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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

Text

One and Only

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You meet your biggest fan.

Based on response: She’s famous & he’s a stalker fan? 1940s au?

Characters: Bucky Barnes

This is #1 of the Valentines Roulette stories

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

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“I’m sending the script this afternoon, honey,” Gerald promises through the speaker. You hold the receive to your ear and suppress a sigh. It’s a blessing that he can’t see your expression. ‘Honey.’

“Sure thing, Ger,” you reply as you try to peer through the foggy glass pane. What a miserable February.

“Screen tests start Monday,” he intones, as if you’ve not done this before. What number is this? You signed a contract for ten pictures, this is number seven of the lot. You cannot wait to shop around for a new studio.

“Yes, Ger,” you answer dully. “See ya then.”

“Three o’clock. There about,” he girds.

“I’ll be around. Monday, then, Ger.”

“Monday, honey.”

You hang up. You arch your brow as your lips move with the retort you’re under terms and conditions not to say. ‘If you want honey, Gerald, go find a hive.’ You sigh to your content and adjust your rob beneath the satin belt cinched around your waist.

There’s a knock at the door. You look at the clock in its ivory frame. It must be the mailman. You answer and accept his bundle. Some from those who watch your pictures and a letter from your sister. You shuffle through them and leave them scattered over the kitchen table.

You pace. You’d hoped to have that script early. You might not be very happy with the films they’ve put you on but learning lines at least keeps your mind busy.

As you sweep through the entryway, your satin robe catches the air and sends a breeze around the space. There’s a scuff along the hardwood that snags on the tassled corner of the rug. You must’ve dropped it when you took the handful from the mailman.

You bend to pluck up the scrap of paper, folded in a tight square. When you untuck the corner, it forms a sort of accordion. You carefully unfold it, careful not to tear it. You reveal its sparse contents.

The crosshatch of an inky nib has formed an image. One you vaguely recognise as yourself. The war feels like ages ago though it only just ended. It’s back to business as usual. No more tours through Europe, no more riding in cargo bays with the prettied up dances. Everything is all so dull these days.

In the hastily scratched portrait, your hair is painfully twisted into victory rolls and the military cap pinned at just the right angle. You remember the soldiers, the worn gray palour and dark circles, the tatters in their uniforms as the complained for drawing lines up their legs to mimic the nylon these men needed to jump out of planes.

You examine the torn edge and a few blots of ink and some other dark hue. There’s a scrawl in the corner. Loopy writing; ‘Happy Valentines. Only you on my mind. JBB’. Those messages are not unexpected. You are thankful for your admirers if not at time, perturbed by their assumptions of familiarity. Yet, you’ve chose the studio lights and camera lenses. It comes with the territory.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It’s three o’clock. Bucky’s watch is set, tightly strapped to his right wrist. Out of habit, he looks to the left and finds nothing. His shoulder is itchy where his muscles should tug but there’s nothing there. Just a pinned sleeve and frustration.

He clears his throat and keeps the thick bound folder under his arm. The boy gave him no trouble, asked no questions. I’m the porter, kid, I’ll see it to her. No need to go bothering the lady.

He marches down the winding stone walk. His car is near the sprawl of pine. He misses his motorcycle but he can’t figure how to steer it with one hand. Even the steering wheel gives him a bit of trouble.

He presses his arm tighter to the script as he approaches the stoop. There’s a round stone platform before the door that forms steps up to the entrance. Moulds of ancient Greek statues stand in small alcoves beneath the lights on either side of the door frame.

He stops before the door and bends his head as he tries to fix his hair. He shaved for this. It’s been a while. He spent long with the scissors, clipping through the shanks than he did with the razor. That’s another thing that’s harder. He struggled to get just the right angle around the left side of his jaw. There’s a nick there.

He straightens up and stares at the arched door. He needs to knock. He has to step close and batters his knuckles on the wood. He backs up and looks down. He hasn’t worn a suit since he came home. They made him do it as they shouted ‘victory’ in the streets.

He waits. No answer. He looks around. She has a bell. He shifts around then uses his nose to press it. Damn arm.

He fixes his posture and smiles, then quickly wipes it away. You don’t want to look strange. No, not like some of the men they took off the lines. They got that glassy look. Some of them couldn’t do anything but laugh or cry.

Her shadow darkens under the door before she opens it. She’s surprised by him. She bats her long lashes. They are naked, like the rest of her face. He’s just as stunned to see her in her natural form. No cosmetics, all her. She’s even more gorgeous.

“Oh, I was expecting Stuart,” she greets him. “Pardon,” she tries to fix her hair. She wears a satin robe and slippers with feathers. “You have it?”

She gestures to the script. He looks down at it and slides it down to his hands. He examines the cover.

“Uh, yes, ma’am, miss,” he forgets everything he meant to say. All those lines he rehearsed in the dark theatre. The script he wrote when he lay restless in his bed.

“Thank you, sir,” she reaches for it. He hesitates to hand it over.

“I saw you. In the Hague,” he says as she latches onto the spine. He doesn’t let go.

She looks at him. She has a serene look on her face, even as her eyes wander down to his pinned sleeve. She almost seems to brighten.

“With the company?” She asks. “You saw me on stage?”

“You’re real funny, miss,” he bounces on his heels. “Charming.”

“Well, it’s the least I could do for your men. You gave so much,” she keeps a hold of the script.

He looks at his left shoulder then at her.

“Some things were taken,” he grumbles.

She blanches, “pardon me, sir, I didn’t mean--”

“I just wanted to say,” he overrides her apology. She doesn’t need to be sorry. “When I was in the medic’s tent, all those weeks, it was you. You got me through. I saw ya in the magazines. They were old, you know? Don’t get them hot off the press in the field.”

“Sure,” she utters, he feels the tension in the folder as she tries to wiggle it away. “What’s your name, sir?”

“James,” he answers. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

She smiles, “that’s a lovely name. I do appreciate you coming to give me this. And for everything else.”

He lets go of the folder. He expected more. She might invite him in for a drink. He did lose a fucking arm so the ladies could keep their precious slippers and robes. And he came all the way down her to give her that lump of papers.

“You have a good day, sir,” she slowly inches the door forward.

Where are her goddamn manners?

He slaps his hand against the door and she squeaks in fright. He keeps her from closing it in his face. He cleaned himself up nice for her, he sent her a letter. He’s sent her at least a hundred. He signed them all JBB. She knows him.

So why is she trying to shut him out?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stumble back as the man shoves the door out of your grasp. You gasp and the grip the script with both hands, like a shield. He steps inside calmly.

“James,” you say his name, “what are you doing?”

“The least you can do is ask me in, doll,” he snarls. The sudden shift in his demeanour fills you with dread.

“No, James, I did not. You need to leave--”

He swings the door shut and marches toward you. You raise the script and bring it forward, aiming it at him in a desperate attempt to fend him off. He knocks it away easily. He's strong. Still a soldier even in street clothes.

“James,” you hold your palms up helplessly, “please, forgive me if I’ve--”

“Shhhh,” he reaches between your hands and grabs you by the jaw. “I just... I want to... did you get my letters?”

“Letters?” You gulp, writhing in his hold as you gently touch his forearm. “Well, James, I get many letters--”

“I write to you every day,” he hisses. “It’s me. JBB.”

“James,” you murmur.

“Stop saying my name,” he sneers.

You shut your mouth, your lip poking out as it trembles. You stare at him, petting his sleeve, hoping you can calm him. The war changed a lot of men. It stole a lot of them too.

“I just... I love you, doll. You got me through. You kept me breathing,” he growls as he walks her backward. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

You whimper, “why don’t you let me go and I’ll pour you a drink?”

He stops and his brows pinch together. He looks to his left, where your liquor cabinet stands in the dining room. Where your phone is...

“No,” his eyes flick back to you. “No, I don’t drink.”

He pushes you until your heels meet the bottom stair. Your right slipper falls off and he tips you over the incline. You fall beneath him as he follows you down. You push on his chest and wriggle.

He straddles you beneath him as he looks you up and down. His knees are on the step by your hips, his heels two down. You brace the sharp edge and whine.

“James...”

He hushes you as his thumb rubs beneath your cheekbone. He stares at your body, his chest rising and falling heavily. You push yourself down into the stairs.

“Open your robe,” he demands.

Your lip quivers violently as you bat back tears. You do as he says. You unknot the belt and slowly draw it open. You tug the satin apart and reveal your silky nightgown. The fabric cling to you like water.

He shudders as his jaw squares. He bites his lip and shifts over you. He leans in slowly and your eyes meet as he gets closer. They are blue and deep like the ocean. You shiver as his nose touches yours.

He exhales and brushes his lips against yours.

“Show me the bedroom,” he growls.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He lets her up cautiously. She steadies her feet and turns up the staircase. She limps up, click, clap, click, clap. He bends to pick up her slipper and follows.

As she reaches the top, he stops her with her name. She pauses. He gets down and she doesn’t react until he shows her slipper. She puts her foot through. He stands and points her onward.

He couldn’t climb to see through the bedroom window. He only ever saw the first floor. She hugs herself as her robe flutters around her figure. She opens the door at the end of the hall. She steps back to let him through and he tuts.

He makes her go in first. She enters and sweeps around, far from him. He elbows the door shut. She cowers by the wall as he strides around.

There’s a phone beside the bed. He grabs it and yanks it free of the cord. Her slippers suddenly click in a flurry. He drops the phone and catches her at the door. He crushes her against it so it snaps back into the frame.

“Doll, don’t be doin’ all that,” he warns as he pinches her neck and urges her away from the door. She whimpers and he turns her to face the bed, “robe off.”

He lets her go. She pulls away and drags his hands down her neck. She shyly pushes the robe from her shoulders and peels it off her body. The silk nightgown swathes her perfectly. Her shape is so full and soft.

She drapes the robe over the bedpost and shies away. He clucks and snaps his fingers.

“Doll,” he looks down at himself. He has the whole getup. Jacket, vest, tie, shirt. All for her. “Need your help.”

She faces him. Her eyes glimmer like gems. She watches his hand smooth down his jacket and he unbuttons it.

She nears him. She smells like vanilla. She brings her hands up. They shake. She must be excited. How could she not be? Finally, they’re together.

He grabs his lapels and guides the jacket back. She’s tender with the folded sleeve and tickles his hemmed shirt beneath. She carries the jacket to the seat by her vanity and returns to him. He can see her pulse in her throat, it’s going just as fast as his.

She unbuttons his vest and slips it off him. Her touch is soothing. Then she undoes his tie, her fingers brushing his throat. She unveils him, piece by piece, as his stomach clenches and unclenches.

She stalls as she gets to his trousers. Her fingers twiddle just before the button.

“It’s your first time,” he drawls. “Dont’ gotta be shy, doll.”

She looks at him and swallows. She nods stiffly then puts her eyes down. The unplucks the front of his pants. He can make it nice for her.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

First time...

Nope. You won’t say you haven’t made mistakes. Still, you won’t chance angering this man. Not more than you already have. You can keep up the act if it pays off. Not in money this time, no, your life.

You stand back as he’s naked before you. Your wipe your damp palms on your nightie. He hangs his head. You can’t help but stare at his scars. The tortured flesh around his shoulder that extends onto his chest. Looks like a burn.

His eyes startle you. You meet them. He steps closer.

“Your turn,” he growls.

You look down and reach for the thin lace straps of the night gown. You slide them down and shimmy the silken sheath down your figure. Your chest peeks over and he inhales audibly. As you push the fabric past your hips, he groans.

Your eyes wander up for an instant. He's hard, bobbing shamelessly as he nears. All at once, he herding you back against the bed. You fall over the foot and bounce on the mattress.

He crushes you. He kisses your lips then your cheek, smearing saliva across your face with his frantic hunger. You close your eyes and go rigid as you let him do what he pleases.

His voice escapes him like silt. He nuzzles and nips along your throat. He shifts onto his side and feels up and down your torso. He fondles your tits and his mouth trails his touch. He seals his lips around your nipple, swirling his tongue around and around.

He hooks his leg around yours. He pulls your thighs apart and his hand traces down your stomach and pelvis. He slips his middle finger between your lips and strums at your clit. You tense and twitch as your nerves stir.

Your breath hitches as he rubs firmly. You turn your head and bite your knuckle as a moan escapes you. You arch your back as the sparks turn to a flame. You shake through your orgasm as he drags you through it.

He pushes another finger between your folds. He rubs up and down, smearing your juices around as he hum. He lifts his head and nuzzles your cheek.

“Kiss me, doll.”

You pull your hand away and press your lips to his. His tongue delves into your mouth as his fingers slide into your cunt. He growls and smothers you as he rocks your pelvis. The heel of his hand rests against your clit and your toes curl as you writhe. You bend your legs as he lights another fire in you.

He tilts his hips, rubbing his cock on your leg as he humps you in time with his fingers. Your walls squeeze and tremour and your climax again. You whine into his mouth and he drinks it in.

He drags his fingers free and wipes your pleasure on your thighs. He parts from your mouth and heaves himself onto his knees. He kneels between your legs and traces the curves of your body with his hand.

“Doll, please, you put me in,” he orders. “Be careful, don’t wanna hurt you.”

You reach down without hesitation. You want this over with. You just hope he leaves after.

You grab his cock and angle it down against your cunt. You flinch as his tip brushes your clit and you push him further back. You line him up with your entrance and he shakes. He grunts as he tenses and inches into you.

He grits his teeth and exhales through his nose as he impales you. You constrict around him. He’s big enough to make your walls ache. He leans over you, planting his hand next to your head, and thrusts until he’s buried to his limit.

You slap your palm against his chest and puff out through your locked jaw. You quake around him as he pulls back. His eyes fall to the crux of your bodies as he watches himself push into you again. You dig your nails into his skin.

He snarls and bends his arm, holding himself on his elbow. He covers your mouth with his once more and rolls his hips. You whine and nearly gag around his tongue. He pumps again and again. You press against his sides as you squeeze him between your thighs.

The bed shakes as his rhythm picks up. You push on his stomach and thigh, begging him silently to be nicer. He doesn’t heed your pleas. You give in to the ravaging of your body as he ruts wildly. You hook your hand around his bicep and clamp down to keep from biting his tongue.

Just a bit more and it will end. Almost there. Almost free... right?

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #valentines roulette #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #1940s!Bucky #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america #winter soldier #one shot

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milunalupin · 2 days ago

Note

❤️ with the prompt “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.” please!! thank you nicole ily <3

my lovely lovely san happy valentine's day !! thank you for the request ily so much <3

— do you wanna know a secret ?

remus lupin x reader ♥︎ 845 words

The air in the common room was thick with the excitement of Valentine’s Day. Some students were exchanging notes, others were planning for the dance that night, and a few were simply enjoying the sugary sweets scattered across the tables. You, however, found yourself hiding in a corner with your textbook, trying to focus on your charms homework. It wasn’t that you disliked the holiday—it just felt like a reminder of what you didn’t have: someone to share it with.

