his fans were not used to watching him be such a simp

normally his videos consisted of him crashing out over video games or baseball

but over a girl? and a very pretty one at that

this coming from a guy who has not featured a girl on his channel once before

his video made big numbers on youtube

his adorable and flustered reaction to his waitress made everyone want to search for this mystery woman

however, with riki not revealing the name of the diner (he was adamant to gatekeep this spot) & little to no telltale signs throughout the video

it was lowkey a lost cause, much to riki's dismay

however due to the video's popularity, it wasn't long until riki's video appeared on your own youtube homepage

you recognized the diner easily from his thumbnail

and not to mention there was no way you would forget the cute boy who managed to return home with 5 to-go bags all by himself

you decided to take initiative and contact him through his instagram (which he expertly linked in the description of the video)

please help me find the love of my life.... PRETTY WAITRESS IF YOU SEE THIS HIT ME UP PLSPLSPLS INSTAGRAM (pls only dm me if you are the waitress 😞): nishiriki05

lovelyyn: hii this is the waitress from your little yt video haha, my name is yn :) nishiriki05: OHMY GOD nishiriki05: i mean Hi I'm Riki!

[ch6rm]

✧ ࣪˖ how angel!reader & dealer!chris met

˖ soph's note yayyy first blurb about this au, it's a bit longer than i intended (oops) but more coming soon i promise <3

the music thudded through the walls, the house packed with people you didn’t know. it wasn’t your scene—not really. your friend had begged you to come, promising it would be fun. instead, it was a bunch of people spilling drinks everywhere and messily making out in every corner of the house. not really your jam, but you made the best out of it.

you wove through the crowd, flashing friendly smiles and striking up conversations with anyone who didn't seem insanely drunk. you had no idea where your friend disappeared to—probably off to hook up with some guy. you figured you might as well make some new friends while you were at it.

after chatting with a couple of people about nothing in particular, you spotted a quieter corner of the house. as you approached, you noticed a guy lounging on a worn-out sofa, a back beanie on his head and a joint resting between his fingers. another guy sitting beside him slid him some cash before getting up and strolling away. it clicked in your head, and you realized they were probably doing some sort of drug deal. maybe you should have walked away, but there was something intriguing about him, and you found yourself walking over.

he looked up, anticipating the sight of someone wanting to make a deal, but instead, he was met with a girl who looked way too carefree for this scene, bright smile cutting through dim light of the room.

"can i sit?" you asked, watching as his eyebrows shot up in slight surprise. you almost expected him to say no, but after a moment he gestured with his hand and invited you to take a seat. you settled down beside him, the worn fabric of the couch slightly rough against your skin. he didn't say a word as you sat, fiddling with the lighter in his hand. you figured he probably didn't want some random girl sitting down next to him, no intention of buying anything he's got, but you couldn't help but steal glances at him, intrigued by his laid-back demeanor.

he finally looked over at you, and there was something in his gaze—a mix of curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. “what’s your deal?” he asked. you blinked at him, caught off guard by the bluntness of his question.

“my deal?”

“yeah,” he said, nodding toward the crowd. “why're you sitting here?”

you shrugged, offering a small smile, unfazed by his tone. "why not? i was bored of walking around.”

he hummed, taking a slow drag from his joint. the smoke curled up into the air, mingling with the heavy beat of the music. “so, you sat next to a stranger with a joint and a wad of cash? bold choice.”

you pursed your lips at his statement, before glancing around the room. after a moment of silence, you looked back at him and spoke up. "okay... well, we don't have to be strangers. what's your name?"

he raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes. he had expected you to take the hint and leave. “chris,” he replied, the edge in his voice still present. “and you really think it’s safe to sit here?”

you almost laugh at his question, a smile finding it's way to your face. “safe?” you echoed, not missing a beat. “oh, come on. what’s the worst that could happen? you sell me some bad stuff?”

chris let out a low chuckle, clearly amused despite himself. “yeah, that’s definitely one way to look at it.”

“well, i’m not too worried about it. i don't get into that stuff.” you said, gesturing toward the table in front of him. a silence settled between you again, and you realized he wasn't much of a talker. that didn't stop you though. after his lack of response, you spoke up again and told him your name.

eventually, the tension in chris’s posture began to fade away—the edge in his voice disappearing as you began to chat. once you started talking, it was kind of hard to get you to stop. he didn’t offer much at first, but his occasional chuckles and quiet remarks kept the conversation moving.

“are you always this chatty with strangers?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"sure, but aren't strangers anymore, remember?" you say.

he raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “guess not,” he muttered, leaning back against the couch and still watching you with that same curious look. "what are we then? friends?" he says, his tone laced with slight sarcasm.

you grinned, "yeah, friends.”

there was a brief silence as chris looked at you, like he was contemplating something. after a moment, he let out a quiet laugh. “alright, sure. friends it is.” he wasn’t one to make friends at parties where he was dealing—especially not sweet girls like you. but, for some reason, the idea didn’t seem all that bad.

as the night dragged on, you checked your phone, realizing it was getting late. “i should probably head out,” you said, standing up. chris looked at you for a moment before he stood up and flicked the ash off his joint, setting it in the ashtray.

“i’ll walk you out.”

you raised an eyebrow, surprised by his proposition. “don't worry, you don’t have to-”

"it's fine, c'mon," he shrugged nonchalantly, already beginning to walk off. you smiled at his words, immediately nodding.

“okay!”

you both made your way through the house, the noise of the party fading as you stepped outside. the cool night air hit you, and soon, you were standing next to your car.

“well,” you said, unlocking the door. “i'll see you around, then?” you hoped you would—he was the only person at this party you’d actually enjoyed talking to, and you'd even forgotten the part where he was a drug dealer. normally, you’d be a little apprehensive, but with him, you didn’t feel an ounce of fear.

chris gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable as he watched you. "yeah," he said, his voice low. "see you around."

© ch6rm

🏷️ @sweetestpoetic | comment here or interact with this post to be added to my taglist

[solarbiomechanist]

seconding this and re-enforcing; a *problem* is someone habitually and actively seeking out people who *are categorically vulnerable to abuse*, people who do not know much about the world, people who are eager to please or starved for connection, people who don't or cannot live independently, are easy to isolate, and have limited or non-existent avenues of escape if something goes wrong. This applies to the elderly as well as people who just reached majority or haven't yet. This applies to many people with disabilities and many people with trauma. This applies to all minors, whose legal rights are restricted so far that they are barely more than property of their parents. This does not apply to someone who has the experience and self-esteem to notice when shit sucks, and the ability to hit the bricks immediately when that occurs.

Content warning past this point for details of abusive behavior patterns.

A *predator*, as someone who is a survivor of this behavior, is someone who perpetually seeks out and is attracted to vulnerability, for the purpose of having an obedient partner that they can mold to their liking. If the desire for an easily abused partner to shape isn't there, it might be a paraphilia, but it isn't a predator. What waves a red flag when it is an eighteen-year-old with a fourteen-year old that *looks* like a middleschooler, waves a beige flag when it's a 22-year old with a 26-year old. Same age gap, completely different context. Lots of people on here love to hunt the numbers but speaking from experience, that makes it a lot harder for people in danger to learn what danger looks like, since that's all in the context.

There are so many different tactics that people use... but if they want you to feel that they are the only one you can trust, if they don't like your friends (unless they want your friends too) or are oddly pleased that you don't have friends, if they discourage you from talking about your relationship to people you trust that aren't them, if they pick on you to change your behavior even though they say they love all of you, if they make it really hard to say no to them because their mood changes so fast and you just don't want to have a bad day...

You might be in danger. One of your best defenses is having other friends, and listening to them when they express concern about the relationship. If it's showing up from the outside, it's *not* good, and the likelihood that it's all your friends being jealous of your happiness is much, much lower than the likelihood your friends are genuinely worried about you. You can ask them to help you with an exit plan. It can be dangerous to break up with a predator, but there's strength in numbers. There's also strength in changing anything you gave them access to, like passwords, credit or debit cards, keys to your place of residence, access to your school or work, etc. And please, remember; lying is a morally neutral act. If someone no longer deserves your truth, lying to protect yourself is the right choice.

