#all my coworkers except one are dead to me

[zenathezee]

I am currently working two people's worth of work at my job, due to a comedy of errors that basically made me a boiled frog

The only assistance I've been getting is a coworker doing one of my daily reports for me, and even with that, I'm working two people's worth of work

I have discovered today coworker stopped doing them for me at the start of June

I was not informed of this

(Technically I'm still not informed, I just found the folder of unworked reports)

So now I'm doing over two people's worth of work, and was not informed I had regained responsibility of that report, so there's a backlog waiting for me

I was informed today that because my coworker that is no longer with us was scheduled to work code testing next week, it is now my responsibility

You can't tell me capitalism is working when this is considered normal and a necessary sacrifice

[salsa-ishida]

you're back!! it's been so long!! I missed you <3 <3

ahhhh I missed you too!! Life has been insistent on grinding me to a paste but we perservere

[im2tired4usernames]

Every single time I defend someone shitty who has done nothing but be a cunt to me because they did 1 (ONE ) decent thing THEY ALWAYS TURN AROUND AND DO SOMETHING SO MUCH WORSE TO ME

[eightstarr]

pacify — sevika.

summary: is it possible to miss a stranger, or does one thing negate the other? maybe you miss sevika because she isn't a stranger, because she stuck her claws far too deep in you and never let go— or just because she looks really fucking good sitting there, looking at you like she's waiting for you to say "hello again".

warnings: mild descriptions of violence, smut (mdni!), pre time jump sevika!

notes: my thesis with this one is that eating out a woman you love will revolutionize you in a way nothing else can and i'm joking but also dead serious. also dear god please me and who… okay bye i love you

・。.・゜✧・. ────

“You know, I’ve always liked this place the best.”

It’s the first thing you remember him saying, blue uniform to match his now slightly reddened eyes, vile alcohol in his breath. You��re at a different bar, not Vander's, the first actual job you ever had if you don't count what came before— the shiny rock of a stranger’s ring in your pocket, another’s gold coins in your bag, all from the quick trips to the city above with your father. “It’s not difficult to steal from a Piltovan,” he’d say, squinting at the engraving on the inside of a sparkly bracelet, a small bounty spread over the kitchen table, “they’re all show, all ego.”

Now watching the smirk on the Enforcer’s face after he downs his fourth glass without taking a breath, a laughable skill for an audience of no one, you find it hard to disagree with your father’s assessment. The well nurtured instinct to wonder what you’d get if you slipped your fingers inside the pockets of his tailored jacket grows loud and tempting in your head, but you shove it away and keep your eyes on the dusty floor you’re meant to sweep, determined to keep this job.

“The drinks are better than up there, I’ll give you that,” the drunk man continued, half empty fifth glass tipped dangerously towards the brooding barman, your only coworker tonight. There’s barely anyone left in the bar at all except a couple regulars. Tension has been brewing through the entirety of your shift, an argument in one of the booths during your first hour, a drink on someone’s face by the third, a wave of tired scoffs when the man in uniform walked in near the end of the night; the last nail on the coffin. In your head, you’ve listed all the possible exits you could use to escape enough times to memorize them.

The man takes a surprisingly controlled sip, thin lips furrowed in a grimace. “Wish it was enough to make up for that fucking stench.”

The air in Zaun is different to foreigners. You’ve never minded it the way they do. It's your air, the first to ever fill your lungs, the one you’re so used to that you can feel the way it shifts— the way it becomes a stench, as he called it, when blood is about to be spilt.

The barman does, to his credit, offer you the chance to leave. Or orders it, morelike, his sharp eyes meeting yours and then a tilt of his head towards the door. Maybe he pities you for the nerves splashed all over your face, or maybe he’d just find it a shame to lose an employee he hired barely a month ago. “You. Out.”

“Out?” the Piltovan repeats, turning his head, his voice grossly high pitched. “Why? What's gonna happen now?” he’s drunk enough that you notice the seconds that pass before his eyes properly focus. You remember the exact way his smirk faded, the deep-set wrinkles between his eyebrows when he recognized your face, a nauseating anger. “No. No, you don't move.”

Enforcers never go anywhere alone. Maybe the man had just remembered this, just now realized the true risk of his cockiness when it's not backed up by two or three of his colleagues. Maybe that's why he finds it easy to target you rather than the angry figures lurking in the tables behind him. Maybe that's why he draws his gun so fast.