Of course, there was someone you'd like to spend it with. Remus, your best friend who always seemed to know exactly what you needed, whether it was a laugh, a kind word, or just a quiet moment together.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Remus appeared in the doorway of the common room, his messy hair falling over his eyes, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his cardigan. He caught sight of you almost immediately, and that familiar, warm smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that made your heart beat a little faster, but you pushed the feeling away. He was your best friend, and that’s all he could ever be, right?

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

You looked up from your book and tried to smile. “Just, uh, trying to get some work done. You know, not everyone is celebrating Valentine’s Day with a dance or chocolates. I’m just not in the mood for all the… fuss.”

Remus nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “I get it. The whole day just feels like a lot of pressure, doesn’t it?” He sat down next to you, shifting a few of your books to the side. “But, you know… if you want, we could just skip all that and hang out. Maybe take a walk around the lake, or—”

You blinked in surprise, cutting him off. “Wait, Sirius isnt forcing you into another double date?"

Remus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I wasn't really interested in her, it wouldn't have been fun for either of us."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. “Oh,” you said, awkwardly fiddling with a pencil. “Well, you don't have to just sit here with me. I mean, you could always ask someone else…”

“C'mon,” He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “like I need an excuse to spend time with you. Besides, I don’t need anyone else.” His voice softened at the last part, and his eyes lingered on yours just a moment longer than usual.

For a brief moment, the world felt very still. There was something in the way he said it, something in the way he was looking at you, that made your chest tighten. You’d always known Remus as your closest friend, the person who could make you laugh without even trying, the person who always seemed to understand you in ways no one else could. But hearing those words took you by surprise.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah,” you said softly. “A walk sounds nice.”

The two of you left the common room, walking through the nearly empty corridors. The castle seemed quieter than usual, many couples having gone to Hogsmeade to celebrate the holiday. As you reached the entrance hall, Remus turned toward you, his face more serious now, as though he were gathering the courage to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice hesitant. “Maybe I haven't been as obvious as I thought, but.. I care about you, more than I probably let on. And I guess I’ve been wondering if you.. feel the same?”

Your heart raced at his words, the question hanging in the air between you. It was all so sudden, but somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of the moment in your chest. “Remus,” you said softly, “I’ve always cared about you. You’re my best friend.”

There was a pause, and then, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, Remus reached out, gently taking your hand in his. His touch was warm, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“I think I want to be more than that,” he murmured, his thumb lightly brushing over your knuckles.

You felt your breath catch. For a long moment, you just stood there, looking at him, trying to reconcile the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. And then, with a soft laugh, you squeezed his hand.

“I think I want that too,” you said quietly.

Remus smiled, a mixture of relief and happiness in his expression. And just as the first snowflake of the evening drifted down from the sky, he leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead in a tender, quiet kiss—an unspoken promise.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You smiled back, feeling more content than you had in a long time. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Remus.”

#nicole's conversation candies #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader #remus x you #remus imagine

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hyunjins-orange-slice-too · 2 days ago

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i want to use the word ‘love’

pairing: changbin x fem reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers

warnings: crying, breakups, pet names (bun and bubs), very brief mentions of violence, she/her pronouns used, guest appearances by channie and jisung, no smut- just some kissing :)

an: it’s finally here! this is what won the poll and i’m so excited about it. i wanted to post it sooner, but it’s the longest thing ive written in a while and it took some time lol i hope you like it :) happy valentine’s day. you are loved ♡

masterlist

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you waited outside on the curb for him to pick you up. it was just starting to get dark and you could see the sun setting behind the buildings. the concrete was cold on your bare legs, your dress only coming to mid thigh. but you couldn’t stand anymore, your feet throbbing from your shoes. you stared down and the pavement, pushing a pebble around with your finger as you sniffled. you had mostly stopped crying once changbin said he was on his way. your heart was still shattered, but somehow, knowing that he was coming made you feel better. though you were sure you still looked crazy to anyone who may be passing by. if you thought about it too much, how stupid you look and feel, a fresh wave of tears fills your waterline. so you try to think about something else.

you try, and you fail.

all you can think about is his stupid smile. how he made you feel so loved. so.. important. until he invited you to dinner tonight, only to dump you before you had even finished your salad. your eyes welled up again.

“fuck..” you said to yourself, voice watery. you threw the pebble, watched it skitter across the street as a car pulled up and parked a few feet from you. you recognized that car.

the door opened and changbin got out, rushing to your side. “are you okay?” he was crouching next to you, holding you at arms length, assessing you for injuries like you told him you were in a car crash or something. “look at me.” he put his fingers under you chin and turned your face up to him. “oh.. y/n..” his heart broke when he saw your tear stained cheeks, your red puffy eyes and running mascara. he did his best to wipe your tears with his fingers. “what happened?”

you were so relieved to see him. he was the person who was closest to you, the one you would trust with anything. that’s why he was your first thought when you needed someone to come save you. but as comforted as you were by his presence, getting dumped still really hurt. and the tears returned with his question. they spilled down your cheeks and over his fingertips. “he..” you hiccuped. “he dum-dumped me.” you struggled to get the words out, changbins sweet face and thick frame glasses blurring through your watery eyes.

he was suddenly filled with rage. how dare he dump you and then leave you stranded and crying? heartbroken and no way to get home? he wanted to track him down and give him a few swings for treating you this way.

he would never treat you this way

that thought had been crossing his mind recently. every time you found some new loser to date only to be left heartbroken a few weeks later. though, this asshole had lasted the longest, managing to stay around for six or so months. and changbin wanted to beat some sense into him. or just punch him until he felt better. but, you needed him right now. so he pushed aside the thoughts of violence, the thoughts of sticking up for you, the thoughts of treating you the way you deserved to be treated. he pushed all of those thoughts deep down and helped you up off the curb. you stood on shaky legs and he noticed that your feet were bare, your shoes discarded on the sidewalk.

he sighed at your recklessness. he looked at you, and then your shoes on the ground. “my feet hurt..” you said, your voice still broken.

“prince bin?” he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. he bent over and grabbed your shoes, handing them to you. and then he scooped you up. one of his arms behind your shoulders and one of them under your legs, he carried you in his arms and placed you down into the passenger seat of his car, careful not to hit your head. he was used to doing this, though he hadn’t done it in a while. you liked to go out with your friends occasionally, have some drinks, and changbin would always come and scoop you up when you were too wasted to walk to the car. you drunkenly called him a prince one evening, (though he thought you probably meant knight) and the title kind of stuck. he thought ‘prince’ was an apt title, considering the way he held you was technically called a princess carry.

but as changbin started the engine and pulled from the curb, he thought it was more like a.. bridal carry. and that made him smile.

______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______

about a month had passed since that night and not much had changed. you still went on random dates, with random guys, just searching for the one who would make you feel special. the one who would treat you like you were the most important thing in the world. that’s all you wanted. you just wanted to feel loved. to have silly little inside jokes, and hold hands, and have fake arguments about who loves who more. but so far all you’ve found are assholes and idiots. sometimes both at the same time.

“i think im going to take a break from dating.”

changbin rolled his eyes, grabbing the popcorn from the microwave and dumping it into a bowl. he returned back to where you were on the couch, drowning in a fuzzy blanket. “i’ve heard that one before.”

“no, bin, i’m serious this time. fuck all these guys.”

“you say that but you’ll swoon at the next cute guy that looks your way.” he laughed.

“i just want to find my person.” you said, a little defensive. “there’s nothing wrong with that.”

he immediately felt bad for his comment. he was just kidding. but he knew this was a sensitive topic for you right now. “i know, bubs. i didn’t mean anything. i’m just teasing.”

you let out a loud exhale. “i know, bin. i’m just frustrated with all of it. when will it be my turn? you know?”

he nodded. oh he knew too well. he often had the same thought. when would it be his turn? his turn to take you out. to kiss your cheek. to hold your hand. “you’ll find your person.” he said, looking down at the popcorn. you couldn’t see the sadness in his eyes in the darkly lit room, but you could pick up on his vibe.

“you’ll find your person too, you know.” you said, nudging his large bicep with your elbow. “i know you’ve been single for a long time, and your job is demanding, and it’s difficult with valentine’s day coming up-“

“gee thanks, y/n. you’re really making me feel better.”

you both giggled. “i mean it though!” you smiled. “you’ll find your person. i know it.”

and he smiled back at you, knowing in his heart he had already found his person. he had found you a long time ago. but you hadn’t found him yet.

he threw a piece of popcorn at you. it bounced off your cheek and landed somewhere in the blanket. “hey!” you giggled, reaching for the bowl. but he held it out of your reach. you struggled against him, trying to reach for some retaliation popcorn but it was no use.

“bubs, i don’t know why you’re throwing popcorn.” he teased, laughing. “we’re adults. let’s watch the movie.”

“you were throwing popcorn! not me!” giggling, you returned to your spot, pulling the blanket up around your middle. “i want some popcorn too.” you pouted, pressing play on the movie.

“ah.. see i don’t know if i can trust you not to throw it at me.” he grinned.

“you started it!”

“i don’t recall that.” he smirked. he grabbed a few pieces of popcorn and held them up to your mouth. “open.” he said.

and you didn’t know why, but you felt his words in your tummy. they grew wings and fluttered around, flushing your cheeks. you did as he asked and opened your mouth. he dropped the pieces in and smiled, before facing back toward the movie, shoveling popcorn into his own mouth.

what was that? you wondered. why did that fluster you? you had been best friends with changbin for as long as you can remember. but you don’t remember ever feeling.. flustered around him? of course, you knew he was attractive. the man was so incredibly handsome. there was no denying that. and he was funny and sweet. but you never allowed yourself to go there. never wanting to ruin the friendship you had built with him. but.. this was a new development. you tried to shove it down, tried to forget about it and enjoy your movie night. he held another handful of popcorn up to your lips, dropping them in. you chewed, happily. feeling content but also, warm. his body radiating heat. you scooted a little closer to him, as much as you dared, your knee touching his thigh.

he fed you some more popcorn as he tried not to hyperfixate on where your bodies were touching. he tried to relax, play it cool, but his heart was hammering.

you eventually fell asleep, as you always do during movies, your head falling against changbins shoulder. as the credits rolled he looked down at you, admiring you from this awkward angle. your long eyelashes tickled your cheeks. his hand found yours under the blanket, but he didn’t grab it. didn’t try to interlock your fingers. he just gently brushed his pinky against yours, enjoying the moment. but it didn’t last as long as he would have liked.

you made a confused noise as you stirred awake. you lifted your head from his shoulder, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. your hair was standing up, your cheeks puffy. “did i..” you yawned. “did i fall asleep?”

“you always fall asleep during movies.”

“sorry, bin. i was just so comfortable i guess.” you stretched your arms out in front of you, your lazy gaze looking over at him.

he started at you for a moment, before..

“you’re so cute.”

it just fell out of his mouth. and it wasn’t the worst thing he could have said. it wasn’t a full on love confession, but he definitely said it in a way that suggested he wanted to be more than friends. he internally chastised himself.

the butterflies returned to your tummy, still confusing you. you looked away, out of embarrassment, struggling with these new feelings you were having for your best friend. were they new feelings? or were you just now allowing yourself to feel what you had been feeling all along? you didn’t know.

changbin cleared his throat. “i should get going.” he said. “it’s late. i have practice in the morning and you need some sleep.”

you nodded sleepily, and stood to walk him out. you crossed your arms over you chest, suddenly cold without the blanket or his body heat. you dreaded crawling into your cold bed and the thought crossed your mind that it wouldn’t be so cold if changbin was there with you. you blinked hard, clearing the thought from your brain. at the door, he hugged you like always, mumbling a “g’night bubs.” into your hair.

you waved goodbye to him and latched the door shut behind him. your apartment felt dark and cold and lonely without him. and it made you sad. you pulled yourself in between your ice cold sheets and tried not to think about changbins arms wrapped around you.

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“so you just like, dropped popcorn into her mouth?”

changbin nodded. “yeah and i’m surprised she couldn’t see my hand shaking.” he smiled then, remembering. “you should have seen her face though. she’s never blushed like that because of me.”

“so maybe it’s time to tell her..?” chan sing-songed while tickling changbins sides.

“what if it ruins everything, hyung?”

changbin lounged on the couch in the practice room, his sweat soaked shirt sticking to his body. he took a drink from his water bottle, swatting chan’s hands away, catching his breath.

“it’s time to finally do something.” chan said. “if it doesn’t work out, then you’ll know and can move on. instead of pining over her for the rest of your life, yeah?”

“i guess so.” changbin ran his hands through his hair. “im just so scared.”

“y/n is your best friend. even if she doesn’t feel the same way, she wouldn’t stop being your best friend. she’s not like that.”

changbin nodded. “you’re right. i just need to get on with it.”

he noticed jisung giggling over his phone in the corner and started to ask him what was so funny, but minho called practice back together before he could.

they both stood, chan patted changbin on the back. “you’re seo changbin. you’re spearB! you can do anything.”

changbin scoffed. “that was cheesy, hyung.”

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it was the dreaded day. valentine’s day. you obviously didnt have a boyfriend to spend it with, and you didn’t really have friends to spend it with either. they all had their own relationships. all except for changbin. but with your budding new feelings, you were worried to spend it with him.

but none of that really mattered because you hadn’t heard from him? you had texted him this morning, right before you clocked in for work. and you checked it on your lunch break and there was nothing. and now it was time to head home and you were a little disappointed when you saw no notifications. but you tried not to let it get to you. he does have a very busy and demanding job. but you couldn’t help the thoughts creeping in that maybe he noticed your strange behavior last night. maybe he was worried you were attracted to him and he was pulling away. it made your stomach hurt to think about it.

but the whole way home you couldn’t help but think about it. by the end of your bus ride, you were physically ill. you had convinced yourself that you had ruined everything. that he didn’t want to be your friend anymore because he thought you were into him and that scared him. you had ruined an entire friendship spanning years and years because you couldn’t control yourself around his popcorn? you thought you may cry.

approaching your apartment, you noticed your welcome mat was crooked. the message said “welcome-ish” in swirling font and underneath that in parentheses said “depends on who you are and how long you plan to stay” though the print has faded over time. you kicked the mat back into place and slipped your key into the lock. clumsily opening the door, dragging your tired and depressed feet into the dark apartment. you toed off your shoes before flicking on the light.

and that’s when you saw him.

changbin stood in the middle of your living room, in a black button down shirt with matching black silk tie. his black slacks looking freshly pressed. his black dress shoes freshly shined. he was standing next to a table that he had set up, complete with two chairs, tablecloth, and lit candles. the entire ceiling was filled with red and pink heart shaped balloons, their curly strings cascading down. he held a small bundle of roses in his hands and he looked incredibly nervous. so handsome, but nervous.