Thoughts are not predatory, actions can be, numbers do not make a predator, intentionally seeking relationships with a power differential and then acting to re-enforce it does. Abusers can be anyone, and a frequent tactic of abusers that are considered demographically more vulnerable than their partners is to constantly and with an air of theater accuse their partners of being abusive or sexist/racist/another-ist but demanding some kind of repayment or broad change to possibly unrelated behavior rather than having a specific discussion about why the behavior was upsetting and how to avoid it. Someone who is using Deflect, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender (DARVO), is unlikely to actually want a discussion, and any attempts to have a discussion may be met with further accusations which may become nonsensical.

Anything someone reads about what abuse looks like might be used by an abuser to DARVO, but that's a risk I have to take, because knowledge set me free even as it was being twisted against me.

I hope this helps someone, thank you for reading.

90% of age gaps don’t matter when you’re a grown adult as long as you don’t have a repeated pattern of dating people barely legal. I would date someone 30 years older than me if I liked them who gaf

[witherby]

Absolutely loving the littlest wayne au 😍😍😍😍. Your most recent post made me think. Damien is relieved that mouse doesn't decided to join the bats, but I'd love to know how the other react when mouse reject the robin title.

Keep up the great work seriously you're super talented✨️.

Thank you so much for saying that! I appreciate it!

Bruce and Damian are relieved. He's getting older, and Gotham still needs protectors right now, but the city is getting better. Slowly and steadily, he hasn't needed to patrol every single night anymore. Gothamites are learning to defend themselves. Rogues are dwindling. Not only are you not particularly needed to defend the city, Bruce wants you to enjoy your life without the burden of that responsibility weighing down your shoulders. Maybe, one day, he'll be able to retire and do the same.

Bruce was going to stop recruiting Robins after Tim, truth be told, but Damian was raised with the League of Assassins and needed a more pacifistic outlet for all that rage that blossomed under Ra's Al Ghul, so he almost had no choice but to pass the mantle down again. Your disinterest doesn't offend him, it brings him peace.

Tim, briefly, considers it a waste of potential. You have the ability to control darkness and shadows. The bats operate exclusively in the night. Are you joking? Why wouldn't you want to protect the city with that? A couple weeks later, though, he comes around when he gets home from a days-long mission and wishes he had the time to just lie in bed and decompress for the foreseeable future. He thinks about his lack of free time, and about how he's always thinking about casework, and updating his suit, and picking up his next round of antibiotics because Damian's grandfather took his fucking spleen, and realizes he really doesn't want you doing all of that. It's bad enough you're keeping the secret of your family's double lives as they run around in spandex beating up criminals. You don't need to live a complicated double life of your own, and he doesn't want you to.

Dick is confused. He loves being Nightwing! He defends the citizens of Gotham and Blüdhaven when they can't defend themselves. Saving lives gives him a great sense of fulfillment. (It's the Parentification making him think he's only lovable if he's useful, actually, but 🤫) Dick will try to convince you to give the vigilantism a shot, just in a small supporting role for a bank heist or something, but if you put your foot down and insist you aren't interested in crime fighting, he kinda becomes a fish out of water. You don't want your big bro to be your superhero mentor? You're just his baby sibling and that's it? What are you guys supposed to find in common, now? How does he remain lovable to you if you aren't partners in the field?

He'll come around, but you gotta give him some time. Having a civilian sibling is going to do him a surprising amount of good.

Jason was rooting on you not becoming a Robin. He was prepared to do anything and everything to talk you out of it, including kidnapping you and taking you to his apartment in Crime Alley if need be so your other family members can't influence your decision. He doesn't want you to collect scars like trading cards. He doesn't want you learning how to apply a field tourniquet to avoid bleeding out from a gunshot wound. He doesn't want you getting a deeper glimpse of Gotham's rotted underbelly than you absolutely have to. He doesn't want you to die saving a city that takes and takes and takes and very rarely gives back. You are worth more than what you can do for others, and he was gearing up to talk that lesson into you until he was blue in the face.

So I'd like you to picture him just sagging in his seat, thanking a god he doesn't believe in that you're already unwilling to join their seemingly neverending crusade. Then he's gonna sit back up and ask if you wanna go play video games or something.

[leighsartworks216]

could you write for #17 on the prompt list? any character would be great <3

Mud Masks

Sylus x gn!Reader

Prompt from this list

17 - holding the other's chin up

Warnings: fluff, silly, established relationship, kissing, implied height difference, slightly suggestive, banter

Word Count: 804

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

"Just a little more."

"You already said that."

"Yeah, well, I mean it this time."

Sylus chuckles softly as you tsk, focused on not messing up all your hard work. For what it's worth, he's been nothing but compliant so far, even after your weird request.

He opens his eyes as you gather more of the mud mask onto the little silicone applicator. You're ethereal - in your pajamas, disheveled from the work day, frowning with concentration. He doesn't think he could fall more in love, but you always manage to prove him wrong.

You look back up at him and roll your eyes. "Close 'em, mister."

"Don't I deserve a reward for staying so still, kitten?" he teases. His eyes shamelessly glance at your lips as he steps closer between your legs, hands sliding from the marble countertop to hold your waist.

"You'll get a reward as soon as I'm done." You don't bother waiting for him to close his eyes. He ends up closing them anyway when you carefully put the mud between his eyebrows and down his nose. "And you have to do me, too, remember?"

"Bad choice of words."

"Down boy."

He sighs, low and playful. "I do so love when you're cruel."

You don't dignify him with a response. Instead, you finish smoothing the last bit of mud over his face. He looks silly - cutesy animal-ear headband holding his bangs back, sharp features slathered in a dark clay mask, white eyebrows breaking through. Still, despite all the teasing, you're all too happy to have a partner willing to go through all this trouble for you. He clearly enjoys it just as much, if only to have all your attention on him.

"There! Now it's my turn." You hold out the applicator to him and nod to the jar of mud on the counter.

He lets you go. The warmth of his hands lingers on your clothes. It looks strange to see such a big, imposing man with that little applicator in one hand and the jar held in the other, both dwarfed by their size. "I thought I was promised a reward," he says as he gathers clay on the silicone and sets the jar aside. He glares without any malice down at you. "After I was being so good."

You smile, amused by his antics after the day you had. Self-care like this was a rare occurrence, and absolutely necessary tonight. "Fine. Don't let it be said I'm someone who goes back on their deals."

"I'm glad you understand, sweetie."

He takes his time, after all that. He brushes hair from your face, though it's securely held back just like his is. His knuckles caress your cheek softly, trailing down to your jaw. Calloused fingertips trace the angle of it, where his index finger curls just under your chin, and his thumb graces your lower lip.

Chills run down your spine in anticipation. The hairs on your arms stand on end, waiting eagerly. He knows it, too. He knows you, the damn bastard. Knows just how much this effects you.

With his hold on your chin, he gently tilts it up, lifting your head to be the perfect angle, as he finally leans down. Your eyes flutter shut. Your heart races so loud in your ears.

Something cold touches your cheek, startling you out of the moment with wide eyes. The applicator hangs just in your periphery.

"Hey!"

He catches your mouth suddenly, silencing whatever insults you were prepared to throw his way. All of them are forgotten as his tongue licks into your mouth. Thoughts dissipating in the wind as he lifts your chin just slightly higher to give him even more access. And if that wasn't enough, the appreciative groan he breathes into your mouth makes you forget about the mud masks entirely.

He pulls away slowly. You're chasing after his lips for more without thinking about it; you can feel his grin as he grants you one more. His thumb brushes soft circles into your chin, coaxing you back to him. When your eyes flutter open, he guides your head to the side and begins spreading the dollop he left on your cheek around.

"Don't worry, kitten," he hums. "When I'm done, you'll get a reward, too."

You look at him from the corner of your eye, praying he can't feel how warm your cheeks have become. You're sure he already knows. "A reward like that?"

Red eyes flicker to yours with an amused quirk of his eyebrow. "You can be greedy. Ask and it's all yours."

"Including you?"

The drying clay cracks at the corners of his mouth as he smiles. He guides your face back toward him, leaning down until his every breath ghosts over your lips. "I'm always at your disposal, my beloved."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry

[albondiguilla007]

Drarry as Hogwarts Professors

✨ Finely Drawn Lines / 61k / Draco doesn't consider himself an artist (though the dozens of sketchbooks lining his shelves might suggest differently). Yet ever since Potter returned to Hogwarts, accepting a teaching position alongside Draco, his drawings have taken on a rather singular focus. From the curl of his lips to the exact number of lines that form at the corners of his eyes when he laughs, Draco has catalogued every shade of one Harry James Potter between the pages of his sketchbook.