“I know you, little thief—”

A woman approaches at the same time he does, and you don't know why exactly you decide to focus on her instead. A plea, maybe. You remember the dull gray of the brass knuckles on her fingers, the thick leather belt hung around her lower waist, the thump of her boots against the old floorboards. You've never noticed her before. How ridiculous it feels to think that she was there all night. How lovely that she could be the last thing you see. There's comfort in her being there, a morbid, sad thing that feels almost like company. At least you’re not alone in the room with the monster, at least there's someone to watch you die. 

Her hand falls on the Enforcer’s shoulder and she pushes him back with little effort, the quickest movement, almost without thought. The man stumbles (blame the well praised alcohol or Sevika’s strength), and the glass that had stayed in his hand shatters against the edge of the bar at the same time his gun fires a loose shot to the wall behind you.

Next comes a blur, a vague memory of hearing the Enforcer hiss in pain, a thread of red spilling down the open palm of his hand.

“You got somewhere to go?”

Her voice is the first and only thing that brings you back, the only sound louder than the heartbeat pounding in your ears. She sounds smooth, clear-headed, not like a woman who just stepped in the middle of the fastest paced violence you’ve ever encountered. Gray eyes move across your face, then the rest of you, and you quickly look down at yourself as if to check along with her that you’re actually unharmed.

Your lips feel awfully dry when your tongue brushes against them, enough air passing through to let you breathe, but not quite talk. You nod your head and remember in a rushed, distorted thought— somewhere to go, yes, home, now.

Sevika returns your nod, small praise, an odd way of saying something like good job. Less odd than the quiet satisfaction you feel for having earned it. She tilts her head towards the door, short black hair brushing her shoulder, her voice the kindest you’ve ever heard to this very day. Perhaps the thing you remember most. “Go on, love.”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Years pass, deaths and joys and new odd jobs, and you still think about it. She sits at the back of your head like a softly worded reminder. And then one day, as things go, you find her again. Her making a deal at the back of The Last Drop, you behind the bar serving drinks.

There's a chance she doesn't remember it. What are the odds that she thought about you at all after the incident? You were just a stranger on a random night. It's not often that people fully understand the weight of what they did for someone, the trickle down of an action, of a kindness. There's a chance for you to go home, alone and unchanged. Instead (and not for the first time) you work for an hour longer, unpaid labor for a chance to serve her a drink.

Sevika doesn't come every night. You see her maybe once a week, talk to her maybe once a month. You don't expect tonight to be any different, but—

“You gonna watch me all night?” she mutters it into her glass, swallows the last sip before she looks at you. The are tiny wrinkles beginning to form on the corners of her eyes now, along each side of her lips from her smiles. Watching her is entrancing, the easiest thing you do, as natural as drawing a breath. “What are you still doing here?”

You blink downwards at the washed glass in your hand, continue to dry it like it could ever be half as interesting as being under her spell. “Working overtime.”

“Vander can't afford to pay you overtime,” Sevika scoffs, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. 

You frown, maybe a little flustered. “He—”

“She's right. Why are you still here?”

The man himself stands tall to your left, glaring at this one permanently stained spot on the bar, working at it with a rag like he hasn't tried the same thing a hundred times before. There are dark shadows under his eyes, a purple hair tie on his wrist— Powder’s, if you were to guess. You’ve grown close to Vander since you met him, even closer when he hired you to work here. “‘S not a favor,” he’d said, quickly catching the suspicion on your face. “Just a gesture to him.” Turns out a lot more people knew your father than you thought; Vander isn’t old enough to have grown up with him, but they still found ways to end up at the same places. If he hadn’t been so secretive about who he was beyond the man who raised you, maybe you would’ve met Vander years ago, became friends at some bar in your teen years instead of at a diner a few days after your father’s funeral. But gaining a friend is a timeless thing, it obeys luck, not sensitivities. One day he wasn’t there, and then the next he was.

You spray some cleaning liquid over the spot on the table, roll your eyes as he leans closer to wonder at how the stain begins to slowly fade. “I’m working,” you repeat.

He looks at you from the corner of his eyes, one eyebrow raised. “I ain’t paying you.”

“I know, okay? It's fine,” you cross your arms over your chest, embarrassed to have been caught even though neither Vander nor Sevika seem to know what the real reason behind you staying late is. “It's a busy night, take it as a favor.”