“changbin..?” you quietly asked, stepping further into the apartment.

he cleared his throat. “uh.. hey bun.”

he brought one of his hands up to his ear, tugging on his earlobe. a nervous tick of his that he’s had the entire time you’ve known him.

you waited, staring, unsure of what to say or what was even going on and honestly, all you could think about was how handsome he looked and how you looked awful. your work clothes stained and dirty, your hair a matted mess on top of your head.

“i think i probably have some explaining to do.” he said. “well, i have a confession to make i guess.”

your heart started beating irregularly in your chest. was this what people meant when they say their heart ‘skipped a beat’?

you walked closer to him, noticing now the smell in your apartment. it smelled good. your stomach rumbled.

“these are for you..” he held the roses out and you took them from him. they really were beautiful. they were pink and smelled like spring time.

you started to thank him but he cut you off. “i just.. i need to get this out first before i chicken out.” he said.

“my apartment is filled with heart shaped balloons, bin. i think it’s too late to change your mind now.” you joked. he chuckled, your teasing seemingly making him feel a little bit better.

“i guess you’re right.” he smiled. “i.. like you.” he reached out and delicately took the flowers from you, placing them on the table. and then he took your hands in his and looked into your eyes. his hands were sweaty and shaking slightly, so you gave them a reassuring squeeze. “no, like isn’t the right word.” he paused, thinking. “i want to use the word love, but i don’t want to scare you.” his eyes softened. “but bun.. that’s what it feels like. and i’ve felt this way for so long now. i don’t think i can stand to see you cry over another idiot guy who doesn’t deserve you. who doesn’t treat you right. i’ve been silent because i didn’t want to ruin what we have. you’re my best friend in the whole world and i would never want to jeopardize that.” he swallowed and took a deep breath. “but, i love you bubs.” he exhaled, feeling relieved at finally saying it out loud to you. “i want to be the one to take you out. to hold your hand, and to cuddle you at night. i know i can treat you the way that you deserve to be treated. if.. if you’ll have me.”

“bin..” you reached up and grabbed his face between your palms. “i wish you would have told me sooner. maybe.. maybe if you would have said something before, it wouldn’t have taken me so long to realize that.. i love you too.” you smiled.

his face absolutely lit up. his eyes went wide and his smile grew large. “really?” he asked, feeling like he was dreaming. like he needed to make sure he heard you correctly. you nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “say it again.” he said.

“i love you, bin.”

he grabbed you around your waist and lifted you off the ground, spinning you in a soft circle. “again!” he giggled.

“i love you!” you giggled back.

he sat you on your feet and looked into your eyes again. he tucked your hair behind your ear and stroked your cheek with his thumb. “you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to hear that. but..” he tilted his head back and forth, thinking. his lips in a smirk. “i love you more.”

“not true!” you argued.

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“wait, you cooked?”

he chuckled. “i tried. i hope it tastes okay.”

you stuck your fork in the pasta, bringing it to your mouth. “i thought you only cooked for sustenance. wait, does this spaghetti have protein powder in it?”

he stuck his tongue out at you from across the small table. “very funny. just try it. i wanted to try cooking for you. i need to know if i should never do it again.”

you took a bite, chewing slowly. it was actually really good. “binnie, this is delicious.”

his shoulders relaxed and he took a bite of his own. “wow, it’s not terrible.” he said, chuckling. “i didn’t know i could do that.”

you ate your meal and sipped on some wine and talked about your day, just like normal. turns out, he hadn’t been answering your texts because he had been here setting all of this up. he used the spare key that you kept under your mat to let himself in. he said it took forever to blow up all the balloons and he was worried you would come home to find him passed out on the floor, surrounded by half filled balloons. only then did he discover that they only floated if they were filled with helium. so then he had to figure that out. and it took him even longer to cook the pasta, really working hard to make sure it was right. and he used your shower to wash up (if you thought about that for too long it made you squirmy) and he put on his nice clothes. then he says he waited in ‘a state of panic’ for you to finally come home.

“i can’t believe you did all of this for me.” you said, leaning back in your chair, sipping your wine.

“i wanted you to know how special you are to me.” he stood up and grabbed your plate, taking them both to the sink. he rolled up the sleeves of his button up, exposing his muscular forearms. you weren’t sure if it was the wine, but you had plenty of thoughts about those forearms. he began washing the dishes, the sound of running water filling the apartment. you finished your wine and brought it to the sink, sitting it on the counter next to the dirty cutlery. you looked at him, admiring his appearance. he really filled out his shirt nicely. it was spread tightly against his broad chest, the buttons barely hanging on.

“bun, you’re staring.” he smirked.

“sorry. you just look.. so good.” you confessed. “plus, i can openly stare now without fear of making you uncomfortable. it’s not.. making you uncomfortable, is it?” you pulled your eyes away from his biceps and looked up to his eyes. he was smiling, the tips of his ears a light pink.

“i don’t mind if you look. want me to take the shirt off and flex?”

your jaw fell open, your core pulsed. “don’t tease about that.”

he turned the water off and dried his hands with the towel. he walked over and touched your cheek again, cupping it in his palm. his eyes were darker now, and his thumb grazed across your bottom lip. “i’m not teasing.” he said, his voice low.

you thought your knees may give out. you grabbed his arms, steadying yourself. you had never seen this side of him before. had never seen him flirt and be so.. sexy. he leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, your erratic breath mingling with his. he waited.

“binnie..” you exhaled. “kiss me.”

he slowly brought his lips to yours, placing a delicate kiss on your lips. it started off slow and sweet but soon became a little more heated when he slipped his tongue into your mouth. you brought your hands up around his neck, tangling them in his hair. he kissed down your jaw and to your neck, licking and nibbling at the soft skin there. you threw your head back, panting. “bin.. let’s go to my room?” you phrased it as a question because you didn’t want him to feel pressured. after all, he had only confessed his feelings for you an hour ago. you didn’t want him to feel like things were moving too fast.

but he immediately bent down and scooped you up in his arms. “prince bin.” he mumbled against your lips, carrying you through your apartment and to your bed.

and you smiled into the kiss, your heart so full you thought it may burst. if you thought about it too hard you were sure that you would start crying. because you knew.. you had found your person. and he had been here all along.

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↑ inspo for binnies valentines fit hehe ↑

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

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she-whatshername · 1 day ago

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You’ve been so good to us the past few days so no pressure, but what would our favorite tyrrish men do for Valentine’s Day? 💘💌

Hello!

We may be a day late but never a valentine love short. I hope this still fills your cup!

Onyx Storm Spoilers below, you've been advised

Garrick

This man

This tall person

This dimpled cutie

Does he ask to be your valentine? No. He just assumes he is. Because who wouldn't want to be his Valentine?

If anything he'd make you ask him. "Wait. Love, aren't you forgetting to ask me something?"

What is he getting you? Even though he'd be, Garrick about the whole thing, I think he'd have something romantic and sentimental for you. I could see him tempering his signet into a small glass orb to wear around your neck, just a swirling piece of air constantly revolving in the glass representing his breath that he always says you take away every time you see him (someone please write a full fic on this please)

He also is the right type of cheeky to just be laying on your bed naked for when you come into your dorm like, "Surprise, love. Come take a bite." Dimples and all

Date Plans? Also, I know its classified and guarded but if you are a marked one and you know about second signets, he is absolutely distance wielding you across the contentment so he can boast that you two have hooked up in every province

Xaden

Onyx Storm has really soured my 'love to hate' vibe I had of Xaden because ho-my, name a better man at words of affirmation

I'll wait

Does he ask to be your valentine? Yes and no. He would assume that he is yours because why wouldn't you be....no really, why wouldn't you be?? But then his jealousy/insecurities is getting the best of him and he's finding you in your room like, "you're my Valentine right? And, I'm yours too right?"

And you're like "Xaden we've been married for years..." lolol

What is he getting you? Lavish gifts of affection. If he has the power and means, lots of flowers that he picked out in your favorite type and color

Instead of a card, its a letter. A full page note on his love for you

And, I do know this man loves a little sensual type of gift as well. Expect something to wear to dinner and something to wear for him to take off.

And make no plans for the day after because you will need a days rest afterwards.

Date Plans? Yes. And he's had them for awhile. However it's something simple. Its dinner together and cake on the roof of Riorson House watching the sunset. Honestly it's so amazing you both decided you'll do this every year for valentines day. Like when you two get older he builds a balcony on the roof so you both can sit safe and comfortably.

This sweet man!

Bodhi

Well hello there Mr Durran

Does he ask to be your valentine? Yes. Every year he does. And it's always something sweet like a note slipped under your door or something actually akin to a proposal.

And yes, he is asking if he can your valentine as well.

He does not assume, he has to ask. And he takes it very seriously to be your valentine. He's like, "I wont let you down." Like he's on a mission to make your happy on that day.

This man is loyal, we know this

What is he getting you? I've shared before but I think Bodhi was the mind behind the saddle for Violet. He's just naturally very crafty and can build things. So, I'd like to think that every year, instead of flowers he crafts up a gorgeous metal rose (or flower of your choice) and paints it. The color represents something that happened to you during your year together. It was brown when you bonded your dragon in your first year. Black when you finished your second year as a rider and got a leadership position. Green with golden edges when Xaden took the dutchy back in Tyrrendor. Purple the year you married.

Xaden and Garrick tease him when he's starting to craft a new rose, "What color this year, cousin?" "Will it be blue for that time she blue balled you when you two had to run off to the borders during that attack?"

But they both admire him for being so dedicated to you. Xaden makes sure any duties he has the week he's making you the rose are given to someone else

Date Plans? Yes. But its something sweet like a stroll through the gardens where he gives you the metal flower or riding together along the cliffs.

But....evening plans. Xaden doesn't know, he doesn't want to know but let's just say if he ever found out about what happens when you two do have some time together.

Because I just know Bodhi would love his partner in such a beautiful, infinite way

Xaden did say it would be a shame to end his only living relative, and that Bodhi is exceptional. I think that this would be the one category where Xaden is a few steps behind Bodhi lolol

#fourth wing #the empyrean #garrick tavis #xaden riorson #bodhi durran #tyrrish men headcanons you didn't ask for

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ingravinoveritas · 1 day ago

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GT is really trying to make the Baftas about her on her Ig huh

(Grouping together for ease of responding.)

I've seen several mentions/had folks talking to me in DM about Georgia's Insta stories earlier today. I'll put some screenshots here so we can discuss:

I feel like this all starts with yesterday, so let's quickly recap: Last night, David appeared on the One Show. Georgia came along and watched the show backstage, and posted an Insta story of him on the TV screen, in color. She posted nothing related to David and Valentine's Day, despite having made a post about him every year for the last several years. Today, she posted about BAFTA preparations. Two photos of David, both again in black-and-white, and two photos in color, one of which featured her calling a bag of skincare products "my valentine."

The first thing that comes to mind is the songs that are used on some of these stories. For three out of four, the songs are upbeat and happy, which seems to contrast starkly with the almost somber tone of these pictures. It reminds me of the song "I Am A Rock" by Simon & Garfunkel, where the music is cheerful and up tempo, yet the lyrics are much darker and full of pain/sadness. So if you're only looking at what's on the surface, it causes you to miss what is going on underneath.

It would also be very easy to overlook that these stories are all related to an awards show--that David is hosting for a second time, no less. Because there isn't really anything celebratory about any of these. Just looking at the captions/tags, Georgia seems to be showing more enthusiasm for receiving free skincare products than for anything else. And in both pictures of David, he is doing something else/just trying to exist while she photographs him. In the picture in the car, he seems to be looking at the National Theatre, and despite sitting next to her, it feels like he is about a million miles away--that same feeling of preoccupation/tiredness that we saw last night.

And then there's the last piece of these stories, which is that the photos of David are once again in black-and-white. I've said this previously, but we are now long past the point where the B&W makes sense for legal reasons or anything having to do with the show. Let's also look at what's happened over the last few weeks: The fan taking a picture with David in the airport, the photo of David behind the bar in a pub in Glasgow this week, and then the full-on hair reveal last night, all in color. Contrast that with the video of David dancing to Sabrina Carpenter, the WOS acceptance speech, and now these photos, all in black and white, and all taken/filmed by Georgia.

Looking at everything together, I think David never cared about hiding his hair, while Georgia and Anna knew/know the fans have wanted to see dyed hair, and have viewed their Instagrams as a source for pictures. So holding the promise and possibility of seeing that is a guaranteed way to keep getting clicks and drive engagement, especially given how many fans took screenshots and got excited every time Georgia or Anna added a new story. What became a joke at the fandom's expense has now backfired, and I truly don't think there was ever going to be a "big reveal" or that either of them intended to post a picture of the dyed hair in color.

To be clear, there is no part of me that takes joy in any of this, and I do not wish for either David or Georgia to be unhappy or miserable. But I can't dismiss the almost painful gut reaction I had to these Insta stories--how "off" the vibes are, and how this all seems to be about much more than just hair dye.

What will happen at the BAFTAs tomorrow is still anyone's guess--Michael is not listed as a special guest or as a presenter (though he did present an award last year, as I recall), so who knows if he will even be there--but I am honestly hoping that things will be okay. For everyone's sake...

#anonymous #reply post #david tennant #georgia tennant #BAFTAs 2025 #choices #not all of them good #interpret this how you will #but there seems to be a clear pattern #inside jokes are only funny if you're on the inside #again if this was a one time thing i wouldn't even say anything #but this has been going on for weeks now #i don't even know anymore #thoughts #discourse

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tragic-ships-tournament · 12 hours ago

Text

It's over. Oh god, it's over.

It was a close match. But in the end....

MADOHOMU CLUTCHED THE WIN!!!!

WOOO LETS GOOO!! I am so happy for the Madoka Fandom- at least you won something lol

And I am very sorry to the Hadestown fandom- but on the bright side, you still have the proshot to look forward too??? Ehhhh I'm reaching.

But I guess this is where we part ways for now, huh? Tournament's wrapped up and all. But I gotta thank you. Yes, you, reading this post. I know this sounds sappy and all, but this thing wouldn't have been as fun as it was if it weren't for you guys voting, reblogging, and sending in propaganda. I really appreciate the support and each and every one of you who took time out of their days for this. It means the world to me.

However, because of the success of this one, I will be running it again! Of course we have the first round loser's bracket in March, but this tournament itself will be becoming an annual thing, fingers crossed! I'll probably wait a few more months (or maybe even a year!) to do a second one, so don't unfollow just yet.