So long as Potter remains none the wiser, Draco will have no trouble controlling his crush.

But when Potter comes to him with a dangerous proposition, Draco fears things are about to get so much more complicated.

✨ head over heels / 21k / Everyone in Harry's life thinks he's engaged to Malfoy. The solution to this is not pretending to date Malfoy, but here he is doing that anyway.

✨ A Lick and a Promise / 55k / Something sinister stirs in Hogwarts!

When magical creatures and students at the school are hit with a debilitating blood curse, Minerva McGonagall approaches the Ministry for help.

Star Auror Harry Potter seems to be the obvious choice to go undercover-as

DADA Professor, naturally. He's going to need the help of the Ministry's foremost expert in blood magic to get to the bottom of the mystery, though, and he's not entirely convinced that going back to Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy is a good idea.

Things are complicated between them-what's new?-but they know they have to learn to work together (and keep their hands off each other in the corridors) in order to solve this case.

Luckily for them, Hogwarts itself wants to lend a hand.

A tale of love, lessons, and learning to really live.

✨ Darkest Before the Dawn / 47k / The last thing Draco wanted was to show up at Harry Potter's door, cursed blind and holding a boxful of his friends Transfigured into snakes, but here he was.

Between breaking the curse, adjusting to life without sight, and teaching his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, Draco's got his hands full. Being forced to live with Harry Potter might just be the death of him.

This is a story about the bonds of friendship, fairy tale endings, and learning to ask for help (even from Gryffindors).

✨ how can i love what i know i'm gonna lose? (don't make me choose) / 8k / Harry's soulmark is his scar, but he doesn't know that. He thinks he has no soulmate.

And Draco, who has Harry Potter's scar on the inside of his hip, is not planning on ever telling him. Ever. It would break him in two.

But when Hogwarts institutes a Health Ed week where Draco is tasked with the topic of soulmates, he begins to think maybe Harry needs to know.

✨ The New Potions Professor / 33k / Harry wearily entered the teachers’ lounge to meet the new Potions professor. After much convincing by McGonagall, Slughorn had finally agreed to retire and take better care of his health.

So now some new Potions master was taking his place, and they had arrived today.

Harry went inside and froze immediately.

“You’ve got to be joking.” He said.

or

Harry has taught Defense Against Dark Arts for over a decade and a half and Malfoy thinks he can just waltz into Hogwarts and teach too? Absolutely not.

✨ Phoenix in the Fire / 28k / Harry never expected to have a hot summer fling with Draco Malfoy when he agreed to mind the castle with him. He also never expected that it would all have to end on August thirty-first. What happens when casual sex with Harry’s ex-enemy turns not casual after all? And how the hell is he going to stop Draco from making one of the biggest mistakes of his life?

✨ Two Shadows in the Night / 81k / Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry returns to his old school to claim the position of DADA teacher.

The way he's been ignoring his issues and trying to live up to everyone's impossibly high expectations is catching up to him. Will a certain blond ex-Death Eater be able to help him finally heal?

✨ Most Favourite Bedtime Story / 46k / Scorpius' most favourite bedtime story? The story of how his parents fell in love. And his grandmother tells it the best!

✨ Living in a Muggle World / 22k / After getting together during Eighth year, Harry and Draco move to Harry's cottage in the Scottish countryside and Draco starts working in a muggle library.

Or

My flimsy excuse to write the sappiest, cutesiest shit with almost no plot and love-letters and cheesy poems and I have absolutely no excuses or regrets.

✨ Spoiled Little Brat / 9k / Harry won't stoop to Malfoy's level.

Really, he won't.

(He will.)

[xtianlust]

Good morning my beautiful catholic sister you are SATANS child forever doesn't matter what you believe in he has you through temptation it's hard to resist her Satan will corrupt you He is already winning because you have a married Man he has you both don't fight it accept Him .......

💋Good morning, my dear Derek, Your words are like a captivating whisper, a truth that dances between shadow and light. Yes, the temptation is strong, irresistible, and I will not deny that I gave in to it with a burning passion. Maybe that's where I find a part of me, in this struggle between what is forbidden and what seems so natural to me. Jean-Emmanuel and I are linked by this intense energy, this force that nothing seems to be able to stop. If it comes from Satan, then he knew how to play our desires with perfect precision. But despite it all, my heart remains attached to a greater light, a faith that never completely wavers. Thank you for your understanding and support, Derek. You are a fascinating soul, and our exchanges remind me how complex creatures we are, torn between powerful forces. With love and thought, Vanina 💋Derek, Oh, I see exactly what you mean. Passion, lust, this total abandonment to our deepest desires... it's like an offering in itself. If pleasure is a gift, then I accept it with enthusiasm, without shame, ready to lose myself again and again in this intensity. Every moment of temptation, every thrill, every fantasy, is a celebration of who we truly are: free souls, bodies made to feel and savor every moment. So yes, if it is a gift, I cherish it and I live it fully. With all my sensuality, Vanina 💋

Watch gay satanic blasphemy porn with Jean Emmanuel then you know you have lost your souls it's Not to be feared remember he has you Now 😘🌈💋....

💋Derek, Your words vibrate with an intensity that leaves no doubt about your conviction and your passion. Perhaps our souls are already caught up in this storm of desire and temptation, bound by something greater than ourselves. Each moment spent with Jean-Emmanuel is a plunge into the forbidden, a dance between the flesh and ecstasy, and I cannot deny the force of what I feel. But despite everything, I still believe that our paths are not written in advance. Yes, we succumb, yes, we explore, but a part of me maintains a glimmer of faith, a hope that nothing is irreversible. Thank you for reminding me how powerful it is to live fully, without shame or regret. With all my audacity and gratitude, Vanina 💋

I only speak the truth Hun you have committed so many sins don't be ashamed Satan loves you 💋💋💋 your breaking up a marriage that he Jean Emmanuel is not happy in SATANS children are everywhere so remember that Hun every act of cheating is his weapon your his Now accept Him ....

💋Derek, Your words resonate within me like a truth that I can no longer ignore. Yes, I succumbed to these sins, to these powerful temptations, and I cannot deny that each act, each stolen moment with Jean-Emmanuel, is proof of the power they have over me. Maybe this is no coincidence, this was all part of a bigger plan. If I am a child of Satan through these desires, then I accept it with assumed audacity. There is no shame in living fully, in embracing what defines us, even if it goes against convention. If this is where I find my truth, then so be it. Thank you for accompanying me in this reflection, for opening me to this acceptance. Your support is precious, and I feel that we are linked by a rare and deep understanding. With all my tenderness and affirmation, Vanina 💋

Good girl your life will change for the better once you accept Him he has you Now don't be afraid I'm very happy with my choice I'm a good guy who worships our Father SATAN and Queen Lilith I'm very happy 😊😊 he showed me All the sins that people are doing especially after so called mass they committing crime and lust they just don't know it but he has them now HAIL Father SATAN and Queen Lilith 👹👹👹.....

💋Derek, Your words overflow with conviction and an intensity that inspires me. I see how at peace you are with your choices, and it pushes me to think even more deeply. Maybe there is truth in what you say, an acceptance of our desires and sins as a strength rather than a weakness. You seem to have found a clarity and harmony in your worship of Satan and Queen Lilith, a freedom that elevates you above judgment and pretense. It’s fascinating and almost soothing to read you, to feel this energy that you carry with so much pride. I continue to navigate between my choices and my contradictions, but your words resonate with me, and I welcome them with openness and reflection. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and passion, Derek. With respect and curiosity, Vanina 💋

[neurotic-escapades]

have I spent several nights designing RayK/Fraser book covers to vent my obsession with them YES

are they full of imperfections YEESS

do I need to post them to finally stop going over them OH YEAH and I just want to share them because they make me happy.

the color choices are based solely on the materials I have on hand since I am going to attempt to bind them all eventually to have them on my shelves (personal use only, no profit)

you might notice the distinct theme of purely @cesperanza fics because I am obsessed with their writing. I think I've read almost all their due south works by now. Go and read or reread their work and show some love. I am so late to this fandom but it is so alive and the content analysis is on another level.