“I can't afford favors.”

“Good thing they’re free, then,” you deadpan.

Sevika chuckles at the banter, forever amused at your unreserve, how simple you make things. It makes no sense to her to be that generous, that open, but it makes even less sense to think that you’d be any other way. Sevika isn’t particularly trusting, but she is loyal— the more you talk, the more watching you becomes addicting, her thing. She fixates on learning new things about you, clings to your words like a cat to its owner’s scent and wonders, over and over and over, if you remember her. From all those years ago. From last week. With you, she’d take anything.

And when she does finally see you up close, finds a good enough excuse in asking you for fire or a refill, there's little you could ask that she would say no to. It's senseless and thrilling and above all, it's true. She feels it down to her bones, painfully clear, like it's written all over her face.

“What do you do, Sevika?”

Sit and wait for you, she thinks, and instead replies, “What?”

“For work,” you clarify, your hand against the bar, leaning slightly forward. “I see you every week and I still don't know.”

You do know what she does, at least as much as anyone else does— too little to run your mouth, enough to stay away. And if you didn't know, you know her enough to be certain that she wouldn't tell you. It's a pointless question. Unless, of course, you’re as infatuated as you are.

Sevika takes another gulp of her drink, her eyes tracing over the line on your waist where the apron ties behind your back, the soft curve that the pull of it forms. She needs a smoke. “Same shit as everyone else,” she answers, and palms her pockets for a cigarette case. “What do you do? Other than this.”

“This is it,” you watch her flick open the case and shrug. You don’t sound particularly sad or frustrated, just plainly aware. “I pour drinks for people who all seem to do the same shit.”

Sevika hums, sets the case down, a click of metal against well worn wood. An unlit cigarette sits between her index and middle finger. “Be honest,” she starts, and it's the same voice that's been talking to you this whole time, but the gruffness still manages to catch you off guard. “Am I just as bad?”

You chuckle, the same addicting shimmer of genuineness in your eyes that she chases everytime you speak. “Just as bad as what?”

Her eyes follow your hands where they go to pull a lighter from the chest pocket of your apron. “The drunks that flirt with you while you do your job,” she lets the cigarette hang from her lips and leans forward.

“Hm,” you hum. The reflection of the flame sparkles in her eyes before you pull it away, orange against gray, odd and pretty. “I don't know.”

You’re not sure if she looks amused or slightly offended. It's a nice view regardless, the way her eyebrows lift and her lips curve downwards for a second before she breathes out, spilling smoke from her mouth as she talks, “You don't know.”

“I guess I didn't realize you were flirting with me.”

Sevika chuckles, a tiny half moon of a smile line on her cheek when she smirks, smugly aware of the way your eyes are looking at her. “You’re funny.”

Sevika is loyal. It would be easy to say that she doesn’t get what this feeling is, that it’s meaningless, that she doesn’t understand it— but she knows. She knows what it is even if it goes unnamed, because she’s the one deciding to keep it, stubborn and tight gripped, close to her heart. It’s in her dreams, in her first thought of the morning, in the disappointment that sours her mouth when she doesn’t find you at the bar. It’s in her stomach, tugging with need, when she looks at your face and realizes that if she asks if you wanna go home with her tonight, you will say yes.

She takes the leap. Parts her lips, names herself yours. “You wanna get out of here?”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You rarely pour your own drinks anymore. It’s a funny thing— Sevika doesn’t ask about your preference, which liquor is your favorite, if you’d like for her to do it for you. She figures it out like she does most things, making a study out of it, watching you enough. Maybe a little extra, too. The cork slides up with a pop!, her fingers around the neck of the bottle. The warmth of her still lingers on your thighs, your own fingers sitting restless over your lap now that her hair is not close enough to play with.

It’s been months since the first night she came home with you. You wouldn’t yet say that the newness is gone, or that you’re as quick of a student as she is, but there are things you know about Sevika already. Vivid truths, bright like the visions of her in the sunlight that you dream about sometimes. Reassurance is one of the first languages you learn from each other.