And one last thing for those who care- yes, as teased way at the beginning, I will be revealing my true identity on main. Stay tuned for that. I'll only be able to answer asks and stuff for a few days though, because next Saturday I'm going on a weeklong camping trip. But fire away till then.

Once again, this has been such a fun experience. Thank you for brightening up at least one person's day with all of this. I'm really glad I got to have at least one special spot in fandom history.

Timmy out.

#timmy talks #shipping #ships #fandom #polls #tragic ships tournament #information #madohomu #fire text #tw fire

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myveryownfanfiction · 3 days ago

Text

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: swearing

AN: Happy Valentine's Day! The annual Jareth fic is here!

The goblins bowed as I walked by, scattering as I made my way to the throne room. There was babbling and laughter coming from the room. Jareth looked up at me as I walked in, a big smile on his face as he looked away from his son.

"So that's where you two got up to." I teased as I walked over. Jareth handed me Tobey before pulling me into his lap. I laughed as he wrapped his arms around the two of us. "Jareth!"

"Oh come come now." He teased as he pulled me in for a kiss. Tobey made a noise and Jareth leaned past me to kiss his head. "And one for you too." He whispered, running his knuckle over Tobey's cheek. Tobey babbled as he tried to grab Jareth's finger. "What have you been up to today?" He asked, smiling at Tobey babbled happily.

"Nothing much." I shrugged. "I went out to visit Sir Didamus. It appears that a few of the goblins have been venturing out beyond the bog. Something about a babe." Jareth looked at me worried.

"A babe?" He asked. I nodded. "Banished? Or abandoned?"

"The goblins say banished. But no one has come to claim her." I said, brushing my hand over Tobey's hair. "Not much older than Tobey." Jareth looked at the baby in my lap. "Oh I know that look. Don't give me that look." I said, laughing as Jareth turned his gaze to me. "We are not taking on another one."

"Why not?" He asked. "You and I both know Tobey would be dead if we hadn't gone to get him. And so will this little one."

"Jareth..." I started.

"Darling, I promise. It will not be a burden." He squeezed my side gently. One of the goblins came by to take Tobey from me. I sighed as I handed him over. "If we have to, I will take her back to her world. I promise. Make sure she goes to someone who will cherish her."

"You said that about Tobey." I laughed as he took my hand, urging me to lead him where the goblins had hidden the baby. "And look where he is." Jareth flushed red as he looked at me.

"Can you blame me though?" He asked. I playfully rolled my eyes.

"I do admit...you fill the role of father very well." I said, squeezing his hand. Jareth smiled at me as we moved through the castle. “It’s just on the outskirts of the city.” I said as the goblins opened the door for us. “Hoggle came to take care of her while I came to get you.” Turning the corner, I nodded to hoggle as he brought the baby over.

“thank you hoggle.” Jareth said as he took the child. “So what are we going to do?” I sighed as I looked at him.

“go on then. Name her.” I waved at him. “I know I won’t win that argument so go on then.” Jareth leaned over and kissed me.

“thank you.” He whispered. I cupped his cheek as he smiled at me. “Let’s take her to meet her brother.” I nodded as I looped my arm through his as we headed back to the castle.

#Jareth #jareth x reader #jareth fanfic #jareth fanfiction #Jareth imagine #david bowie #david Bowie x reader #david Bowie fanfic #david Bowie fanfiction #david Bowie imagine

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mikaela-the-slut-expert · 3 days ago

Note

Hello!

Can I request for a yandere Hualian x reader but reader is actually okay with their behavior?

I do not Mind

Hualian x gn!reader

Heyyy... 😔🙏 I've been gone for ever again, I love y'all🩷 I swear. A little nervous about this one because how far is too far with a yandere 😥 like some readers want their yandere to murder someone for them some people just want them to be obsessive... Comment and tell me if it's too much y'all, I'll edit it.

Also I'm very unfamiliar with yandere territory so! I don't know if I'm able to capture them quite well😐!!!

____________________________________

It started innocently enough, your relationship with them. You've never had two boyfriends before but you found yourself enjoying it. How could you not? They love you and care for you. Xie Lian was so sweet and gentle with you, always caring. Hua Cheng is protective and devoted to you, so loving. Some people are lucky enough to find a good man, you were lucky enough to find two of them. Maybe your luck is better than Hua Cheng's.

All had been going well, it was like any normal relationship! You guys would go out on dates, you would all spend time with one another, care for one another, gift things, give affection, and of course have sex. Normal, healthy relationships. Arguments were few to none and it felt like you were in a state of bliss, contentment. It was... Well it was perfect.

So perfect, and so content that it took you quite a while to notice when strange things were starting to happen. It wasn't mind boggling, just different. Hua Cheng's devotion to you his protectiveness seemed to become tenfold, and Xie Lian's caring nature -while you loved him for it- seemed directed to keep you in their sights. It was not unusual for you all to go separate ways throughout the day, but suddenly you needed to be near one of them at all times. Even if you were going out with some friends, one of them or both of them would come along. You didn't mind you like spending time with your lovers, so you think nothing of it. You thought maybe these incidents were just coincidental.

For starters, for some reason you just can't bring yourself to leave, you feel faint and dizzy when you try to leave the doors of your alls home. So you don't leave, you tell your lovers you feel unwell and stay mostly in bed. It's strange though... As soon as you leave the proximity of the doors you feel well again. And another thing! Your lovers have been all over you. You enjoy it of course, you love them dearly but they're acting very needy. As more days pass you find Xie Lian and Hua Cheng are always attached to your hip. You're half sure your hand is stuck in a curled position from holding Hua Cheng's hand all the time!

Hua Cheng had always been devoted to you and Xie Lian but it's been more like... Admiration! Obsession. He'll follow you around everywhere and if he can't there's always silver butterflies resting in your hair, they're cute so you can't complain. He'll stare at you with his one eye, all day! You found he's been making piles of drawings of you in many different ways, and even a statue or two here and there. That's really suspicious. Maybe he's just really taken the time to admire you! He loves art after all, and maybe you've become his muse.

Oh and Xie Lian, don't even get started on him! His "selfless" nature and the feeling of going out of his way for you? It's a too cute! much. You need to go out to town? Oh he'll go get it don't worry about it, stay home. Oh you haven't seen your friends? No worries he'll update them that you aren't feeling well! Every little thing you want or need seems to be taken care of by them. Just stay here, don't leave stay home, don't leave get some rest. Don't leave.

That's not even to mention when they both gang up on you. The need for validation. "Do you love us?", "Aren't we good to you?", "Are you happy here?", "Will you stay?", "Promise, promise promise".

You've been cooped up for quite a while, and of course you don't stay cooped up all the time. You go out to ghost city with Xie Lian and Hua Cheng! Your friends must miss you though because one of them come to check on you. When you talk to them, they seem quite worried, pale faced. "Do you need help..?" Why would you need that? Xie Lian and Hua Cheng have been taking care of you. They dote and spoil you all the time, honestly you've barely noticed how long it's been since you've been isolated anywhere near the heavens, or spent time with anyone else! You want to reassure them but Xie Lian ushers you away from the door, to the bedroom. He just doesn't want you to leave feel faint again, so just let Hua Cheng talk to them. What a caring lover!

When Hua Cheng comes back to the bedroom he doesn't mention anything, he must have sent your friend off. How sweet. So sweet you don't notice anything amiss. Definitely not the red splatter on his cheek. How would you notice any of it when most of it blends in with his clothing anyhow? E-ming rattles in the sheath.

So yes, it has been strange these past couple of months. Although it did take you a little while to even notice, although you can be quite oblivious, you are not stupid. You are not blind. Hua Cheng and Xie Lian's attitudes have changed to clingy, and obsessed. Your dizziness these past few weeks is most definitely because of the strange incense you keep smelling near the doors of your home, and the seals that have been placed in obscure places. You don't find yourself minding these things. You love them, their attention, their clinginess, their obsession and love.

So no you don't pay mind to the frequent disappearances of other gods whom you're acquainted with. You pay no mind to Hua Cheng's, or Xie Lian's robes having to be washed because of stains, you stay naive to E-ming needing to be cleaned so often. In fact you welcome it.

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng must know that you know too because they don't try to hide it anymore. Their needy questions and need for validation have become demands. Sweet ones, so how could you ever resist them, when they obviously love you so, so much?

You can't

____________________________________

So how do we feel guys? First time I think I've ever written yandere stuff so this is very unfamiliar territory I'm welcome to criticism!

#tgcf #tgcf headcanon #hualian #hualian x reader #hua cheng x reader #xie lian x reader #yandere #tian guan ci fu #mdzs

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more-sonorous · 2 days ago

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rag, boy, rag (can you teach me how to play?)- davey angst

(been thinking about David playing piano at a jatherine wedding pretty much nonstop recently so have a sliver of the long dissertation I wrote about it)

…..

The first time David Jacobs ever wanted to flat-out refuse to play the piano came when he was twenty years old on a lunch break between lectures, sitting on a bench in New York City with Jack Kelly by his side and a pretzel in his hand.

“Hey, listen, Dave– I’m real glad you could find some time to meet me.” Jack said almost seriously, absentmindedly brushing a few strands of his dark hair away from his perfect eyebrows.

“Of course. Though– I don’t see why this couldn’t have waited until Friday, you know it’s Kathy and I’s book club night.” He glanced up at his friend rather admonishingly as he tore a piece of his pretzel off, trying not to focus on how beautiful Jack’s honey-brown eyes looked in the sun.

David had planned to stop doting on this boy quite some time ago, but he’d done a rotten job of kicking his affections down. It seemed that at twenty he was more in love with Jack than he was at seventeen, which was simply no good because he was in love with Jack’s fianceé, too. There was no woman more beautiful than Katherine Pulitzer, and David stood by that belief. He also believed that there was no man more lovely than Jack Kelly, and so he found himself hopelessly head over heels despite his own reservations.

Jack’s easy smile turned almost nervous. “Well, it’s about the wedding, so I sorta wanted it to be just us.”

“Oh.” David felt his own smile slip and falter. He’d been dreading this moment and their intense eye contact instantly became too much. Jack was going to want to talk about his wedding eventually. He and Kath had been planning for weeks and according to Racetrack, they were both knee-deep in it and very excited. It was honestly a miracle neither of them had brought it up yet. Squirming in his skin, David firmly directed his sights on his own scuffed shoes. “Alright, what about the wedding?”

“Well– I want ya’ to be my best man.” Jack said, very simply, and when David didn’t smile or react at all, really, he cleared his throat. “Y’know, since you’re my best friend and all. You’re my best man day-to-day, so why shouldn’t ya’ be in my wedding?”

He swallowed the hard lump in his throat as his traitorous brain slammed him with images of Jack and Kath, happily dolled up in white and black, enjoying the best day of their lives as David wallowed in misery by Jack’s side. Just the thought made him feel a little bit nauseous, and that nausea only grew as he imagined himself having to stand up and give a speech about how happy he was for them. Of course, David was happy for them. He loved them, and they were happy, so how could he not be happy?

He was happy, but he was jealous and lonely and miserable too. There was no earthly way he’d give a speech that did Jack and Katherine justice. In fact, he’d been considering not attending the wedding at all. Finding an excuse. He didn’t need to be in the picture— he was horrible at masking his emotions. He’d just be a sad, morose lump, sucking all of the fun out of the night. They didn’t deserve that. But Jack was looking at him so hopefully and he knew that skipping his best friend’s biggest day was an offense he couldn’t commit.

David dug the toe of his boot into the brick beneath them. “I… I can’t make a speech, Jack.”

“That’s fine!” Jack reassured nearly instantly, grabbing Davey’s pant leg with fervor and leaning in like this was the most important thing he’d ever done. “Seriously, Dave, fine by me. No speech!”

How could he tell Jack no more firmly? He was starting to spiral into panic. “I can’t– I can’t stand up there in front of everyone at the wedding, either. I’m not– I’ll panic, and that’ll ruin your big day.” Now Jack looked positively distraught. This was falling apart fast. David gritted his teeth tightly and awkwardly, painfully took Jack’s hand in his own. “Jackie, I’m still going to be there–”

“But I want ya’ in the wedding, Davey. Not just at it–”

“I– um– I was thinking–” He was blabbering before he could think, some subconscious part of him trying to soothe Jack’s miserable expression. “Well, I was thinking before you asked me about this, that maybe I could just play piano for you? So… so you don’t hafta hire some other musician. And if it’s me, you can tell me all the pieces you want to hear sooner than you could tell a stranger…”

Jack seemed to pause, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hair. “You mean that?”

“Sure.” He steeled in a deep breath and tried to ignore the stinging in his eyes. He did not want to be a part of this wedding at all– he’d been planning to watch the ceremony and escape after a few minutes of the celebration afterwards– but he did owe it to them. They’d been nothing but good to him for years. “Besides, um… I think Crutchie’d murder you if you didn’t give him the best man spot. Or Racer. He’d kill you faster.”

“Pfft, Crutchie and Racer can kiss my happy ass.” Jack rolled his eyes as if to affirm his point, giving David’s hand a heart-wrenching squeeze. Something akin to hope was brightening his face, dimpling his cheeks, and David sort of wanted to disappear. “But… if– if you’re sure ya’ don’t mind playin’ for free, that’d work. Shit, it would really work. And Kath loves your music, Dave. Honestly, she’d be honored to have ya’ play– we’d both be.”

Then Jack squeezed his hands again, and David felt even closer to throwing up than he did before as he managed a stilted, awkward little smile. “You… you don’t have to make a big deal out of it. I’ll take any excuse I can get to play ragtime.”

“Wait, I thought ya’ meant just the ceremony.” Jack’s brow furrowed. “I want’cha to enjoy the party after.”

“There’s nothing I enjoy more than playing the piano. Especially not parties. I hate parties, you know.” He insisted, carefully, firmly. This was a truth– a universal David Jacobs truth– and playing the piano would be the only way he’d be able to distract himself from the misery of their perfection. “Besides, I know Katherine likes Brahms waltzes, and I’d– well, um, I’d be honored to play during your first dance. So… you’ve got me for the ceremony and the reception.”

“Gee, Dave.” Jack’s smile softened into something heart-wrenchingly personal and David looked away, at the pedestrians on the street and the shouting vendor they’d purchased their lunch from. “That means a lot to me.”

“Yeah, well…” He swallowed again. Harder. “Yeah.”