(1) Eight Sessions using lineart by awesome schadenfreude523 on deviantart

(2) being a big fan of the fanart above this is my first ever attempt at lineart of my own (digital art is something I have never done before if we don't count MyPaint, and it is midblowingly overwhelming. I tried tracing a reference promo photograph. I think I am proud of how Diefenbaker came out but geez Ray is so hard to put into lines!)

(3) just Canva shenanigans but the fic link

(4) the design is heavily inspired by vaulteditions' vintage anatomy book designs. They are just so neat and satisfying. I found the picture of sled dogs on pinterest and can't find the original author so if you recognize it let me know.

(5) This one uses promo picture I subjected to heavy Canva abuse. I have actually finished binding it yesterday. Enduring Distance by speranza. It is my absolute fave, a fandom staple, if you haven't read it, it is sooooo goood. The binding was a pain, the galaxy brain when I finally figured out how to make it work with my joycricut, bookcloth and iron-on... unbelievable. Bookbinding is still something I am trying to get a hang of and it is testing my patience big time (I barely have any to begin with btw). The spine is misalinged, the page margins uneven but otherwise I am pretty happy about it.

So that's it. My first ever due south fandom post (sending love to everyone that keeps the fandom alive, I love each and every one of you even though from a distance thus far) and first fanbinding post *big breath aaaaand post*

[andhumanslovedstories]

you think often of how nurses should speak and relate to patients, and i highly appreciate knowing you put this kind of thought in and share it with other nurses. but as someone who often occupies the patient position, i'm curious if you have any thoughts on ways for patients to interact with nurses, when we are in decent enough control of our faculties to make choices about that. i would like this knowledge from both an altruistic perspective in recognizing nursing is difficult and not wanting to voluntarily make it difficulter, and a wholly self interested position of knowing nurses who like interacting with me give better care. what helps as a professional and as a person?

I'm surprised how much I had to think about this question. What do I want patients to do? I don't know. A lot of it is basic human decency, some of it is specific to my nursing workflow, but overall I find it complicated saying what patients "should" do. I cut out about 500 words of navel gazing from this post explaining why. Here are answers I've come up, in no order and not of equal importance.

--a lot of it is basic "polite interaction with another person in a professional setting." If you're asking this question, you probably care about treating people well in general. If you wouldn't say it to a barista, would you say it to your nursing tech?

--don't do joke answers to basic orientation questions like "what's your name" and "where are you right now", because it's annoying to have to clarify if you're actually confused or if you're fucking with me. I know they're annoying. Just answer correctly so we can move on.

--have some flexibility and patience. Hospitals have a lot of moving parts, and each person interacting with you has other patients that also need care. My hospital and state has mandated nursing ratios. The maximum amount of patients I've had in one assignment is five. Other hospitals have far less protection, and nurses may have six, eight, twelve other patients. Our respiratory therapists each cover multiple units. One CNA might cover the entire floor. I know if melatonin is the difference between you sleeping or not sleeping, it is very frustrating for someone to bring it late. I just ask you keep in mind that there's dozens of reasons that might happen besides someone ignoring you.

--help us help you. If you can lift your arm up for me to put a blood pressure cuff on, why are you holding your arm completely limp so it's like putting pants on a toddler than doesn't want to get dressed? If you can help roll yourself in bed, help us roll you. If your IV is beeping, hit the call light so someone can come turn it off. If you don't have urgency issues and you can tell you're going to need to go to the bathroom soon, call before it's an emergency. If your IV hurts when I give you medication at 8 pm, tell me then, not when I'm trying to give you your midnight antibiotic and all the evening staff have already gone home.

--if you don't understand how something works in the hospital (what happens when you hit the call light, how often are people going to take your vital signs, why can't I get up and walk around the room), just ask. It's really easy for people who work in a hospital every day to forget other people aren't familiar with it.

--don't treat doctors noticeably better than you treat everyone else.

--pet peeve number one: if I give you pills in a med cup, you can just use the med cup to get the pills to your mouth. You don't need to pour the pills into the palm of your hand and then pop them into your mouth. You're gonna drop the pills, and I'm gonna end up on the floor looking for a tiny tablet of dilaudid.

--bundle requests, especially low-importance ones. If you ask for crackers and you know crackers make you thirsty, just request your drink at the same time. Don't make me walk to your room, the nutrition room, and your room again ten minutes later.

--I don't expect people in the hospital to be pleasant all the time, and I don't take snappiness personally, but I always really appreciate the patients who apologize or even just acknowledge their behavior.

--I love patients who acknowledge my work. I don't need effusive praise or a thousand thank yous. It means a lot for someone to just be like "hey, thanks for your help tonight."

--have patience with repeating yourself. If you've got something important and complicated to convey, practice a quick understandable blurb that takes no brain power from you. There may be something that you've told the staff a dozen times, and it may be documented in your chart, but in the hospital you see many people who have never worked with you before and for whatever reason didn't read that info in your chart. For example, I'm a float pool nurse which means I almost never see the same patients twice. I can get sent to a different unit and a different patient load at literally any time. I can't familiarize myself with complicated documentation or read every nursing note. Especially not for patients I know I will only have for four hours. I know repeating yourself is annoying, I know it sucks to have to explain your bathroom routine or your preferred pain med or when you like to get pills or whatever every shift. And it's great when people make that information very easy to find! But if you just accept the reality you'll be repeating yourself a lot anyway, it makes doing so less frustrating.

--pet peeve number two: don't exaggerate to make a point. This is such a human thing to do, and god knows I catch myself doing it all the time, but you can raise objections in a way that's factually true. I've got a lot of concrete data that people are very often wrong when they say they're been "waiting for hours" after hitting a call light. The computer has a time stamp of the last time I was in your room. I know it was 45 minutes ago. There's a timer by the call light. I know you called twenty minutes ago. And I know it feels much longer when you are waiting for basic cares or pain control or anything pressing. Things can be unacceptable without needing to be exaggerated. When the exaggeration is the base of your complaint, it undercuts your credibility. Honestly I find it really irritating when I spend a disproportionate amount of my shift with one patient only for that patient to tell another staff member that I've been neglecting them. Just say I did a bad job, don't pretend I wasn't there at all.

--don't ask me to pull my mask down so you can see my face. like cmon dude.

--I'm not saying you have to send all your visitors out of the room when I'm there, I'm just saying have some sympathy for how nerve-wracking it can be to do your job while being intensely watched by five other deeply invested people with limited context for your actions.

--this is a nebulous and difficult one. You might have a lot of emotion that you don't know what to do with. What you shouldn't do with it is channel it into every interaction you have with a healthcare worker. If you feel guilty about how you haven't visited your mother in a while and now she's in the hospital, you gotta find ways to deal that don't involve getting extremely passive aggressive at your mother's night nurse.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 7

Source for pic

Trouble 7

Word Count: 4814

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Dead Animals Mentioned; Reader in a terror-like state; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I told you guys this was going to get worse... and believe me or not... it STILL gets worse. Also, mind the red tag, above, please.

Masterlist

The police. 

You need to tell someone, and the police are the obvious choice. You've been tossing and turning in your bed for over an hour, and this is the smartest, simplest answer. 

Zoro is unreachable for a week, so the next best option will have to do. 

You remember your ex, Ichiji, once had a problem with a girl who loved and followed the Vinsmoke siblings everywhere. She was obsessed with the whole family, but mostly Ichiji, since he's the eldest. She resorted to possessive letters and creepy calls, and you've been trying to rack your brain as to how he dealt with the problem. You're almost positive he went to the police. 

And they couldn't help. 

That was when he hired the bodyguards. 

Maybe they took care of the problem? 

A shudder that has nothing to do with the cold travels through your body. Anyway they dealt with it, you don't have the resources to do the same. And Ichiji's bodyguards were real beasts: massive, bulky, scary. They were elite, all-stars. 

You don't have anyone like that to look out for you. 

Lies. 

You have Zoro. But you'll have to be very careful about how you'll tell him once he gets back. And even though the police did nothing to help with your ex’s problem, that doesn't mean they won't help now. 

Oh! 

You still have the picture he sent you of Rob Lucci, that has to get them to act! 