For Sevika, it's almost always about touch— you notice it immediately at the core of most of her silences, the way closeness makes her demeanor shift to something calmer, more true to herself. Slide closer to her on the couch and her arm will find itself around your shoulders immediately. Pat the empty spot next to you on the bed and she’ll let out a heavy sigh of relief, join you in sleep instead of torturing herself about tomorrow’s line of business. Part your lips when she's kissing you late at night with no goal other than to kiss you and she’ll let out a sound that vibrates through you and changes her mind on what was once an innocent gesture; she’ll tug your shirt off instead. Brush your hand over her shoulder when she's resting her head on your lap and she’ll guide it to her face instead, a lazy hold on your wrist while your thumb brushes her cheek. Coming to love her is the warmest science. But it’s not always exact.

You watch her pour you a drink at the bar table that sits in front of your bed— watch the dark hair that sits against the nape of her neck, messy and loose, watch the waistline of her pants sitting low on her waist, watch the bareness of her back. If there’s a reason why you decide to say it now, you don’t yet realize it. The words just spill out of you before you have a chance to stop them. “I remember you, you know."

Sevika’s hand hovers over the whiskey glass before she hums, resuming the movement and bringing it to her lips. "You didn't say."

“You didn’t ask,” you rest your back against the bed frame, watch her carefully.

The air sits still and you see her shoulders lift, muscles shifting as she shrugs, a big gulp of golden liquor sliding down her throat. Her voice comes in a mutter, low and almost shy, "Thought I might scare you off.”

The idea is so ridiculous that it's almost laughable. A startled chuckle dies in your chest and leaves room for aching sadness, your back leaving the frame as you lean forward and pray for her to turn around. "He was going to shoot me. Nobody moved a finger but you, Sev," you shake your head, try to manage your expression from saying too much, from confessing to something that’s been inside of you for years. At the tip of your tongue sits a raw desperation for this exact unraveling, for her. "How could you scare me?"

Another moment passes before Sevika turns to face you, lower back against the edge of the table, holding her drink down by her side. She won't look at your eyes— can't, maybe. You wonder if she's considering leaving, if she's already decided that she will, as soon as this is over. A part of you, small but dramatic and loudly pessimistic, is surprised that she’s entertained you this long. Even more surprised when she asks, "Is that what this is?" a turn of her head and the gray in her eyes finds you in a second, mechanical and unforgiving, the snap of a bear trap. You don't think you could look away if you tried. "Are you here because you think you owe me something?"

Your reaction is something close to a flinch, your frown deepening, feet firm on the floor instantly. "You can't seriously think that."

Sevika feels the regret come instantly. It splatters on her face, the pads of her fingers rough when they're brushed over her cheek to wipe herself clean of it like she does blood, gunpowder, fear. She watches out of the corner of her eye the way you part your pretty lips and can hear it in her head, imagine it so clearly, you asking her to leave. 

She's already reaching for her coat to make quick work of obeying your wishes when, instead of that, you ask, "You wanna know why I’m here?"

Sevika lowers her hand and the glass hits the table with a thud. Her head tilts to make the slightest nod— and that's as much of an answer as you'll get, you think.

“Look at me,” your finger sits under her chin, a touch barely there, the rise of her head more her choice than your doing. “You’re good, Sevika,” she grimaces, feels like she's swimming in gross viscous shame older than herself and barely surviving it. You press your thumb into her cheek, firm but kind, and keep her from being swept away by it. If she used to find your openness sweet, right now she finds it fucking miraculous. How can you call her good and mean it, how can someone else know so deeply that she could be, that she will be, when most days she doesn’t even know it herself? How can she look you in the eyes and deny you that truth? Her face relaxes, grimace replaced by an aching need as she listens to you. “I see it better than most, but they all catch up eventually. Whatever you put your mind to, you’re fucking good at it,” you pause, try to read her expression and find yourself unsure, but calm. How lovely to think that there's still so much to learn. “You don't owe me and I’m not trying to change you… you don't need—”

Sevika rests her hand over your cheek, a warm hum from her throat to acknowledge what you're saying, a desperate shake of her head to say but I do. “I need you,” her forehead falls against your own, in her brain a chant of please.

You look at her through your lashes, nod your head and feel warm, warm, warm. Her hand guides your face closer, a needy pull of her fingers where they press against the back of your neck, your whisper of “me too” spilled into her mouth. Sevika kisses like there's nothing in the whole fucking world she’d rather be doing, nothing that could possibly distract her. She has kissed you in nightclub bathrooms even with someone's knocks shaking the flimsy door, in alleys with her knuckles still bloody from a fight, dangerously close to opening hours with your back against the very bar where she rests her drinks every night. She's hungry, insatiable, and every time you can't wait to part your lips and let her in.