#newsies #david jacobs #davey jacobs #jack kelly #katherine plumber pulitzer #jatherine #javid #the javid is lurking beneath the surface #piano player davey jacobs #livesies #92sies #uksies #sonorouswrites #ohhhh davey how I love you #jathrid #eventually

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decamarks · 1 year ago

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SPIDDR

#my art #3D art #blender #This took me. a few days. VERY HAPPY WITH IT THOUGH!#Basically just playing around with forced perspective and compositing. Lots of fun...#No I dont understand the logistics of eight-legged DDR. It essentially doubles as a game of twister I think.#Sometimes you get an idea for something mildly amusing and then it ends up the single most complex render you've ever made.#If I had to explain the compositing process here I think i would puke.#Please vindicate me by opening this in a new tab and zooming in. Look at the scanlines. I think they're very pretty.

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fisherrprince · 1 year ago

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oh so alisaie’s exaggerated bully behavior is 80% fanon. saying this she casually picks up a large rock

#say one thing wrong to me and you will have a wonderful few days with the rock #if angry silly girls have 100 fans etc if they have 0 fans i have died #sorry i saw a YouTube meme i vehemently disliked on principle and got mad at the only child behavior-#kipspeak #she is just short tempered and uses anger to mask other more ‘shameful’ emotions!!! alphy did the same thing with just deciding not #to express them. which is still not good and I think why he breaks and ends up teary so often now #this shortness does not translate to actually being mean to people. she only uses being mean as a shield for herself and being snarky #Is just fun for her. it’s fun for Me. you have to inconsequentually tease people or they’ll never learn to laugh at themselves #the twins and thancred 🫵 do this thing where they have big emotions but they don’t want anyone to SEE they have big weird emotions #so alphy pretends he doesn’t have them under a veneer of dignity and alisaie pretends the emotions are Something Else. thancred is #just so emotionally constipated he has trouble expressing anything. he’s got enough baggage for a flatbed #anyways. alisaie is such a compassionate and kind girl and she learned how to make snarky jokes and went ham. and she hates appearing sad o #weak or vulnerable so she blocks it off with an unapproachable emotion so no one pities her and they maybe get on with the plot #it is in fact also great at getting ppl to move away from the sad or embarrassing topic. even if the tradeoff is being more offputting #she would never (grabs youtube meme) she would never seriously bully her brother. this is sibling ribbing only. Cain instinct #just leave her be she is learning how to snark humor and she loves it she loves being sharp. alphy has wit he just keeps it close #my brother didn’t learn how to tell or receive a joke until he was 14 he took everything so seriously. he can do it now though and he’s #HILARIOUS. Don’t tell him I said that. my man knows exactly where the funny points are even if he hasn’t learned when to stop yet #too many tags. Whatever. jokey snark alisaie who sometimes compliments is happy alisaie grouchy snappy angry alisaie is way too stressed #very easy way to tell between the two. even alphy can tell between the two I believe! He tends to rib back in protest if they’re having fun #and try to stop her if they’re not having fun. case in point ‘what is that supposed to mean?!’ vs ‘alisaie ryne was only trying to help.’#I know they’re twins but that’s such an intensely older sibling thing to do that it reels me #LONG TAGS AND THREE EDITS TO ADD ON SHORT I resent this stereotype taken too far into ooc behavior. it happened with nya #It will happen again and as a postscript let me regale you with Things U Can Notice About Character Motivation and Actions—#I’m not done let me s #she and raha are friends now I decree. ‘haha you like me’ SPUTTERING PROTEST FROM BOTH

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pixelpaladin24 · 2 years ago

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|| The feeling of being able to post 💙Connor💙 and not feeling guilty about it oh my fucking gods I'll only look at the bright side of this situation like thank fuck i am allowed to feel happy

HHHHIIIIIIIMMMMM 💙💙💙

#asgard to earth 💚 (ooc)#|| tfw you don't realise how toxic someone was until they've chosen to vanish from your life #|| Sad thing is that they play the victim as if I hadn't went through panic and anxiety attacks/sleepless nights/migraine periods #|| This person single-handedly managed to kill ALL of my muses for ALL existing threads in the span of a few days and it went on for MONTHS #|| And I *didn't want them to leave*. I was clinging to them because I still thought of them as a friend and I thought we could fix it. 😩#|| They left though. Blocked me without a word. And it took me two days to feel actual *relief* instead of sadness. I was that involved.#|| But I'm healing and that's beautiful!!!! I'm finally free from guilt!!!!! I can do whatever the fuck I want!!!!!!!!!!! Gods I missed thi #|| All the people who looked at my ''journey'' kept telling me to break contact because they're slowly killing all the happiness I have-#|| And I couldn't do it but at the same time they were all RIGHT. I'm so sorry fam. I'll listen to y'all better the next time okay?#|| And thanks for standing behind me ALWAYS. ALWAYS asking me what's up if I gave even a LITTLE hint. There're so many of you who NOTICED!!#|| And I'm so glad to call you my best friends!!! You mean the world to me! 💚 I'm very very lucky that you're always here for me. 💚#personal #i am free 👻#chaos is back online 🐍

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bi-writes · 3 months ago

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anatomy of us (1) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

we cannot change who we are at our core.

type: limited series, part 1 (6.4k), AO3 in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

Whenever she woke up marked the last day of the rest of your life. One moment, the world inside of your head was unnervingly quiet. The next, someone else was there, whispering in the dark, taking over.

You aren't proud of her. No, you hate her. There is no one you hate more, you don't think, because she lets the direction of the fucking wind distract her from what really matters. She paints her environment in a soft, glazed picture, and she tries to hold up her canvas and convince you that her reality is real. But then you blink, and you get flashes of how dull the sky really is and the dirt that stains your shoes, and you know that she's just a liar.

A controlling, desperate thief.

When you heard her voice for the first time, you begged your reflection in the mirror to just kill you already.

If you were an alpha, maybe you could've just drawn away into yourself and lived a quiet life in the middle of nowhere. If you were a beta, perhaps the weight of nothing would've given you a little more freedom to do the things you wanted to do.

But no. You're an omega. Nature's servant. A natural follower. Destined for nothing except to open your legs and say, "yes, alpha, all for you," because if you are anything but complacent, you're unwanted and a waste of your very being.

Your eyes stung when you took your first little pill. They rattled in different colors in a little orange bottle, and it felt like sand as it dissolved under your tongue. Even though it makes you sick, you take them anyways. Even though the pills change colors and shape and efficacy because you buy them from someone different every time, you take them because it makes your omega shut the fuck up finally.

You bury her. And you won't let her out.

The truth of it is that you're only fighting yourself. Your omega, she is you, isn't she? She's a part of you, she makes up your very genetic makeup, and to hate her is to hate yourself. But nature is cruel–it gave you years of freedom. Years to know what life was like without her, when she was dormant, asleep, just waiting for you to finally wake up.

Then your very self locked the cage. Your fingers claw at the bars, but it's no use. It's your very own punishment. So in turn, you bury her, too, silencing her cries, quieting what she wants most in the world, because it isn't fair, fuck you, you whiny bitch.

She's a pathetic puppy; and you are more than happy to step on her fucking neck.

Your aim is off today. The sound is muffled through the earphones you wear, but they've never thrown off your balance before. When you lean over the railing and squint at the target papers towards the back, you can see the bullet holes just a few inches off center.

You're never off-center.

"Getting rusty on me, Kit?"

You turn around, setting the gun down, and you smile wide when you see a familiar face. You pull the headphones off, putting them aside before making your way towards her.

Kate Laswell is surprised when you throw your arms around her and hug her tight. She smells good; she smells like chocolate, dark chocolate, something bittersweet. She's got that edge to it that they all do, something a little heady and all-encompassing, but she's the only alpha that you've ever found comfort being near. You see her nose scrunch a little when she embraces you back.

You must stink like synthetics. You care, only because you hate to make her nose sting this way. It's never been meant for her. At times, you thought maybe you could do a little convincing; maybe if you batted your lashes enough, she’d take pity on you, hide you away in some CIA shack with her deep on a Montana farm and play house. You’d cook, and she’d protect, and you’d be perfect little alpha and omega until the end of your days.

But Kate doesn’t like baggage. Not even the sweet kind, and especially not the kind that makes it even more difficult to make the hard decisions.

Kate isn’t a soldier. She makes choices based on the greater good, the lesser evil. She doesn’t get to be selfish. She doesn’t have that luxury.

When you pull away, she looks down at you strangely. She looks tired. Her dark hair is in a mess of a braid tucked under a cap, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Her attempt of a smile emphasizes the lines around her eyes. You open your mouth to tell her something, but she shakes her head.

"I'm not here as a friend," she says softly, and you frown a little.

"Aren't...haven't we always been friends?" You ask, and Kate lets out a shaky sigh, nodding her head behind her.

"We need to talk. C'mon."

You retrieve the gun and holster it, fastening it into your thigh holster before you follow her. She has a car waiting outside, a big, black SUV with the door already open for her. When you get inside, she knocks on the divider, and the car immediately starts moving. You brace yourself against the side of the car as it speeds off, reaching for a seatbelt.

"Jesus, Kate, what's going on? I-I have training later, I can't–"

"You're not...going back to base," she says evenly. You frown a little, leaning back in your seat, and you put your hands in your lap as you try and get a read on her. Even exhausted, Kate is hard to decipher. She has a stone-cold expression, calm and unbothered, and you curse her CIA training for making her impossible to understand, to even get a glimpse of what she might say next. Her face makes you anxious, and the scent in the car that changes puts you on edge.

"Okay," you scoff a little. "Then where am I going?"

Kate sniffs a little, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't break eye contact with you when she says, "Wheels up in 30. I have an assignment for you." She reaches under the seat, pulling out a manila folder, setting it down beside you. When you pick it up and flip it open, you narrow your eyes.

"I'm..." You shrug your shoulders, "I'm not really CIA. You don't give me orders."

"As of one hour ago, you're mine. And this...this is your duty."

Your eyes blur as you skim the text on the pages. You flip through the papers flimsily, getting more and more irritated until you throw it at her, your chest rising and falling fast as you pant, barely able to see her through your tears.

Program. UK. Field assignment. Mate. All the keywords to make your stomach curl and your autonomy shrink in front of your very eyes.

"Kate, don't do this," you beg her softly. You soften your voice, and you let your omega drip syrup into it. You want to see her eyes dilate–you want to make her protectiveness kick in just enough that she might just appease you. It’s desperate, and you know it’s wrong, but you do it anyways, you have to. "Please don't do this. Please. You fucking promised me, you promised–"

"You need to understand that I don't have a lot of fucking choices," she says sharply. She pities you, that much you can tell. She looks pained, but it doesn’t matter how pained she might feel because it isn’t happening to her. It’s happening to you, and she put you on that base so that it wouldn’t happen to you, and she tricked you into getting into this car, and now it’s her–

"Kate, I'll do anything, please," you gasp. You reach over and grab her hands, tugging her towards you. "You know. You know what...w-what I've been through, what this all is, you know...please. Please..."

You promised me. You gave me your word.

"I can't–"

But the CIA can’t be trusted for shit.

"I'll be yours," you try, squeezing her palms. Appease. Beg. Bare your neck. Give her what she really craves. "Just claim me yourself, a-and...and we don't have to do this, w-we can...I-I can go back to–"

Her face contorts, offended, disgusted. You try and swallow down the sting of her rejection, but you cannot help yourself. You would do anything to not be subjected to this fate, to the fate she promised she'd save you from. The only alpha you have ever trusted, and she's pulling away from you, bit by bit.

"I could never do that to you," she interrupts, shaking her head. "I couldn't."

"But you'll do this instead?"

"It's the lesser evil," she says finally, pushing your hands back. It aches. Despite you never leaning towards her, it is still an alpha turning their nose up at you, and the thing inside of you cries at the feeling; she begs you to do more, but you swallow her down, fingers itching for another pill just so you can really squash her singing. "And in my world, that is the best I can hope for."

"It's punishment!" You cry, and she reaches over, cupping your cheeks, pulling you close. You scrunch your face at her touch. Her hands are cold, and they do not welcome you. "A-And for what? For being something that I can't change?!"

"It's mercy," she whispers. Her thumbs stroke your cheeks in soft circles. "I can't protect you anymore, do you understand? They don't want you there, and I can’t take you with me. Even taking meds, even spraying yourself to shit, they don't want you, and I can't protect you if they send you away, do you understand me?" You start to cry, closing your eyes, and you hear the familiar voice in your head preening. She's desperate, slipping through the cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try and force her backwards. You’re panicking, and maybe she’s trying to help, but you hate her. "I have to get you out of there, and this is the only way."

"Please..."

"I can't protect you," she says gently. "But he can. And he'll be good to you. I promise, this...this I can promise."

You rip yourself away from her, curling into yourself as you scoot away from her as far as possible. You press yourself against the door, tucking your knees into your chest. Whatever passes by outside is a blur, and your brain doesn’t register any of it. The only thing in your head is betrayal, traitor, those sick, stupid bastard alphas, all of them–

"Fuck your promises," you whimper, and when she reaches out for you again, you flinch, burying your face into your hands.

Kate is a liar. She never keeps her promises; that’s her job, it is what she does. The CIA is nothing if they aren’t incredible liars–it’s what they’re known for, and Kate takes to it like a fish to water. As far as you are concerned, she lured you in with bait, and now she's shut the door on a trap. It is lined with padding, soft, delicate, but it still holds you back, it still keeps you still and stagnant and forever chained to an existence that you detest more than anything. She used you; it was in her best interest to keep an omega under her thumb, to do with you as she pleased when she needed one, and you suppose once you are taken, she will find another to do the same with. She will give another desperate one like you false hope, and when she needs another omega to keep someone else complacent and willing, she will offer them up with her signature on paper–just like that.

She tries to touch your hand before you board the plane. She tries to meet your eyes, get your attention, anything. You cower when she reaches out, and when she steps backwards, you walk on.

You never look behind yourself. Not even when you sit, and not even as the ramp closes shut.

Fighting is futile when you are who you are. It's unexpected. It's frowned upon. You are made up of something that is intended to be docile, to be big-eyed and soft. If you were a dog, they would want you to roll over and bare your belly and forget how to do anything but obey, but that is not the kind of thing that you ever wanted to be, even when you were small, even before you knew what you really were.

You hate what you are. You medicate yourself to the point of being incoherent, you bare your teeth and aggravate the submissive nature you inherit to deter any kind of match. You make yourself undesirable, not just in your physical nature but in the very essence of yourself.

You want to start over, as something else, or you want to never have been at all. You hate this place, you want them to cast you out, you want to be left to your own devices because dying alone and unwanted is better than submission; it;s better than the imprisonment that your kind subjects themselves to, willing or not.

It sickens you. You watch your own kind fall to their knees, close their mouths, and allow their very being to disappear just to make another satiated. Happy. Their entire lives, reduced to being someone else's waiting hand, someone else's property. It's sad, it's pathetic, it rocks you to the very center of yourself, and you demand more of it, you reject this life and the voice in your head that fights with you every single day of it.