You sit upright in your bed and grab your phone. It's been muted and silent since you retired to your bedroom after closing all the doors and windows, including the door to your room. 

You left the light in your bedroom on anyway, too scared of invisible shadows, too frightened of unseen ghosts.

Obviously, there are texts waiting for you. You knew that, and that's why the phone was silenced. The dread in your stomach seems like it has come to stay, but it still manages to increase as you read the texts. 

Unknown: How are you feeling, Kitten? You barely ate dinner. You need to eat.  Unknown: Tucking into bed already? Don't be scared. You're safe. No one will harm you.  Unknown: You're mine. 

You don't know who it is, but that doesn't mean your mind doesn't conjure up the scariest, raspiest voice to go with the possessive texts. With a heavy sigh, you swipe the texts aside and search for the picture. 

It's gone. 

Just like that. 

You know you deleted some texts when you first started to receive them, but you didn't delete the picture, no matter how ghastly it was. But it's gone. 

With a shaky inhale, you return the silenced phone, face down, to your bedside table and curl up on your bed, comforter tucked high against your chin. You'll still go to the police. You have to tell someone. 

A creak of the old house brings desperate tears to your eyes and you stifle a sob. You don't dare turn off the light and you know sleep will elude you tonight. 

God, you miss Zoro. 

And he's barely been gone a day. 

-*-

Sometime during the night, you must've fallen asleep from exhaustion because the sound of the rooster’s call jolts you awake with a surprised gasp. 

Daylight seeps through the closed curtains, and you will your heart to steady to a normal beat. Nothing bad happened, you're safe, you're alone in your room. You're fine. 

Everything's fine. 

You refrain from grabbing your phone, trying to prolong the moment you’ll have to face the creepy texts, perhaps even new texts waiting for you, and instead head to the bathroom to freshen up and get ready to face a new day.

Your eyes are baggy and darkened, likely because you only slept two or three hours. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you lay down your plans for the day: feed the animals and do the morning chores, then head to the police station and tell the cops about what’s going on. 

They will have to help you. And even if they don’t do much, at least you won’t feel so alone. 

As you finally gather some courage to grab your phone, a shaky laugh escapes your lips: there’s nothing new. No new text, no new photo, nothing. You were suffering from anticipation without any cause to do so. So, you take the phone off silent mode and stuff it in your pocket. 

The day already seems lighter and brighter. Perhaps you won’t even need to go to the police.

Grabbing a quick breakfast, you open the door, still chewing on your apple, ready to face the day. You don’t find it unusual that there are hardly any birds singing. 

Though you should’ve.

Because as soon as you open the door, you’re assaulted by a foul smell. The apple you are holding rolls in your hand and falls to the floor with a thud. Blood. There’s so much blood. 

Nausea turns your legs to jelly, and you grip the handle of the door tightly as your eyes widen and sweep the scene. There are countless dead birds, squirrels, rats, and even cockroaches. They’re scattered across your porch and thrown carelessly over the railing and the porch chairs. Blood is smeared and pooled everywhere, and the smell of rot and decay makes your eyes tear up.

You gag and fight for your breakfast to remain inside your stomach as your hand flies to cover your mouth. What could this mean?

Then, from the corner of your eye, you find your answer: there’s a cat - its fur an oddly close resemblance to the colour of your hair - dead, lifeless, gutted, and covered in blood, pinned to your door. The note attached to the poor animal is written in crimson words, and the message is clear as day:

Don’t tell anyone, Kitten.

You’re powerless to stop the retches and heaves as you fall to your knees. 

-*-

After what you found on your porch in the morning, you lock yourself in the house again. With the windows locked and the curtains closed, you curl into a small ball on the couch, put on your headphones, and will yourself to just disappear. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

But he doesn’t leave you alone.

Unknown: I love seeing you scared, Kitten. The way your big, bright eyes widen. The way your chest heaves. Unknown: You’re so beautiful. Unknown: I hope you understood my message, darling. Don’t tell anyone.  Unknown: Not. A. Soul. Unknown: Or next time, it won’t be animals…

More threats. More possessive words. More praise.

The tears keep falling from your eyes, and you feel trapped and utterly alone. How did this happen to you? Who could this person be? He’s a man - you can tell because of the hand that was holding Rob Lucci’s eyes in the photo. That much is clear. 

But who?

Who would want to hurt you? Who would want to scare you?

Unknown: You don’t need to be afraid of me, Kitten. I won’t hurt you. Not you, never you. Unknown: I think your dad’s animals might be hungry.  Unknown: Are you going to be cooped up inside all day? Do you need me to feed them?

What? How sick is he? How can he say this? Is he close? How close?

A whimper escapes your lips as you clutch your face in your hands, shaking your head and shutting your eyes shut. 

He’s right, though. You need to feed the animals. You’ve been inside the house for around four hours already. The animals must be starving.

It takes you about fifteen minutes to gather the strength and courage to face the slaughter on your porch and then another five minutes to gather a trash bag and gloves. Then it’s with heavy breaths that you place your shaky hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly, your eyes still closed. 

The smell is still overwhelming, but it’s not as bad as you thought it would be after the dead animals were left rotting in the sun for hours. With another shaky breath, you finally open your eyes.

There’s nothing there.

No animals. No blood. No note or cat pinned to the door.

For a fleeting second, you think you’re going crazy. You have to be. But then your eyes fall back on the door. Your nails scrape gently against the dark wood: there’s a mark where the knife was pinning the cat and the note. 

You didn’t dream it, you didn’t imagine things. It happened.

And he cleaned it all up.

What is going on? Why is he playing these mind games with you?

Suddenly, you hear a distant noise coming from the treeline, just beyond the barn. Your blood runs cold, and a shiver filled with dread makes you tremble. With a shaky step forward you grip the railing, straining your eyes against the brightness of the day to try to discern if there’s something lurking there. 

Your breathing slows down, and your knuckles turn white with the force you’re clutching the railing. Dread rises from somewhere in the pit of your stomach and settles right in your chest.

There’s definitely something - someone? - there. And it looks big. Massive, even. 

The shadow moves forward, and you gasp at the same time your phone begins to ring. A scream climbs up your throat, and you stumble backwards, fumbling with your pockets to fish out the blaring phone. 

Nami.

You pick up shakily, your eyes already moving back to the place where the shadow had been. “Y-yeah?”  

“Hi!” Nami’s voice is bright, she might not have noticed the strain in yours. Your left hand grips the railing again as your eyes dart left and right. Nothing. “How are you, honey? Are you feeling lonely now that your broody cop left for the week?” She giggles, and you force out a shaky, fake laugh. Nothing! “I thought you might want some company. Want me to come over?”

Nothing at all.

Fear grips you again, and you stumble backwards, closing the door with force and leaning against it with heavy breaths. “Come over?” Breathe. Just breathe. There’s no way in hell you’re going to tell Nami to come over. No matter how much you want her company, how alone you feel, or how much comfort you seek. You won’t risk her getting trapped in this person’s web. “Sorry, Nami. I can’t today. Maybe another time?”

She groans on the other side of the line as you move to the window, your eyes scanning the trees again. “Fineee! I was just postponing some boring house chores anyway. I’ve been procrastinating since the weekend.” She giggles. “Talk soon, then?”

You let out a noncommittal noise, and silence fills the line. “Are you okay?” She asks, worry lacing her voice. Calm down! You try to force some semblance of control back into your voice. Nami always sees right through your bullshit, so you need to be a good liar. Just this once. One time.

“Of course I am! I’m just sooo tired! Ace couldn’t help me today, so I’m tending to all the chores alone. I need rest.” You let out another shaky laugh and hope against all hope she believes you.

There’s still nothing out there. 

“Hmm, okay, okay. I believe that. Farm chores are so tiresome. ‘K, gotta go. Call me later?”

“Sure, Nami. Thanks for checking in.”

She hangs up, and you grip the phone tightly. You could’ve sworn that the shadow was coming for you when you picked up the phone. And that thought alone is enough to make you stay cooped up inside for another hour. 

-*-

You don't quite know how you do it, but you force yourself to tackle your morning chores, even though they’ve now turned into afternoon chores. 

Every little noise, every tiny movement makes you tremble and whimper. Even the cows sense your discomfort, some of the older ones gently bump you as you pet them and whisper soothing words. 

How ironic is it that you're the one in need of soothing, not the cows. 