It takes godlike strength to hold on for as long as you do, but there's power in making her wait too, a satisfaction that feels drunk and just as divine as it makes its way down your spine. A few more chaste kisses take seconds or a century, and Sevika indulges them for as long as she can before she breaks, falls to her knees at your altar and breathes, “Please.”

There's nothing you like more than hearing her beg, except maybe what happens after you give in— the relief, the sigh against your mouth, the wet warmth of her tongue and the desperation in the way she pushes her body against you like she hadn't til then realized just how famished she’d been. Her hands wrap around your waist meanly, pressing indents, and you're too busy soothing your own hunger on her lips to realize that she's switched your positions.

You feel the harshness of the table against your back and pull away to look down, catch up, your daze maybe a little too obvious judging by the curl of her mouth. She's panting as much as you are, though, tongue peeking out barely to brush over her lips, tingly and wet from your kisses. “Up,” she says with a tilt of her head, more a warning than a command, her hands already down on your hips to get you sitting over the wood.

Sevika is a sight, pretty and inviting and overwhelming— you reach for her waist and pull, entranced by the way she follows, the way your legs interlock. A thin layer of sweat glimmers over her chest and you've never found so much beauty in the undercity’s humidity, never felt yourself get wet as easily as she makes it, never been so desperate to find some relief from the aching between your legs. Your thighs squeeze into Sevika’s and looking up to meet her eyes feels like a punch, like the sweetest blood, a sea of glazed-over gray barely visible against the black of her pupils. A mirror of your wanting; how the hunger grows when it meets reciprocation this delicious. You lean forward to taste it from her lips and she meets you halfway, a hand traveling up your spine and ending at your neck.

You don't know when you started grinding against her, but you know you want more. And you know Sevika’s holding back, savoring the same power you’d tried before, a smirk against your lips when she feels you speed up, hears you moan from somewhere deep in your throat. It suits her, the way she holds control. Sevika likes to wonder if she’d ever hold on longer, make you really wait. Sometimes she thinks she might, and then (like now) your voice fills her ears and clouds every thought that says anything other than please, god, fuck, let me make you feel good. “Don’t be mean,” you say this time, breathy and achingly sweet. “Please, Sevika.”

The first grind of her thigh against your pussy makes you end a kiss with your teeth biting into the meat of her lower lip, rougher than you intended. “Fuck, Sev—” you say, cut yourself off with a gasp when she does it again. Sevika figures out the angle unsurprisingly quickly, a hand on your hip and another on your ass to guide you back and forth at a rhythm that matches the movement of her own hips, enough fervency behind it that you know she needed this as much as you did. Maybe more, judging by the groans she spills on your neck every time you press up into her.

Full lips kiss at your pulse, open mouthed, her breath cool against your skin when it meets the wetness she left there. Your nails rake over her shoulder, over her scalp where your fingers are buried in between strands of dark hair— and when Sevika groans it sounds raw, a broken noise, her hips moving desperately faster. You can feel her warmth on your thigh and you've never wanted so badly to have her undressed, laid out, rubbing her pussy against you, leaving a mess on skin rather than the fabric of your pants. She's getting carried away, you know it, chasing her high and barely giving you a chance to catch up. You've never wanted anything more than to let her use you.

“You feel so fucking good,” she grunts, wrecked with need for you to pacify when she lifts her head from your neck, her eyebrows furrowed. You watch her get lost on your lips and you can imagine what they look like, how plump she left them, how the pride of that must simmer in her lower abdomen. Her thumb brushes over them once, then again, and you barely register that she's asking for permission before your mouth moves on its own accord to let her index and middle finger inside. It's filling, just what you needed; how beautifully unsurprising that she knew it more than you did, or that she needed it just the same.

You're fully caged in now, your back pressed against the wall, Sevika’s free hand on your waist still steering you back and forth on her thigh. “Too— hm, fuck,” her fingers slide out of your mouth and press wet indents into your cheek as she holds your jaw, traps you in her eyes. She’s far too gone to warn you but she doesn't have to, it's so painfully clear. Her eyes two dark pits to swallow you whole, lips parted, the grinding brutal and so fucking good— she says it until she can't form the words anymore, her head tilted back, thighs stuttering and tightening around your leg as she comes.