She hates you, too, your omega. She claws at your insides and begs for something to drink, but you dry her out. You don't allow her to even breach the surface of the wasteland you've suffocated her with. She is naïve; she doesn't know what is good for her, she doesn't know that you are saving her from a life of constant torture. She screams for you to let her out, but you take another pill and force her back into the dark.

Or at least you did. You haven't taken a pill in days. They won't let you, even when you asked, even when you began to beg. You promised to be good if they just appeased you. You promised to be quiet if they just slipped it under your tongue, even if they injected it into your very veins, anything, just please, please, I don't want to–

Everything is surreal. You feel like you're seeing everything in color. What used to be dull and uninteresting now sparkles in your very eyes, it glows under the sun. Everything is sharper and less blurry. Sounds are clearer. You can hear the wind more loudly in your ears and feel it under the soles of your shoes. But what dizzies you the most is your sense of smell.

Everything before had been so bland. You have been under the effects of suppressors for so long that you don't think food has ever smelled so bad and so good (eggs make you gag now, and the crisps they give you make your mouth water).

They keep you confined in a small room. You are not allowed in the presence of any alphas; you can smell them passing by the door, but whenever the stink of one of them lingers, there's loud voices, lots of heavy boots. A beta comes to collect you to do a daily workout and to shower, and then you are back in your room, your meals delivered on a tight schedule (and the food, after a few days of your tray being barely picked at, gets so much better–it's better quality than you've seen on any military base, and when you asked, all they said was "lieutenant's orders").

Today is different. Today, along with your breakfast, a large black hoodie is folded underneath the tray that they leave on the end of your bed. You set the food aside, picking up the hoodie, and when you unravel it, you spread it out, gawking at the size of it. Whoever this hoodie belongs to is more bear, more beast, than human. An enormous thing, but when you pick it up, you immediately pick up on its strong scent.

You press the front of it to your nose. Your eyes flutter shut, and you sink into the bed a little as you take a deep breath of it. Warm, but gritty, like charcoal. Cigarettes. Military-issue soap. Clean. Eucalyptus. Fire. Something with depth, something with teeth. You don't realize what's happening to you until it's too late.

Alpha. It smells undoubtedly like alpha, and you're certain by the size of it that it belongs to one. You nuzzle your face into it a little, instinctively, and you don't even register your omega knocking, peering through the door that's been cracked open for her.

She squeals with delight. She's getting dizzy, drunk, and you feel a soft noise in your chest bubble as she pets the back of your mind, keening at the introduction of it. She’s giggling. You can feel her tugging at your insides, whispering in your ear–See? I told you. I told you that you’d like it.

They smell strong. They smell capable. They smell pure.

When you put the hoodie down, your legs are pressed together, shaking from how hard your thighs are squeezed. When you relax, you refrain from the need to touch yourself, but you failed before you even started. You can feel how wet you are; your panties must be soaked, and you feel yourself pulsing with some sort of distinct urge to give in, give in, give in.

It's unnerving, the lack of control you have. Your omega has always been a few feet underwater, but she's breaching the surface now, her lips gasping for air.

You try to push her back.

Stay down.

When the clock strikes for dinner, you aren't surprised by the knock. But you are surprised that when the door opens, there isn't a beta in uniform holding your tray. Instead, you cover your nose a little, blinking harshly as a large man comes into the room. He's got a strange beard and a floppy hat, and when he smiles, he reminds you of a teddy bear. You can tell just by his physique what he is, but his eyes are kinder than you're used to.

You will yourself not to trust them. You trusted kind eyes before, and now you’re locked in a prison of your own making.

"'ello," he introduces himself, holding out his hand. "'m Captain John Price. 's nice to meet you."

You glare at him, not saying a word. When he figures you won't shake his hand, he just nods. He lets his hand drop, hooking his thumbs into his tact vest, and he rests at ease.

"I've come to collect you," he says lowly. "It's time."

You pick up your tray of food from behind you and hurl it towards him. He ducks just in time, moving one shoulder backwards as the metal hits the wall behind him and clatters to the floor in a splattered mess. John shakes his head a little, scratching the back of his neck, and he clicks his tongue. You’re unnerved and a little pissed off when a hint of a grin flickers over his face.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes. "Yeah...you'll do."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Let's go," John snaps. "Won't ask again."

When he reaches for you, you swipe the fork from the bed, stepping close and sticking the little prongs up against his chin. You aren’t satisfied until you can feel his scratchy beard against it, piercing the skin just enough.

"If you touch me, I'll shove this right up your chin through your goddamn nose," you threaten, and John’s nostrils flare, his hands going up flat beside his head.

"Easy," he murmurs, and you feel like he’s talking to a skittish mare. "Just need to guide you, that's all."

"Well, I don't want to go anywhere."

"If you don't do this, I have to send you back," John explains. "And Kate made it very clear that is supposed to be my last resort. And you don't want to go back."

"Anything is better than this," you hiss, and he narrows his eyes.

"Not this. What they do to unruly omegas..." He leans forward, snarling a little. "Ones like you. Ones that bite. And scratch. They don't deal with them. They'll sedate you and use you as training practice. And while Kate might have a heart big enough to keep you outta that place, I don't have it. So get your arse moving. Now."

You put your hand down, dropping the fork, letting it clatter to the floor. He grips you by the collar of your shirt, urging you forward, and all the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as he gets dangerously close to scruffing you. It's enough of a threat that you immediately relax, your own body betraying your emotions as it tries to make itself smaller. To appease. To submit.

"This can't wait any longer," John mutters. "Has to happen today."

Your lip trembles.

"What has to happen today?" You ask.

"You're meeting your mate," he says. You know that was the answer, but you had to ask it anyways. You think of the hoodie you received all those hours ago. The smell of him, complete intoxication. "Simon."

Simon.

"Sounds like an asshole," you snap, irritated, and John chuckles a little.

"Mmm. He is. You'll adore 'im."

You flinch at the flickering fluorescent lights as he leads you down a narrow hallway. When you pass other soldiers, John puts you in front of him, glaring and baring his teeth a little. You're confused by this sudden display of aggression on your behalf, but when you spot the looks in others’ eyes, you're grateful for it nonetheless.

You know your scent is strong; piercing the walls around you, displaying your displeasure, discomfort, fear so plainly. It's an awful thing to not be able to hide how you feel, to not feel like you have any control over how you present to others, but you have no practice masking any of it. You have been drowning your omega for so long that you didn't realize the strength of her building up behind the synthetic walls you had built. She's livid, angry, permeating the spaces in your mind that you thought were solid and now are broken and hollow inside.

You stop in front of an unmarked door. John looks over you, eyeing the jacket you wear.

"Take tha' off," he says lowly. You frown, stepping back, but he nods again. "Take it off. You'll get it back, just give it to me."

You shrug your jacket off gently, handing it to him. John holds out his hand for yours, and when you cautiously give it to him, he rubs the fabric against your wrists to soak it in your scent before disappearing behind the door. You wait outside, pressing your ear to the metal, but you hear nothing but low mumbles. You do hear a heavy gait, big feet moving around that don't belong to Captain Price, and you close your eyes as you try and see if you can hear his voice.

You don't.

The door is opened just slightly, John cocking his head to the side.

"He wants to see you."

You raise a brow.

"Your mutt?" You ask smartly, and John scoffs a little, kicking the door open wide finally. Behind it, you can see a small little office situated. Dozens of file cabinets, a stained wooden desk, a peeling leather chair. There are papers everywhere, a disorganized mess and walls filled with medals, plaques, letters, pictures of faceless men. And standing beside the desk, towering over it with his head nearly hitting the ceiling is a bear.

A fucking bear.

He's so tall. Over six feet of hulking man, big shoulders taking up too much space. You can tell just by looking at him that he has to duck his head and move his body sideways to get through the doorway you're standing in. He has big hands and thick thighs, and your lips part when you realize his thigh holster has been released as much as possible just to still fit snugly around him. He's wearing dark jeans and a thick black hoodie, and he looks even bigger with a strapped tact vest that holds numerous little gadgets, weapons (fuck, he looks like he can kill you with the pencil laying haphazard beside him).

You can't see his face. He covers it with a mask, a snug covering tucked under his hoodie with the plastic front plate of a skull sewn to its front. He's holding your jacket in one hand, the other clenched in a tight fist as you step through the door.

"Is this your dog, Captain?" You ask finally. Simon doesn't speak. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you, taking in the way you look from the tips of your combat boots all the way up over your head. His gaze lingers on your middle, the wideness of your hips and the curve of your body.

John crosses his arms over his chest.

"Suppose so," John shrugs, rolling his eyes a little. You blink, finally making eye contact with Simon. His eyes are dark and beady. He's intense, just as his scent had been. Your omega warms your throat and screams in your ear.

Grab him. Latch onto him. Don’t let him go. Do you see him? Look at him–

"Does it bark?" You wonder, glaring. Simon unclenches his fist, rolling his fingers out a little. They twitch beside his leg. His face twitches a little, too, you can see the mask move just slightly.

"When he wants to."

"Does it bite?"

John snorts. "Mmm. Afraid so." He opens the door behind him. "Don't kill each other. If I don't see her for supper, Simon, I'll hold you to it."

When you are alone, Simon still remains silent. He hasn't moved from his spot by the desk, still in a strange staring contest with you as you stand there trying to read him. Like Kate, he's impossible; this time, you don't even have the luxury of looking over his face, although you suspect even without the mask, he must have mastered some kind of expression of nothingness. He seems like the kind of brute to give nothing away. Not even his displeasure.

"Hope you're good on a leash," you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest. "I like to go on walks."

His face moves under the mask again. Finally, he moves. He unravels your jacket in his hand, holding it open for you to put on again. You eye him strangely before coming closer to fit your arms into it.

When you turn your back to him, you realize how much of his shadow you're tucked under. When he drops the fabric back on your shoulders, you still as he leans over one side of you, bending. Without thinking, your head tilts to the side, giving him more space into the side of your neck. You do it without even thinking. Your omega bleeds through you, and you feel her warmth everywhere now, making you move, but you let her this time.

Your scent gland pulses there under your ear. He can see it, hear it practically, rushing like the blood in his ears. You close your eyes when you feel him come closer, the cotton of his mask just barely grazing your neck as he takes a deep breath.

The growl he lets out shakes you to your core. Your pupils get blown wide at the sound, and your head flops back slow, exposing more of your neck. He uses the opportunity to bend just that much more, until the front of his mask is pressed against the gland, and he can breathe you in, right at the source.

He's snarling under the mask. You can hear his teeth knock together, his tongue wetting his lips. You shiver, leaning into him, your hand raising up to caress the back of his neck as he nuzzles his nose there, taking another deep breath. You step back enough that he presses up against you from behind. You can feel his pelvis right against your ass, and you arch your back just enough to fit him right where he belongs. A gloved hand catches you at your waist, and you put your free hand on the desk in front of you until his cock is right there between your ass.

Your omega is panting. She's clawing, right there at the edge, fighting against quicksand as she's desperate to meet him. The feeling of him, the scent of him so close, it's an aphrodisiac, potent, suffocating. Something warm is wrapping around you, sliding along your skin, tickling your toes. It's between your thighs, in your mouth, wetting your tongue. You're not sure what this feeling is, but it's thrilling.

He's purring. Big, rumbling sounds coming from deep in his chest. More animal than man as his tongue comes out under the mask, and you can feel him lick a nice stripe over the raised, warm skin under your ear. Your omega is being pulled to the forefront. She’s like a magnet to him. The closer he gets, the stronger she bites into you. Your mouth drops open when his hand falls between your thighs, gripping onto you and pulling you up against him in one, slow grind. You can feel the length of him, fucking enormous, and you’re leaking into your cargos as his fingers squeeze the fat of your thigh.

"Fuck–okay!" You pull away abruptly, turning to face him. You put your hands on his chest and push him back a little. He doesn’t move at your touch, but your voice startles him enough that he moves his hands up and away from you. He straightens up, blinking away the haze in his eyes, and you swallow hard. "T-Too much..."

He huffs, moving forward to bury his face into your neck again, but you step back, putting a hand on his chest firmer this time. You have stepped out of the cloud that surrounds him, but you can still taste it, and it’s pulling you back, and you’re losing control.

"Simon," you say his name gently, and he stops, his face scrunching a little under the mask before he stands back up again. "If I have to be your mate...we need to set some boundaries." He blinks, saying nothing. "Like...a-asking for permission."

You can tell by the way his mask twitches that he doesn't usually ask for permission. He wants, and he receives.

Typical.

“What?” You ask, scoffing. “You don’t talk?”

He doesn’t move. You crane your neck to look up at him a little better, and you smooth your hands lower on his chest. You can’t help but appreciate what you feel. He’s wearing a tactical vest, but you can still feel the deep breaths he’s taking, the strong, fatty muscle under your palms. He is the epitome of sheer strength and undeniable ability. Your omega draws your hands back up his chest, over his pecs that pull taut, and they wind up around his neck as you stand up on your toes and lean into the curve of his jaw. You put your nose to it, barely. Simon moves his hands down, cupping you under your ass and picking up your weight with not even a grunt until you can press your face deep into him.

Fuck, it’s like a drug. It’s addictive. His scent impales you. He smells like war. Like chaos and smoke, and your mouth starts to water as you keep breathing him in. You pull back just enough, blinking up at him. You look a little dizzy and intoxicated, and he squeezes your ass to hold you steady as he puts you back onto your feet.

“Uhm…” You sniffle a little, holding onto him. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you keep yourself upright like this. “I didn’t wanna be here. I don’t…I don’t want this. I never did.” You blink away tears, but he sees them when you draw your eyes back up to his. “T-They made me. It hurts.”

“Wot hurts?”

His voice scares you when you finally hear it. Your lip shakes, and when you blink again, your tears fall down your face. Simon snarls when he sees them, reaching up with hands too rough and wiping them off your face, but they keep coming.

“I’ve never been o-off my meds–” You gasp, and your breaths start to come in panicked and too fast. “Everything hurts. T-The lights are too bright, everything hurts my nose, the sheets are too itchy, and I-I can’t breathe–”

Simon moves away from you immediately. He closes a fist and pounds the lightswitch, and only the yellow glow of the lamp on his desk illuminates the room. You curl into yourself, hugging your own arms, and Simon comes back to stand in front of you, narrowing his eyes.

“I did not want you either.”

“That’s just grand, this is perfect,” you hiccup, and Simon grunts.

“But I have orders.”

“You act like your Captain is just debriefing you for a fucking mission,” You snap, glaring at him. “I’m a fucking person. I know your kind may not see us that way, but I am. I’m not a mission. I’m not something for you to win or to conquer, you fucking asshole!”