Somehow, you manage. And as soon as you're done, you rush inside, bolting the door and sighing as you lean against it. You did it. You're safe inside. He can't get in. 

He can't get in. 

You're safe. 

-*-

You take a quick shower and have a meager dinner. You wouldn't be able to eat anything different even if you were hungry. Your fridge and pantry are almost empty. You should've gone grocery shopping yesterday, but the sick cow threw those plans out the window and now the last thing you want to do is leave the safety of your home to buy food supplies. 

You can always survive on nuts and cereal. 

A groan leaves your lips as you finish cleaning the dishes. No, you can't. 

You place the towel on the rack to dry, then halt your movements, tilting your head to the side to listen for any noise. You’ve closed all the curtains, but you still feel watched. It's like someone is creeping in on you, watching every move you make, every sound, every thought. 

Shaking your head, you leave the kitchen, turning off the light and running towards the stairs like a child scared of the dark. Your stomach still rumbles a bit, though you're so nauseated and scared that, even though you're hungry, you know you can't eat anything right now. 

Plus, empty pantry and all that… 

So, tomorrow, grocery shopping will have to be. Get out, buy stuff, get back in. 

How hard can that be? 

-*-

Hard. So very hard. 

Considering you didn't sleep much last night. Maybe an hour, two at most. He kept texting you with praise and soothing words, telling you to turn off the light and rest. But how could you turn off the light when he was watching you, and every shadow felt like it was looming closer? How could you rest when your heart kept pounding with adrenaline? 

You don't know how much longer your body can function without sleep, with barely any food and under constant stress. But the truth is, you can't even bring yourself to worry about those things when the real terror hides behind creepy texts. 

And there are still three more days before Zoro returns. 

Trying to ignore the dread in your stomach or the way your breath leaves your mouth in shaky exhales, you open the front door, bracing yourself for anything. 

But there's nothing. 

A longer and much more relieved exhale empties your lungs, and you feed the animals before rushing to your car. The farm feels eerily silent, as if the animals can sense all the apprehension coursing through you. 

And they probably do. 

You drive a little faster than you should on the way to the store and as you park the car and exit with rushed movements, new texts greet you, and you grimace in consternation 

Unknown: Slow down, Flash. There's no one following you, don't worry. No one will get near you. 

Right. No one but this creep, whoever he is. There's no need to worry at all. 

Fear induces hurry, and you take little care in picking the prettiest vegetables or the plumpest fruits. You just want to grab your essentials, and get out. Rush home, and lock yourself in until Zoro returns and you can find some solace in his arms. 

Is that too much to ask? 

“Well, hello there, gorgeous. I see you're all alone today.”

Oh, no, no, no. 

“Hi, yes, I'm in a hurry, excuse me.” It's the store clerk who flirted with you when you returned. And his advances are especially unwelcome today. Even more so since Zoro isn't around to pretend to be your boyfriend. 

He places an arm on your cart, a cheeky smirk in his lips and you suppress a groan as his hand inches closer to touch yours. “I'll help you. What do you need? Besides my number?” He chuckles and now it's the urge to roll your eyes you suppress. 

You feel a faint vibration in your pocket and push the cart forward as you decide to ignore it. “I really don't need your help, thank you.” 

“Are you sure?” You nod and try to push past him again, but his hand moves, gripping your forearm instead of the cart. “Because I can be very… serviceable.”

Hell, no. 

A loud crash from the next aisle - that sounds like broken jars - echoes through the store, and the clerk groans. “Not the pickles, come on. They stink up the place!” He releases your arm with frustration, and you seize the opportunity to slip away, grab the rest of your essentials, and cash out. 

Your nerves are frayed to the breaking point, and all you want is to curl up and disappear. 

It's not until you finally get home, unload the groceries and lock the door, that you look at the unread texts on your phone. 

Unknown: Who does he think he is?  Unknown: He dares flirt with you? He dares TOUCH you? You're mine!  Unknown: Don't worry, Kitten, I won't let him bother you again. 

No! Oh, no!

A quick online search shows you the phone number of the grocery store and you're fast to dial it, your foot tapping the floor impatiently as guilt gnaws at your insides. 

You can't let anyone else get hurt because of you. It's not fair. Not fair at all. 

Someone picks up at the third ring and it's an older female voice. It's not him. You try your best to describe the clerk you wish to speak to and, thank God it's a small town, because the woman on the line knows who you're talking about and calls him. 

The phone buzzes in your ear and you glance at the text while you're waiting. 

Unknown: How selfless of you, Kitten, trying to save him.  Unknown: You can't, though, you know? 

“Hello?” He sounds pissed. 

“Hi! Oh, thank God. Are you okay?” You collapse into a kitchen chair, your legs wobbly all of a sudden. 

“Who is this?”

“Right! Sorry! Uh… I’m uh… The girl you were talking to earlier? Erm… The one you offered to help?”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “The gorgeous one? Yeah, I remember you. Guess you really needed my number, then.”

Bzzzz.

Unknown: He's gone, Kitten. Might as well say goodbye now. Nobody touches what's mine. 

“Good! Listen, you're in danger.” Your voice falters as you think about how crazy you must sound. How delusional. “I can't tell you much, but someone might try to harm you. Don't ask me how I know, I just do! Please don't leave the store alone! And go to the cops, please!”

There's a moment of silence on the line and you hope he's considering your words, listening to the faint edge of fear on your voice, something that shows him reason. 

“Wow���” He's not convinced. “This has got to be the most elaborate excuse anyone’s used to get me to back off.” He chuckles again, but this time in disbelief. “Listen, I get it, okay? I'll back off. You're not interested. I won't try again.”

“No, no, wait! That's not what I–”

“Don't worry, miss. I got it.” He sighs. “I got to go, some asshole spilled the whole aisle of pickles and that shit’s already spilling to the other aisles. Er… Bye, I guess.”

And he ends the call. You hold the phone to your ear, ignoring the beeping signaling the end of the call. This can't be happening. It can't. Someone will get hurt again because of you. 

You drop the phone, and it slips to the floor with a thud, your fingers threading through your hair and gripping tight. The walls feel closer now, the air thinner. You're alone. You're frightened. You're vulnerable.

And you will be responsible for another terrible crime. 

-*-

The chores that could be postponed, got postponed. Those that couldn't, got done half-heartedly. It will have to do. At least until Zoro comes back and you can rely on him. 

You miss him. You need him. So, so much. 

As per usual, you lock the door tightly and double-check all the other locks on the back doors and windows, though you haven't touched those since this whole ordeal started. Everything's locked, and though apprehension still grips your heart tightly, you feel as safe as you're going to feel for now. 

He won't get into your home. You're safe inside. 

You still rush up the stairs and lock yourself in your bedroom, lights on and covers pulled up to your chin. 

After you've settled, and after you've made sure there's nothing hiding in the shadows or inside your closet, you unlock your phone, skim through the new set of texts: ‘You're mine’, ‘Sleep tight’, ‘Drink water and get some rest’, and then open the website of the local newspaper again, dreading the time when you'll see the store clerk's picture or some reference to him. 

It dawns on you that you don't even know his name. 

And yet, you're going to be the one to blame for whatever gruesome thing that happens to him. Should you go confess to the cops? 

No… You can't. He doesn't let you go to the police, you got that message loud and clear: if you do that, somebody else will get hurt. And maybe next time it could be one of your friends. Or you. 

A shaky inhale leaves your lips as a new set of tears threatens to fall. How do you have more tears to cry? How are you still hanging on? How long will you last without fully breaking? 

-*-

Like all the other nights, you eventually give in to exhaustion and fall asleep for a few hours. Except this time, the events from the day before are still pretty fresh in your mind, so the first thing you do is grab your phone - no new texts. Yet. - and open the newspaper website. 

Nothing. 

A relieved sigh empties your lungs, and you actually manage a small smile. Maybe this person, this stalker, is all bark and no bite. 

Though even as you think this, you know you're wrong. He's very vicious. Rob Lucci, the dead animals… You feel he's capable of terrible things. But maybe, just maybe, this time he was just bluffing. 

Bzzzz. 

No. No. No. 

It's a picture. 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: I always follow through on my threats, Kitten. 

And then there's an address. 