Your tongue tastes the skin of her bared neck and you feel yourself get closer and closer, fed by the feeling of her nipple under the pad of your thumb, by the shaking moans she spills into your ears as you keep grinding against her. Sevika must feel it too, in the same way you did, notice the change in your breath or the speed of your hips— because she pulls away and knows to soothe the needy desperation on your face with a messy kiss before she gets down on her knees.

“Shh,” her shushing comes soft and agonizingly kind, your whines barely contained as she presses kisses to the inside of your thighs. “What happened to my patient girl?” she asks, a tilt of her head and a smirk, the meanest angel.

Your palms press onto the table to lift yourself up enough to let her slide your pants and underwear off in one motion. “Spoiled me too much,” you answer, your mind foggy, drunk on the sight of her kneeling in front of you.

It takes Sevika a moment to reply, the pads of her finger pressing into your thighs. Her eyes meet yours and she wants to tell you, how could I not? You’re not trying to change her, you’d said, but you do. These days, she doesn't think about anything else like she used to— I love you prefaces everything. I love you, so I’m winning this stupid fight and making some money. I love you, so I gotta get home alive. I love you, so I think we could change this city. I love you, you should have every-fucking-thing. But Sevika's not really a woman of many words, especially not when you're looking at her like this, especially not when she's this hungry, so she shrugs her shoulders and says (like it explains everything, and maybe it does), "Look at you.”

The intensity of her makes your legs squeeze together, but you barely make it an inch before she’s pulling them apart and hooking them over her shoulders exactly how she likes.

Your face feels like it's burning, heat crawling up your neck, your grip on the table tight. “Please.”

Sevika barely manages to pry her eyes away from where you're open and glimmering, soaking her fingers after just one brush of them against your lips. Her voice comes out strained, drowned in hunger. “Please what?” 

You must sound worse, but the thought barely registers, hardly matters. “Please, Sevika, make me come.”

And she does— pretty nose bumping perfectly against your clit whenever her tongue is too busy inside you, her lips shiny and wet and relentless. Like everything else, she's fucking good at it.

[reiding-writing]

sweet Spencer realizing he has feelings for cold!Reader? I'm obsessed

OH NO. [ONESHOT]

/oʊ noʊ/

Spencer makes a (rather terrifying) revelation in relation to his ice-hearted coworker, who might not actually be all that ice-hearted.

WARNINGS: fem!reader

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff?? || 2.3k || series masterlist!

a/n: based on the fact that it was 1°C when i left my house yesterday and i was freezing

main masterlist!!

Sometimes, Spencer Reid hated living in Virginia.

The temperature always felt colder than it did back in Vegas, no matter whether it was in the dead of winter or in the middle of summer, and for someone who didn’t have the best temperature regulation already, that just spelled extra issues for Spencer to deal with on top of everything else.

It was March for god’s sake, why was it only 40 degrees?

He walks into the office bundled up like a newborn baby, with a shirt, a vest, and a coat on, with a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and knitted gloves on his hands.

He sits down in his desk chair with all the grace of an elephant trying to do ballet, the chair squeaking under his weight as he basically throws himself into it.

Morgan starts laughing almost immediately. “You look like you’ve just stepped out of Antarctica-”

“It’s cold,”

“It’s not that cold,”

“Those who have issues with temperature regulation are more susceptible to extreme temperature fluctuations when the weather changes,” Spencer rubs his hands together through his gloves in the hope that the kinetic energy will spread through his hands and warm the rest of his body.

“And let me guess, you’re one of those people?” Morgan raises his eyebrow with a smirk.

“Yes Morgan, I’m one of those people,” Spencer’s exasperated response is enough to send Morgan over the edge into laughter.

“Will you quiet down, it’s 8 in the morning for god’s sake,” Your arrival is announced with your usual snark, tiredness still lacing your tone as you walk around the two to reach your own desk opposite Spencer’s and pull a white beanie from your head to stuff it in the pocket of your coat.

“Sorry-”

“Not you Reid,” Despite the fact that you’re dismissing him as the recipient of your annoyance, it still sounds like you’re angry at him.

“Someone’s chipper this morning,” Morgan nudges Spencer like he’s speaking to him privately, but is raised enough that he knows you’ve heard it too. “You would’ve thought she’d be elated, she’s in her element now the temperature’s dropping,”

“I can hear you.” you scoff out your words as you unpack your bag on your desk.