When you raise a hand to hit him, he catches your wrist before it lands. He squeezes just enough to hold you at arm’s length, and you lean forward and spit on him instead. It wets the mouth of his mask, and he nearly loses himself as his eyes flash with something dark. He looks away from you for a moment to collect himself. When he turns back, he uses his other hand to cup the back of your head, silencing you.

“You listen ‘ere, omega–” The way he says your title makes the fight in you shrink. Your omega squeaks, ducking her head, that bubble of submission pilling in your throat as he holds you so close to your naked scent gland. “Dunno wot anyone told you, but I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” He ducks his head, pulling you closer, and you freeze when he presses his masked mouth at the base of your pulsing scent gland. It wafts into his nose, dilating his pupils, and he snarls. “And when you inevitably lose control of yourself–you already fuckin’ are, you reek of it–I’m goin’ to sink my teeth right ‘ere, and then it won’t fuckin’ matter ‘ow you feel.”

Your eyes blur with angry tears. You gasp, your breaths hitching, and Simon seems to feed off of your fear, your misery. If he wasn’t wearing a mask, you imagine he’d be licking your tears for a chance to taste your sadness. The worst part of it all is that your omega adores it. She’s been aching for so long for this kind of authority. For that edge to tickle her right under her chin where she likes it. The whiff of alpha that she’s getting is driving her out of control, and you don’t know how make her quiet down. She’s so loud in your head, banging against the walls–give it to him, give it to him, give it to him.

“You’re a fucking monster,” you whisper, glaring up at him. It’s no use–you will never scare him. Simon is what scares other alphas into submission. In one paw, he could crush your windpipe if he wanted to, with just a squeeze. Simon hums, and you imagine him smiling under that mask, some kind of vicious grin that you would love to smack off of him.

“Tha’s right, swee’eart,” Simon mutters. “I am. ‘n now you belong t’me. Everything that you are–” He smooths his hand down your neck. You seize when his hand slides over the curve of your waist until it cups under your ass and forces you up against him. “‘s mine. Your omega–’s mine. Your mouth–mine. Your arse–mine. That cunt that’s going to take my knot like a good little omega should–mine. So y’r gonna get y’r things, and y’r gonna move them into my quarters, and then we’re gonna go get supper, and y’r gonna shut y’r fuckin’ mouth.”

“I hate you. You’re the biggest son of a bitch I have ever met in my entire life, you are exactly the kind of asshole I knew you would be, you are no different than I thought. You’re a terrible, awful, horrible–”

“I can smell you,” Simon snaps. “Don’t try to be fuckin’ smart with me, I can smell how wet your cunt is, so why don’t you just be a good girl and do as I say?”

You bare your teeth a little, and Simon sticks a gloved thumb into your mouth. Without thinking, you relax. You suck it into your mouth and sigh, and Simon rubs his thumb against your tongue, shutting you up nice and well. He traces your teeth with it, and you start to cry. You cry because you don’t know why you can’t fight. Your grip his forearm, but your nails won’t dig. Your feet are planted to the ground, and you can’t move. Your mouth sucks, and he pushes, and you’re frozen here.

He knows what to do. Doesn’t he taste so good?

He seems to like your teary eyes. The big, fat tears. His eyes crinkle, and you know he’s smiling, and you wish you could rip that expression off his face, but all that stares back at you is death. Simon growls, and every bit of resistance in you fails. Slow, like molasses, your knees buckle, and he catches you. He pets your mouth, and when he leans in and presses his mouth to your ear, all you can do is cry.

“That’s it. Good kitty.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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barrenclan · 9 days ago

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"The Vaster World"

Well! This is it! The very last epilogue of "Pinepaw and the Forgotten World"!

This epilogue in particular took me awhile to write, because I had to get it exactly how I wanted. Pinewing and Cormorantleaf's relationship is one of the main focuses of the story, and I really felt I needed to explore it the way it deserved. Especially important to me was showing that despite how much they love each other, there's still a ton of baggage and difficulities they needed to work out. I honestly think it would be unrealistic for two characters with so much trauma to just skip off happily together, but I also wanted to emphasize how they could still reconcile in the end. Not all relationships work out, but Pinewing and Cormorantleaf both felt that the other was extremely important to them, and the relationship was something they both wanted. So they were willing to put in the work of building it back up.

I had a ton of fun drawing older Pinewing and Cormorantleaf. I started doodling Pinewing with full facial hair something like a year ago, and I've been so desperate to finally get it into the comic since. It feels so right for him, like his perfect final form. After a life full of pressure and difficulty Pinewing just wants to be a happy old man who gets to kiss his husband every day, and sometimes profesy the future writ flesh. Goodbye, my little blue cat; I'm gonna miss you.

The title of this epilogue comes from "Mimsy Were The Borogoves" by Lewis Padgett: "They would survive, but they would not know how to swim downstream, to the vaster world of the ocean.”

In the end, the whole project wraps up at 64,501 words, 370 pages, and two and a half years of production time. I started this project expecting it to be a minor thing I occasionally drew on the side, something a few people might find interesting. The enormously positive response has absolutely blown me away and continues to do so, and I am forever so grateful that thousands of people can enjoy and meaningfully relate to this story.

Thank you, as always, to everyone who has commented, shared, reblogged, theorized, made fanart, made fanfiction, told their friends, liked it, or just read it at all. Though I won't go into the specific details, PATFW is an extremely personal and cathartic creation of mine, so the fact that many of you have also told me that it connected with you on an emotional level is genuinely heart-touching. I appreciate all your readership through these years. It means a lot.

-Raz

Previous < > You are at the end

#patfw #pinepaw and the forgotten world #pinepaw #cormorantpaw #daffodilpaw #asphodelpaw #slugpelt #orlando #hush puppy #magpie #partridge #deepdark #comic #webcomic #epilogue #epilogue 10 #issue

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darkmatilda · 25 days ago

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𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your relationship is still very new, and you're getting ready to tell the rest of the team about it. in the meantime, you find yourselves again in another unusual hotel...where suddenly spencer starts acting very strangely?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses spencer reid x newbau!female!reader, fluff, intimacy conversation, spender being adorably shy

𝐚/𝐧: 'matilda how many more times are you gonna write that one bed trope' AS MUCH AS I CAN TILL I DIE btw i wrote this fic over a pretty long period of time, had a main idea (supposedly), but in the end i'm not happy with how it turned out—kinda all over the place. anyway, enjoy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

"My five dollars"

Spencer sighed and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the slightly crumpled bill. You closed it in your hand, a triumphant smile on your face.

"Let's make bets more often, darling," you suggested.

When you used that nickname, his gaze briefly flickered over your face, as if studying whether it had been said purely in jest.

"You’re puffing up like you just invented the wheel," he said, gently shaking his head from side to side. "And just to remind you, all you did was park parallel."

"Parked parallel, indeed. And my coffee?"

He also handed you the paper cup he’d been holding while you performed those incredibly complicated car maneuvers that the bet was about. It was morning, the first day back at work. January, the first days of the new year. You had just arrived at the office parking lot in your car, after spending the night at your place. Everything around you still seemed to smell of that melancholic blend of the past mixed with the fresh scent of the coming months. And coffee, bought at the café on the way.

You took a tiny sip of the hot drink. Spencer, it seemed, hadn’t touched his even once. Both of you, consciously or not, were stretching out the moment just a little longer. And, truth be told, you could afford to. The parking lot around you was only beginning to fill with cars, suggesting the early hour. It was nice to sit there together, sharing the quiet without any discomfort.

You realized this was supposed to be your first day at work as a couple.

A warm, pleasant feeling spread through you at the sound of that word, even though you hadn’t said it out loud. It still felt a little unreal. You had grown closer during the New Year’s Eve party at your place. It was only after that shared—and not just one—kiss that a new perspective dawned on you about the past months of your relationship, revealing some undefined emotions.

"I was wondering..." Spender suddenly began, his brows furrowed slightly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

His gaze suddenly fell on his watch.

"We still have some time," you reassured him calmly. "Let me guess. You've been wondering what would happen if we crossed the DNA of a jellyfish that can reverse its life cycle with the human genome?"

A small smile flickered across his face, a touch of affection despite the rather serious expression on the rest of his face.

"That too," he admitted, nodding. Then he opened his mouth, with some visible hesitation, as if a particular question was troubling him. You shifted in the driver's seat, preparing for whatever he wanted to discuss, whatever he wanted to ask. "How...how are we supposed to act...you know, towards each other? At work?"

For a moment, your brain didn’t understand what he meant. But then, a fleeting oh escaped you as the meaning of his words sank in, and you realized that it was indeed something worth considering. Somehow, over the past few days, neither of you had brought it up. You had just gone back to work, without any reflection on the fact that none of your colleagues knew about the progress in your relationship. About how it had suddenly taken a step to a completely different level.

Spencer studied your face in silence, waiting for a response. As he looked at you, coming up with a logical solution became incredibly difficult. Before you finally said anything, you let out two half-intelligent mutters, like a fish thrown onto the surface.

"We have to tell them," you finally said, stating the obvious. "Somehow. Maybe...we can meet at my place this weekend. All of us. Or we could go out somewhere, and then tell them calmly."

"This weekend?" Spencer repeated cautiously.

It was Monday.

Suddenly, it became incredibly hard to read the expression on his face. He was facing you, his brows slightly furrowed, a look of uncertainty, almost withdrawal. The air inside your car thickened, making the silence even more palpable. He seemed almost concerned, downcast. You froze, wondering if you had really said something wrong.

"So until then," he started more quietly, "are we just supposed to hide it from them?"

“I'm not sure hide is the right word," you replied with a grimace. "I just...I meant, maybe we should wait. For a better moment, you know? Instead of walking into the office on the first Monday of the year, when half the people are still nursing hangovers, and saying hey, guess what? we hooked up!”

His expression hadn't changed, despite your pretty honest explanation.

"You don't like the idea," you stated, rather than asking. You made sure your voice sounded gentle, adjusting it to the situation. "I can see that, Spencer."

"Okay, you're right, I don't like it," he admitted with a sudden coolness, his lips tightening slightly between sentences. "Because...I don't get your reasoning. Or, maybe I just don’t know if this is really what you mean."

Slightly surprised, you shook your head.

"What else could I—"

"I don’t know if it's really about that, or maybe..." he cut off, looking into your eyes as if hoping you'd understand by now. But you didn't have the skill to read his mind, no matter how remarkable it was—it was also incredibly complex. "Or maybe...I don’t know, you just don’t take it seriously. That's why you don't want to tell anyone about it."

You gasped, finally understanding his behavior. Realizing the hidden concern.

"You’re worried I don't take us seriously?"

Spencer shrugged briefly.

"You know, if that's really the case, I'd rather know now..."

You leaned in to catch one of his hands, which had been clasped over his chest. You broke his defensive stance, pulling him toward you by his long fingers, simply holding it for a moment before speaking again. With a smile. A slightly amused smile.

"Of course, I take us seriously, you idiot," you snorted. A sense of relief washed over you. Earlier, he’d seemed genuinely worried, and you’d been expecting far worse things than the fact that your guy literally paled with anxiety over worrying you weren’t as invested in your fresh relationship as he was. Well, out of context, it sounded like a very serious concern. But the context was, you took it seriously, and you were incredibly happy he did too. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Why should we make idiots out of ourselves for the next week? Let’s just walk in like this."

You motioned toward your intertwined fingers, raising them as if they were a trophy earned through sweat and tears. Spencer followed their movement with his gaze, initially surprised, but then the corner of his mouth twitched, and he tilted his head with a quiet chuckle.

"We can do it your way," he said, taking control of your hands, clasping them with both of his. He looked relieved; your reassurance and the sincerity in your voice clearly calmed him. You smiled too, finally seeing that peace on his face. "I really don't mind waiting a few days. It might even be… interesting. One of us might not hold out and accidentally slip up."

You raised an eyebrow in a teasing manner.

"Another bet, Reid?" you clicked your tongue. You kept eye contact with him, feeling his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. He seemed so unaffected, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. "You already lost five bucks about…ten minutes ago. At this rate, you'll be broke within a month, and we'll have to skip that overpriced coffee downtown. Now that would be a real horror story, speaking as a citizen of the first world."

"Didn't say anything about another bet!”

"Too late," you shot back, turning his hand and taking it in a more formal handshake. "Handshakes sealed the deal."

He rolled his eyes, but a half-smile lingered on his face. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

"I think we should get going," he said reluctantly.

You sighed with the same enthusiasm. You really felt stuck to that seat, right next to him.

"You know, being late on the first day of the new year should be fully justified..."

"We really need to go."

He was right. But before either of you could move to get out of the car, he leaned forward. Gently cupping your cheek, he drew you in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to vanish—just the two of you, in that quiet, perfect stillness.

His face suddenly turned to the side, noticing something through the windshield. You frowned and looked in the same direction.

"That's Gideon," you remarked out loud, even though both of you had already spotted the silhouette of your coworker stepping out of a car that had just parked a short distance ahead. He wasn’t looking your way yet, but he could at any moment. "Quick, hide!"

Okay, you were completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t about being afraid of getting caught. After all, there was nothing strange about two coworkers arriving at work together in the same car—it was even very eco-friendly. You just liked the idea of shoving Reid under the seat. And the poor thing, so thrown off by the mock authority in your voice and the situation itself, did it without a second thought.

When Gideon finally noticed you, you cheerfully waved at him.

"Fuck," you muttered suddenly.

"What is it?" Spencer returned to his seat, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Do you think he saw me?"

You shook your head.

"I just realized…this is your car."

"Okay, draw a straw."

"Morgan, how old are you?" You shook your head in disbelief, staring at the man standing across from you in the motel lobby. The place where you were spending the night this time was very tidy, with subdued colors, but, as tradition demanded, there had to be some sort of problem. You had one room for two, but one of them only had a double bed. So, you had to decide which two lucky people would share it. "Five?"

"And a half. Listen, we have to decide somehow. Let fate do it. The two who pull the shortest will sleep together. Simple as that."

Before you could say anything else, Garcia approached, weighed down by her bags. Yes, her—rarely did any case require her to be on-site, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.

"Oh, come on, Sweetie," she muttered to you, setting her luggage down and hunching slightly to catch her breath. "Let him feel like a kid again for a moment. He doesn’t get the chance often."

You sighed in resignation, but before you could pull one of the purple straws (how did he even get them?) that Morgan was holding in such a way that their lengths were hidden, you glanced around briefly. Sometimes you arrived at hotels at different times, some getting there faster, others later. Spencer and JJ had just walked in, both wearing coats to shield them from the cold January air. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him and his fogged-up glasses, which he quietly cursed under his breath—judging by the movement of his lips. However, you quickly composed yourself, returning to a neutral expression. It had only been two days since your agreement to keep the details of your relationship hidden, and so far, neither of you had slipped or forgotten to keep quiet around the others. Well, out of the two of you, you were probably struggling with it more—being a bit of a clinger, sometimes even your body would naturally gravitate towards his when standing next to him.