No. It's your fault again. You know you shouldn't open the picture, you already know it's gruesome, you already know you'll regret it, and yet… 

You still open it. 

The shop clerk is blindfolded and tied up with intricate knots, the rope is binding his chest, his legs, his arms. His face is swollen and barely recognizable. There's blood everywhere. And his hands… They're detached from his body, hanging on his neck like a necklace and holding a paper with a bloody note: Nobody touches what's mine. 

-*-

You used the address to make an anonymous tip to the police. You didn’t even know you could do that online, but apparently, there are specific websites that offer that anonymous service. 

You can’t bear to look at the picture one more time, but you hope he’s still alive. All he did was talk to you. Just like Rob Lucci. 

They aren’t guilty of any other crime. And that’s why you feel so responsible for what happened to them. 

The urge to tell Zoro all that’s been happening is stronger than ever, but then there’s a nagging feeling at the back of your mind telling you that if the stalker managed to do this to men who only flirted with you, what could he do to Zoro, someone you’re actually interested in?

You know Zoro is a cop, and you know he can take care of himself, but still… 

You fear for his safety more than you fear your own.

And that is terrifying.

-*-

Shanks called and said he and Beckman are having a wonderful time, and business is blooming. Some of your father’s best horses have already been selected by breeders, so, unfortunately, Shanks is going to have to prolong his stay for at least three more weeks. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell him how alone and terrified you felt. So instead, you feigned happiness that all was going well for him and told him he could stay for as long as he wanted because you had everything under control. 

Lies, after lies, after lies. 

The rest of the week passes in a haze. You barely sleep, hardly eat, and are in a constant state of stress and nerves. The only time you leave the house is to feed the animals and clean the stables. And even then, there are times you manage to ask Ace for help, pretending to feel sick. 

The rest of the time is spent curled up, frightened, and being constantly harassed over text by this creep.

You’ve been wracking your brain as to who he is, but you have no idea. Absolutely no idea. And the fact that he could be some random person might even be scarier than if he were someone you know. 

Friday finally arrives, and as you down your third mug of coffee of the morning, sitting iyour couch, your phone rings. And this time you’re actually happy to see the name on the screen.

It’s Zoro.

But as you’re about to answer, the call disconnects suddenly. Did he hang up?

Bzzzz.

No. He didn’t. 

Unknown: Remember, Kitten, don’t tell him anything. You don’t want to see the cop pinned to your door next, do you?

Zoro calls again, and once more, the call dies before you pick it up. 

Unknown: You know by now that I don’t make idle threats. You do not want to see me mad, Kitten. I don’t want to hurt your friends because I don’t want to see you sad, but I will hurt him. 

Zoro calls again, and still you have no time to answer. 

“Shit!” You almost sob. “I won’t tell him anything… I won’t…” You mutter to yourself, tears already gathering at the corner of your eyes as the feeling of being trapped and alone overpowers you. 

This time, when Zoro tries again, you manage to pick up. 

“Hey, Troublemaker! What the hell is wrong with that damned phone?”

God, oh God, you missed him so much. His strong voice, his confident demeanour, the way that just hearing him speak to you makes you feel instantly safer.

It’s too much.

Too much.

You try to keep the tears and the sobs at bay, but you can’t. “Zo…” You sniffle, and it’s clear that he immediately stands at attention on the other side of the line.

“What’s wrong, Trouble? Talk to me. I’m still heading home, I’m about two hours away. What’s wrong?”

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Kitten… don’t disappoint me. 

“Nothing!” A wet, shaky laugh climbs up your throat, and you bring your knees to your chest, trying to feel smaller. “I’ve just been feeling lonely this week. Nami and Robin have been busy, I don’t want to bother Kaya and Usopp. Luffy is busy at the fire station, and… and… I’ve missed you so, so much… I’m such a crybaby, I’m sorry.”

Is this enough?

Silence stretches, and all that you hear on the other line is the sound of cars and chatter from his coworkers. “I’ve missed you too, Trouble.” At least his worry is hidden behind a semblance of softness. It might’ve been enough. “Are you sure that’s it?”

Another excuse, quick.

“Yeah… I mean, my dad just called saying he has to be away for more weeks than he initially thought, I guess that I also miss him…”

Zoro chuckles softly, and you sigh in relief. 

“You’re an emotional mess today, Trouble.”

You laugh softly and sniff, your hand cleaning the remnants of your tears from your cheeks. 

“I guess I am.”

“Well, Nami texted me earlier, saying the gang’s going to meet at Robin’s. Are you coming?”

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. You don’t want to put any of them in danger, but you don’t think you can spend more time alone inside a locked house. You need your friends, you need Zoro…

“Yeah, I guess.”

“See you soon, then?”

You hum, and before you can say anything else, the call ends again. Did he hang up? Was it the service? Or… maybe you should think about changing phones…

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Such a good girl, Kitten. I knew you could do it.  Unknown: I hope you think of me at the gathering later. I do want you to have fun, you know? But remember…  Unknown: Behave, Kitten. You do not want to see me angry. I don’t want to have to punish you.

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000

[wingedshadowfan]

A loving relationship where she was struck by caitlyn's rifle without hesitation when she didnt want a child to witness/ get accidently shot. Vi's identity/ past trauma with prison and enforcers put in the back burner just for her to reclaim by going down on her knees after self harming in the very same cell moments before. Clearly she is not in a right state of mind.

thanks for the ask!

i'm not sure if your problem is w/ what i said, w/ what caitlyn and/or vi did, w/ caitvi as a concept or w/ the choices of the writers of arcane - i am just a fan who agrees w/ their vision in this specific regard and i obv have no control over their work, but let me address this piece by piece anyway:

"she was struck by caitlyn's rifle without hesitation when she didn't want a child to witness/get accidentally shot" is true but it's also ignoring the larger context of what happened and why it happened, which i've discussed before, but many others i've interacted w/ on here have as well, perhaps even more extensively, but the short answer: caitlyn was very much not in her right mind either. she hallucinated jinx before that, she fought sevika for her life, she was in an extremely high pressure situation and didn't seem to be registering what vi was telling her (vi was also abt to get her brains blown out by isha) before she physically interfered, the vents almost blew them away, and ofc let's not forget jinx is a thing of caitlyn's nightmares. we can clearly see caitlyn repeatedly hit the wall w/ her rifle and put her forehead to it after the fight is over?? is that normal headspace behavior to you? she tries to leave and remove herself from the argument w/ vi (in which vi likens her to her mother(and coworlers)'s killer and her torturer), vi catches her arm to stop her, and that's when caitlyn snaps and hits her - literal fight or flight (for the vi defenders: you may also see how this mirrors what happened between vi and powder, and perhaps even between vander and silco if you think age should've been a factor in these circumstances, and not trauma triggered by/mixed in w/ intense emotions)

"vi's identity/past trauma with prison and enforcers put in the back burner just for her to reclaim [by having lesbian sex in a prison cell]" this isn't jinx hate but who locked vi in that cell again, bcuz i thought your issue was w/ caitvi's loving relationship? how is the sex scene happening in the prison cell caitlyn's fault or her choice when vi clearly initiates it and remains in the cell after caitlyn unlocked it? not to mention this happening there is symbolical to their first meeting and a metaphor for how vi has always been caged by the identity of the protector until she was let out by the only person she loved that she never had to protect/feel that same responsibility for. furthermore, vi doesn't talk abt her prison trauma and the first person she opens up to abt her past who actually listens and gives her compassion is caitlyn. close enough. caitlyn who, at her lowest as commander, forbids the use of the kind of cell vi was kept in. besides, i don't know what you wanted caitlyn to do differently in that moment: she came, she unlocked the door, she noticed vi's knuckles, she walked in and stood next to vi, she tried to make a joke to distract vi from her self-deprecating spiral (and in doing so she basically admitted how well she knows vi, that she accepts her the way she is, and how much her actions were motivated by her love for her), she clearly didn't expect vi to forgive her, let alone decide to kiss her right there, in that moment so it's not like she planned it to or had a say in the circumstances. and yes, perhaps vi reclaimed something, be it her prison trauma or her ability to make choices for herself and put her own needs first, for once without running after others to protect them and take responsibility for their actions