“Oh I know, it’s more fun when you can hear me,” Morgan takes a sip from the mug in his hands with a smirk, leaning back in his chair once he’s decided you’d endured enough of his teasing for now.

You spend the next ten or so minutes in silence as everyone sets themselves up for the day. Everyone except Spencer evidently, who is still sat with all of his outerwear on despite the office being internally heated.

“Will you stop shaking?” Spencer turns his eyes away from his frozen hands at your question, although phrased more like an instruction under your usual tone. “I can see it in my peripheral vision and it’s distracting,”

“Oh um- I’m sorry,” Spencer clutched both of his hands tight together in an attempt to forcibly stop them from shaking.

“Don’t apologise, go make yourself a cup of coffee or something, those gloves aren’t doing anything to help you,”

“Right- Yeah,” Spencer takes your advice with a nod, standing up from his desk to practically run over to the kitchenette like your word was law.

“I know what you’re doing Ice Queen,” Morgan tilts his head knowingly at you as you watch Spencer scamper around the corner and out of sight, and you don’t turn your gaze towards him even after Spencer leaves your field of vision.

“I’m not doing anything,”

“You care about Reid’s well being,” He throws a balled up post-it note in your direction, hitting you in the side of your head and acting as an incentive to look in his direction, shooting daggers at the bridge of his nose. “You can’t hide it from me sweetheart, your icy façade is melting as we speak,”

“Whatever,” You roll your eyes as you stand up from your chair, exiting the conversation with a scoff as you walk around the bullpen and disappear into the unisex bathroom.

You still haven’t returned by the time Spencer walks back to his desk with a steaming mug of coffee cradled in both hands, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly at your empty desk chair as he took his seat.

“She just went to the bathroom genius she hasn’t disappeared off the face of the earth,” Morgan laughs in amusement at Spencer’s expression, staring at your chair like his gaze will magically will you into existence.

Then his vision goes dark, and he can hear Morgan’s laughter escalate. He’s not sure exactly what’s happening at first, but as his wind-chilled ears begin to warm and his eyelashes catch on something as he tries to open his eyes he realises that his vision has been physically obstructed by something.

He pulls up on the material covering his eyes, and like a magic trick, where your chair was empty before you are now sitting in it, head lowered to hide behind the screen of your computer monitor as Morgan continues to chortle at the two of you.

It’s a quick realisation that what was previously covering his eyes was a hat, specifically the white beanie that you’d walked into the office wearing this morning.

“What did I say?” Morgan gestures outwards with his hands like he’d proved some point to you that Spencer was clearly ignorant to.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll pull out all your teeth and do it for you,”

“Ooh I’m so scared, Reid protect me from this absolute monster,” Morgan presses his hand to his chest dramatically, leaning back in his chair with a smirk etched onto his face.

Spencer doesn’t so much as spare Morgan a glance at his comment, blankly staring in your direction as his brain computes what exactly had just happened. He was wearing your hat now? You’d put your hat on his head? You’d walked over, taken your hat, and physically put it on his head?

Under normal circumstances he’s sure he’d die of embarrassment at so much as the thought of having something that personally belonged to you in his possession, let alone be actually wearing something the belonged to you and invaded his olfactory neurons with your scent.

Yet here he was, so absolutely dumbfounded by your actions that he didn’t even have the mental capacity to be embarrassed.

“Reid,” Morgan nudges his shoulder, and Spencer turns to him with wide eyes and a half-absent expression.

“Huh?”

“Wow, look what you did to him, he’s completely shut down,” Morgan throws another balled up post-it in your direction, hitting you in the shoulder this time, and you bite your tongue as you turn your head up to look at the two boys across from you once more.

Your eyes are narrowed as you glare in Morgan’s direction, but he takes no notice of it whatsoever as he gestures towards Spencer with his head, smirking all the while.

Your gaze is substantially softer once your eyes flicker over to the boy sitting opposite you. The hat really seems to complete the whole ‘just stepped out of a blizzard’ look that Spencer’s outfit seemed to radiate, and the bright red of his cheeks seemed to amplify that look tenfold.

“Are you still cold?” You ask the question like you’re annoyed at him, and he takes it as your irritation from Morgan’s constant teasing bleeding into your speech rather than you genuinely being irked by him. After all, you had gone out of your way to help him warm up right? Then again that could’ve been because you just didn’t want to watch him shiver anymore. You did say it was distracting-

“Reid.” He turns his eyes up towards you as you speak his name with all the conviction of an aggrieved high school teacher.