“Why are you standing here?” Spencer asked, approaching you. “Is there a problem with the rooms?”

“Is there ever not a problem with the rooms?” you responded, laughing. “Some poor souls are going to have to share a bed,” you explained, making brief eye contact with him. You were sure only he could catch the emphasis you placed on poor souls.

Of course, you wouldn't mind ending up in the same room. It wasn't about the fact that you were together—before, you’d shared rooms and even beds, and you were used to it by now. You would've probably offered it yourself, if it weren’t for the potential suspicion and that silly bet, which was starting to lose its point in your eyes. Maybe you should’ve just told them a few days ago?

“Oh,” he said shortly, crossing his arms with a bit of stiffness. His brown bag hung from his shoulder. He held your gaze for a moment, but his expression wasn’t as amused as yours. His brows furrowed slightly as he cleared his throat. “Poor them. Who’s it going to be?”

You slightly puffed out your lips slightly, watching him with a sharp look. What was it that made him so uneasy—the fact that you might not be in the same room this time?

“We were just about to decide,” Penelope replied, glancing at her friend with a teasing smile. “Morgan’s going to show us a game he learned today in kindergarten."

JJ couldn't help but snort.

“Just draw a straw…!”

You couldn’t recall another moment when all of you, every single one, rolled your eyes in perfect unison. But that’s exactly what happened when Derek once again enthusiastically explained the rules, as though they weren’t already ridiculously simple. In the end, each of you reached for one of the straws he was holding.

JJ went first. She pulled hers quickly, and it was of regular length, so it was immediately clear she wasn’t one of the poor souls. She raised her hand in a mock display of triumph, earning a few amused chuckles from the group.

Your turn came next. You approached the task with a certain gravity, as though the fate of the night depended entirely on the straw you chose. You studied each one carefully, as if their lengths could somehow be deciphered from the way they were arranged.

You wouldn’t have minded drawing the shortest straw. But only on one condition.

Morgan looked at you with mock sympathy. Your straw wasn’t even half as long as JJ’s, which seemed to settle things. Now, it was just a matter of figuring out which of the remaining two—Reid or Garcia—would end up joining you.

Spencer reached out with a calculated, deliberate motion, his eyes immediately darting to yours when his straw turned out to be...one of the longer ones.

You shot him a look of bitter disappointment before your gaze shifted to your soon-to-be roommate. Penelope didn’t seem disheartened—on the contrary, an enthusiastic smile lit up her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but you caught the fleeting shift in her expression and the subtle flicker of her eyes.

“Oh no,” she suddenly gasped, her voice filled with exaggerated horror, even though she’d just seemed perfectly content, or at least not displeased, at the idea of sharing a room with you. “No, absolutely not. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same room with her. Do you guys even know how loud she snores?”

Lies! You wanted to yell, but stopped yourself as realization dawned. Garcia was a good actress—you had to give her that—but her flair for dramatics always bordered on overkill, making it far too easy to catch her in a lie.

“I’m not used to traveling as often as you guys are,” Penelope continued in the same over-the-top tone. “I barely get a wink of sleep in a new place when it’s quiet, let alone with someone next to me snoring like a steam engine…”

“Love you too, Pen,” you muttered dryly.

“Someone has to switch with me, please,” she concluded, clasping her fingers together in a dramatic plea and pulling off the best puppy-dog eyes you’d seen in a long time. Well, at least since the time Reid had tried to coax you into reciting one of your old, cringe-worthy high school poems—the existence of which you’d only ever confessed to him.

“JJ?” Penelope turned her hopeful gaze toward her.

“Not a chance. My straw was the longest,” JJ replied, smug and immovable.

“Don’t even think about asking me,” Morgan chimed in before anyone could so much as glance in his direction.

And so, all eyes inevitably fell on Reid.

He awkwardly scratched the back of his ear, not looking directly at you.

“Well, I always carry earplugs with me…”

“Then it’s settled!” Garcia declared, hoisting her luggage with sudden determination. One of her heavy bags was thrust into Morgan’s arms so abruptly that he staggered backward under its weight. “Sweet dreams, everyone! Don’t let the bedbugs bite, and may the sheep you count tonight be extra fluffy and adorable. Goodnight!”

Just before she fully turned to leave, she sent you a quick, knowing wink.

You shook your head in disbelief, but the faintest smile danced on your lips. You didn’t even bother questioning how she knew. Only one conclusion circled your mind. Penelope could be really impossible. Thankfully, being impossible didn’t disqualify her from also being the best friend under this vast, sprawling sky. Period.

"What do you think about starting a tier list for all the hotels we stay in?” you remarked as both of you crossed the threshold of the room. Your eyes immediately landed on its unexpected feature. “Or at least the weirdest ones. Like the one with walls the color of cat pee where the power went out in the middle of the night. That one’s definitely at the top..."

"I don’t really get the point of a mirror on the ceiling," Reid said after a pause, looking over his shoulder at you. He was standing a few steps away, near the bed in the glaring white room with birchwood floors. "Who wants to look at themselves while trying to fall asleep?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or not. He raised an eyebrow too, not understanding why you did that. Okay, he wasn’t joking.

"You know, the main point isn’t really to look at yourself while falling asleep," you explained, with a bit of amused pity. Your gaze also briefly lingered on the glass surface above the bed, designed to reflect the bodies of people lying in bed. You thought it was a surprising addition but weren’t planning on spending too much time on it for now. You just wanted to get your shoes off—shoes you’d been wearing since sunrise—and finally lie down on something soft. "By the way, I’m taking a shower first."

Spencer only muttered something under his breath in response. Before disappearing behind the bathroom door, you cast one last glance at him. He seemed quiet—strangely quiet. Not that you were expecting his usual chatter after a long day of work; it could weigh on anyone and leave them feeling subdued. Maybe he just needed an extra moment to unwind, and that’s where his restraint came from.

Anyway, you took a quick shower. The pressure of the hot water nearly scalded your skin, which meant you’d be spared the bitter complaints, grumbling, and dramatic resignation threats from Morgan the next day. You felt too tired to linger under the stream for long. After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower, changed into your sleepwear, and gathered the clothes you’d worn all day from the floor.

You and Spencer passed each other in the doorway without a word.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you frowned. The bathroom door shut behind him, and some concerned question froze on your lips. For a moment, you stood still, debating whether you should ask it. But then the sound of running water reached your ears, and you figured he probably wouldn’t hear you anyway.

Instead, you decided to climb into bed, wait for him, and ask about it then. Whatever it was clearly weighed on him, and the fact that something was bothering him bothered you. Funny how that worked, right?

You spent that moment lying on your back, eyes wide open, afraid you might accidentally fall asleep if you closed them. A comfortable bed during a case—it felt like pure luxury. You were waiting for Spencer to finally emerge from the bathroom so you could curl up next to him, fall asleep to the fresh post-shower scent of him, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Just like you had spent half the day after the New Year’s party at your place—wrapped around each other, arguing over who would get up to make coffee and whether you should start cleaning up the mess from the night before.

You tucked your arm beneath your head, gazing at your fully-covered form reflected in the ceiling mirror.

“Did you find a portal to another galaxy in there or what?” you finally called out, impatient. He’d been in there way too long. And coming from you—a known lover of long, indulgent baths—that was saying something.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing a gray t-shirt instead of his usual neat work attire and tie perfectly knotted at his neck. He still had his glasses on, which he might’ve forgotten to remove, judging by the way he slid into bed to your left without taking them off.

You watched him closely, rubbing at your tired eye. The shower had managed to wash away about half of the tension from Spencer’s face, but the other half stubbornly remained.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t have to,” you admitted simply, watching as he carefully adjusted himself, finding the right position. The lamp on his side of the bed cast a warm glow over his skin. You were both half-sitting, you comfortably propped up against the soft pillows, and him barely leaning back against them. “But I wanted to. We really lucked out with this room, huh? Penelope is one of a kind.”

"Did you tell her about us?"

"I didn’t say a word. She's just more observant than the rest”

He nodded, agreeing with you. You thought he might say something else about it, maybe make a joke about the bet, but he didn’t. You yawned.

"You seem tired.”

“How did you figure that out, Sherlock?” you asked, your sarcasm light, without a hint of malice. “You too, by the way. Although, it’s not just that you seem tired—you are tired, at first glance. Or maybe something’s bothering you. Or maybe both. Am I right?”

He shrugged slowly.

“No, as far as I know.”

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You pulled your knees closer to your chest, shifting into a full sitting position with slightly bent legs. You leaned forward just enough to gently take his glasses off and fold them, your fingers brushing briefly against his cheek. He didn’t look at what you were doing, his gaze fixed on your face under the soft fall of his lashes. The wonderful color of his eyes, the slight hesitation in your movements as you moved a little closer to kiss him—a fleeting, tender press of lips.

“Something’s going on, and you can tell me about it.”

“Or we could just go to sleep,” he suggested quietly. “It’s been a long day. You must be tired, I mean, you yawned a little while ago.”

You tilted your head, studying him thoughtfully. Was he really trying this hard to dodge the topic? How could you get him to open up?

“I know blackmail isn’t exactly healthy for relationships,” you started finally, turning his glasses over in your hands, “but I’m not giving these back until you tell me.”

Both corners of his mouth twitched at once.

“Oh no, what am I going to do now?” he replied with feigned concern, gently shaking his head. Then he lowered his voice. “This is exactly what I’d say if I didn’t also have contacts with me.”

"Sometimes I just want to…ugh."

"Violence isn't too healthy for relationships either."

"Just like not opening up. Remember what we talked about a few days ago in the car? You were worried I don't take you seriously. How else am I supposed to prove I'm serious if I don’t ask what’s wrong when I can tell something’s off?"

Your explanation sounded a bit jumbled, but he had to get the general idea. The reference to that specific conversation and his own words seemed to hit a sensitive spot.

"I didn’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me," he quickly corrected, swallowing hard. His chest fell, and the sigh felt like surrender. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to worry about it. It's nothing serious. I’m just tired...and a little stressed."

"Stressed?" you repeated, surprised. "You're stressed? But about what?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Just... about this," he said vaguely, his gaze shifting from you to your reflection in the glass ceiling. "Us, I mean."

"What do you mean?" you asked quietly, still confused, gently shaking your head. "We've shared rooms before, so if it’s about that, I really don’t get it."

"Yeah, but never like this. In a room with a king-sized bed and a huge mirror right above us," he explained, his voice tinged with embarrassment, clearly wishing he could just stop talking. "Okay, I know this sounds dumb, I know it does, but I don’t know why it’s messing with my head like this. I just...I kinda thought maybe you'd want to..."

"Spencer," you interrupted, saving him from going any further. You saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. You weren’t sure what emotion was bubbling up inside you now—whether it was still confusion or just pure amusement. "You were worried I’d want to have sex with you?”

You didn’t even need to wait for his answer to know you’d hit the nail on the head. Considering how your relationship had grown out of friendship, slowly evolving over time and shared experiences instead of a sudden burst of passion, you weren’t surprised you hadn’t yet taken that step together. It was something special in its own way—there had never been any pressure, and you hadn’t expected that he might feel the exact opposite.

So when you finally figured out what had been bothering him all this time, you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine.

"You were right, you know. It does sound kind of dumb," you said, unable to keep the smile from your face. His expression remained unreadable, his posture betraying a hint of anticipation as he waited for the rest of your reaction. "But also…I don’t know, kind of adorable? But seriously, Spencer, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready."

"It’s not that I don’t want to at all," he clarified quickly, almost too firmly. "I mean...it’d be our first time. Together. That’s what I mean. And I guess I just didn’t expect it to...happen tonight, here, of all places."

"I didn’t either," you admitted truthfully, the smile still lingering on your face. Unlike him, you didn’t feel even a hint of embarrassment. "I figured we’d just go to sleep, especially since we both already admitted we’re exhausted."

"Fair point," he mumbled.

"Honestly, this has to be the biggest example of overthinking I’ve ever seen anyone put themselves through, Spencer," you teased lightly, shaking your head.

For a moment, he stayed silent, but it felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding.

“You’re gonna have to get used to that,” he admitted finally, his voice soft. But then, you caught the faint glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips.

He even started to laugh, a quiet chuckle filled with a sort of amused self-awareness. Meanwhile, you leaned out of the bed to place his glasses on the nightstand on your side. If he wanted them in the morning, he’d have no choice but to reach right over you.

“But just for the record,” he began after a moment, as you reached for the edge of the blanket that had slipped off you earlier, pulling it back up to wrap around yourself. Your head was only inches from the pillow now. You gave him a questioning nod. He, too, was getting ready to lie down, finally looking genuinely relaxed. “How pathetic do you think that was, on a scale from one to ten?”

You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying the question with an answer.

“In the interest of science,” he pressed, “one to ten?”

“Pathetic enough that you’ll need to redeem yourself a little in my eyes,” you sighed dramatically. “Go on, I’m waiting for your ideas.”

“I think I might have a few,” he replied with a soft chuckle.

You prolonged the kiss, savoring the deep sense of comfort it brought you. The two of you lay face to face, and you gently brushed a few still-damp strands of hair from Spencer's forehead, though they stubbornly fell back into place. Eventually, you gave up with a soft sigh against his lips. Spencer kept his eyes closed, lost in a quiet bliss, even as you pulled back just slightly, leaving only an inch of space between you.

"Can I turn off the light now?" you asked, as always. The question had become a tradition since you'd learned about his complicated relationship with darkness.

He hummed in agreement, nodding faintly. Leaning over him, you reached for the bedside lamp on his side. The room was instantly bathed in darkness, your reflections in the mirror above fading into obscurity.

You didn’t fully return to your original spot. Instead, you shifted closer, resting your head comfortably against his chest. The hotel pillows were unbelievably plush, you had to admit, but that night, you chose this over anything else.

"You’re not asleep," he noted gently after about fifteen minutes. He cleared his throat. "During sleep, a person’s breathing becomes slower and more regular. You know, if you’re uncomfortable here, you don’t have to…"

"I’m listening to your heartbeat," it slipped out of you. Though it was true, you hadn’t planned on admitting it out loud. "Nothing sinister, just to be clear. I’m not planning to rip it out of your chest or anything like that. It just works for me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like those videos that imitate the sound of a crackling fireplace. Pretty calming."

"My heartbeat reminds you of the sound of a fireplace?" he said, a glint of confusion in his softly hoarse voice.

You sighed, in the darkness, he couldn’t see the faint smile painting itself on your face, pressed against his chest.

"Sweet dreams, silly."

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