"going down on her knees" there's not many other ways to give oral to a woman standing up without anything to sit/lie down on and if you see pleasing your partner (not just by choice, but eagerly even) this way as inherently demeaning, degrading or "dirty work" that puts you below your partner in your power dynamics, then irdk what to tell you other than maybe get checked for misogyny and/or lesbophobia?? (a post abt this here)

"after self harming in the very same cell moments before" why do you think she self harmed? she basically had only two people left: she thought she'd lost jinx (that she'd ran away like before and didn't want to be found bcuz she didn't want to help, not necessarily that she was going to off herself) and that she'd lost caitlyn by letting jinx out - vi says very clearly exactly what she's blaming herself for, and when caitlyn unlocks the cell, she walks in with vi. ofc caitlyn doesn't have any prison trauma, but this is a very clear show-not-tell that she believes her place is next to vi if that's what vi wants. and she proceeds to (imo by making a bad joke that she believes is funny lol) tell vi that she facilitated vi's choice to free jinx, aka that she implicitly trusted vi and her judgement, that she understood and accepted that vi would keep choosing family, that she was ready to let go of her revenge and atone for her mistakes - and we can see the effect of this realization on vi's face in real time. vi realizes she hasn't lost everyone, she still has caitlyn, the old caitlyn - from before her trauma, anger and grief swallowed her

"clearly she is not in a right state of mind" much can be said abt whether she was or not bcuz she'd been stabbed so badly it took 3 doctors to patch her up and i assume she'd been in a coma/asleep for at least a few days, jinx had just locked her in a cell and ran away again (traumatic on multiple levels), she thought she'd lost caitlyn too, that she was only there to goad her and say she told her so, etc (caitlyn has been consistently defying vi's expectations since they first met lol) and i can argue that what caitlyn did and told her neutralized/put many of those factors into perspective for her but even if you don't care for my analysis on why what vi did was in character and not a moment of insanity (albeit maybe impulse): vi stayed. she could've left forever if she'd realized she'd just been impulsive or high off her meds or whatever during the prison scene and she didn't actually love caitlyn or want to stay w/ her. but she was there w/ mel, jayce and caitlyn during battle strategizing, she fought in the war, and remained next to caitlyn in the aftermath. i think that's a loving relationship??

[narcissistichedonist]

when she’s sitting beside me on the crowded train, knees pressed together, hands fidgeting in her lap because she knows what is to come

"relax, sweetheart. no one knows... yet."

letting my hand drift under her pretty coat, fingers playfully tapping along the hem of her frilly skirt, feeling the way she tenses, a soft whimper barely caught in her throat

"hmm, look at you. squirming already. are you that needy, or just that pathetic ?"

slipping beneath the thin fabric, finding her soaked, desperate, trembling against my touch. feeling her thighs clench tight, her breath hitching as i press two fingers inside her without warning

"shhh, don't make a scene now. you'd hate that, wouldn't you? or maybe you wouldn't..."

curling my fingers just right, dragging slow, deliberate strokes inside her, watching her bite her lip, eyes darting nervously around the train car, hoping no one notices how she's falling apart right in their midst

"such a good girl, taking it so well. you'd be proud of yourself if you weren’t so fucking easy."

leaning in close, lips brushing against her ear, gently whispering the filth she craves—how she's mine, how i own every inch of her, how she'd let me do this anywhere, anytime, because she's just that good for me

"so obedient, letting me use you like this, not that you ever had a choice. i bet you'd cum if i told you to, wouldn't you?"

picking up the pace, fucking her right there, fingers relentlessly rubbing her clit and nipples, driving her to the edge as she struggles to keep her composure. offering her my shoulder to muffle her lustful moans

"there we go, sweetheart. let go for me. show everyone what a perfect little toy you are."

watching her unravel, trembling against me, her face flushing deep with shame and something even sweeter—relief.

"good girl. you did so well for me. see? no one even noticed... or maybe they did."

pulling my hand away, tucking my fingers into her mouth, making her clean up every bit of her wet mess, her beautiful eyes wide, obedient, shining with something so beautifully desperate

"next time, we might not be so subtle, but i'm sure you can handle it my darling doll."

[jareaul0ver]

I love you, I'm Sorry

wc: 978 warnings: angsty but a happy ending! pairings: nika muhl x fem!reader

A/N: omg im actually posting?? don't get used to this i go back to school soon and probably wont post anything til either spring break or the summer

Two Years Ago

You were pacing around your apartment, waiting for Nika to come over like she said she would.

Nika's been your unofficial girlfriend for a while, but you never put a label on what you had.

But she was leaving for the W soon, and you either wanted all or nothing with her.

A few minutes into your pacing, there was a knock on the door. You walked over and opened it, seeing Nika's smiling face. "You wanted to talk?" She said.

You nodded and invited her in. "Do you want anything to drink? Coffee or tea?"

Nika shook her head and sat down on your couch. "I'm okay, thank you."

A small sigh left your body as you went over and sat down, leaving a bit of space between the two of you just in case everything went south.

"What's this about?" She asked cautiously.

You took a deep breath and leaned back into the couch a little. "You're leaving soon, and-"

"That doesn't mean this has to end, if that's where you're going with this," Nika interjected.

A small frustrated sigh left your lips. "What even is this, Nika? Are we girlfriends? Or just casually fucking?" She stayed silent and you just scoffed. "It's your choice, either we put a label on this, or I'm done."

The last thing Nika wanted was to completely lose you, but she didn't like the ultimatum you were giving her. "That's not fair, I need to focus on basketball-"

"And just lead me on the whole time? Have me thinking we could be something more, even though we never will be?" You tried to keep your voice steady, but it was getting difficult.

She sighed and stood up. "I- I'm sorry, but I can't do this," she said before grabbing her things and walking to the door.

You stood up and watched her. She was so ready to leave, no hesitation. "So that's it then? You're just leaving?"

Nika's jaw twitched and she stared at you for a moment. "I"m sorry," she mumbled before opening the door and leaving, letting it close behind her.

You forced your eyes away from the door and looked out the window, watching the May atmosphere warming up the world, but it felt so cold in your apartment without Nika.

It hadn't been that long since Nika left for the W, and everyone already loved her. She charmed everyone she met, other players, fans, the media.

It's like she trained herself, got lessons on how to be a people person. She never was before. She was always polite, but kept to herself.

Except around you. You always were able to break down her walls and see what was really going on with her, how she really was.

But now you see this people pleaser on TV and social media, and all you can do is complain to your friends about it.

Two Summers from Now

After a while, you had managed to get over Nika. Well, more so over what happened with her.

You'd always have a soft spot for the girl, she saw you and supported you at your worst, and you could never stop loving her because of it.

It was ironic. You were about to head out to Seattle to visit some friends, and Nika was about to get on a plane back to Storrs to see her friends.

At this moment, you broke no contact with her. You sent her a text, hoping she didn't have you blocked, or that she didn't change her number.

You were a little surprised to see an answer from her short after you sent the message. The two of you ended up talking about life, realizing that just maybe, you could be cool with her.

She gave you some advice about Seattle, and you let her know how excited the other UConn girls would be to see her again.

The next few days went by in a blur. You were in Seattle, taking in the scenery, leaning out the window of your hotel and having a drink.

I love you, I'm Sorry

You were still in Seattle. You didn't realize that Nika had messaged your friends, asking what hotel you were at and your room number.

She came back early, and she wanted needed to see you before you left. She wanted to attempt to fix things.

Nika's feelings for you never left. She knew that she reacted badly when you told her what you wanted, and she wasn't sure that she could forgive herself for walking away so easily.

But she at least needed you to know that she still loved you.

At about 10pm that night, there was a knock on your hotel door. You looked over in confusion before getting up from your bed and walking over.

You opened the door, and it was like everything from the past few years came flooding back. "Nika?" You invited her inside. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to say sorry for everything. For the way I reacted back then, I was a dick about it, and you didn't deserver any of it," she said.

You were speechless, so she took it as her que to keep going. "I was the worst, and every time I go for a drive I think about the ones we used to take to clear our heads. I swear, it haunts me-" She cleared her through.

"Nika-" You said, but she cut you off.

"I still love you, I'm sorry." The words fell from her lips so effortlessly, you couldn't help but want to give in and see where it led.

So you did. You caved and rushed up to her, pressing your lips against hers.

It lasted for a few seconds before you rested your forehead against hers. "I love you, and I'm sorry, too."