“Yes? I mean- Not ‘yes’ I’m cold- ‘yes’ like I’m paying attention- You know- Uh-” You hold up a hand to stop Spencer from spinning into a spiral as he tries to elaborate on what his response meant.

“You’re not cold anymore?” You keep your eyes trained on him as you ask the question, emphasising it a way that indicated you wanted a straight answer from him and not some half baked explanation of why he was/wasn’t.

“No… Well, my hands are-” Spencer stops himself prematurely with a shake of his head. “No- No I’m not cold anymore, I’m okay now,”

“Your hands are still cold?”

Spencer nods, looking down at his hands sheepishly as if they've betrayed him.

You watch Spencer's hands for a moment before making a decision. With a resigned sigh, you reach into your coat pocket and pull out a small red hand warmer, holding it out over the divide between your desks to offer it to him without a word.

Spencer's eyes widen in surprise as he takes the hand warmer from you, a sinking feeling shooting through his chest as your fingers brush his. But it wasn’t the kind he’d grown accustomed to when speaking to you.

There wasn’t a shred of intimidation or lingering insecurity, it didn’t send a chill down his spine or make him feel the need to curl into himself, it instead left a strangely comfortable warmth in it’s wake, one that was quickly proving to be more useful at warming him up than the gel packet held between his fingertips.

It was a sensation he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually felt before, and his mind couldn’t make up whether it’s origin was the temperature difference in your hands as they brushed each other and the inherent warmth of your hand graced his, or whether it was an internal situation where your silent act of consideration was literally tricking his body into believing it was warmer just as a result of your actions.

Either way, he suddenly felt very warm.

He fumbles with the warmer for a second before tugging off his gloves and snapping the small disk to start the chemical reaction. "Thanks," he murmurs, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"Don't mention it," you reply, turning back to your computer screen with complete nonchalance in your tone.

Spencer nods softly at your response, rolling the packet between the palms of his hands as his eyes linger on your face even after you look away.

Spencer’s beginning to be increasingly distracted from his files by thoughts of you. Your hidden kindness, your wit, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way you chew on the end of your pen when you're concentrating, the way your nose scrunches up when you're deep in thought-

He realises, with a jolt, that he's falling for you.

It hits him like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, he's paralysed with a mix of astonishment and fear. How had he not noticed it before? He's never been good at relationships, maybe that’s why. He didn’t exactly know what constituted as real feelings for someone.

Morgan watches the exchange with a smirk, but there's something softer in his expression as he looks between the two of you, specifically towards the puddle of Spencer’s emotions showing all over his face. He clears his throat, breaking the momentary silence.

"Well, now that everyone's warm and cozy, shall we get to work?" he says, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

Spencer nods, already diving into the case file on his desk as a means of desperately trying to get the image of your face and the feeling of your fingers brushing against his hand out of his head. You follow suit, the warmth spreading through the bullpen as you all settle into your routine.

He tries to focus on the case at hand, but his mind keeps wandering back to you. He remembers the feeling of your hand brushing against his, the way his heart had fluttered in his chest at the contact. It's a feeling he can't quite shake, and he's not sure he wants to. That was the worst part.

Oh no.

[astraystayyh]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ winter falls

I'm so excited to announce this collab series with my @forlix where we'll be posting winter themed fics for each one of the boys!!!!! brainstorming these with xi was the most fun ever i hope you'll enjoy our collab (alternatively named dead dick december)

all the fics, except for Chan's, Minho’s and Han's are with a gender neutral reader.

minors & ageless blogs dni w/han’s fic as it is nsfw!

no holiday is specified by name so you can imagine whatever!

we're also opening a special taglist for the series! you can comment down here or send an ask to either me or xian to be added! (6/8 posted)

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Pieces of you ❆ bang chan @astraystayyh (8.7k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ single dad!chan. neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. [posted: 12/02/24]

In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chan and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

Something has melted ❆ lee minho @forlix

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ spy x family!au, fake dating!au, fluff

Your obnoxious coworkers never get off your ass about how single you are, and your temporary husband is too happy to make them eat their words.

Burning in the winter wind ❆ changbin @astraystayyh (4.4k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ (fake) enemies to lovers. hurt/comfort. college!au. [posted: 26/02/24.]

Sustaining an ankle injury during a ski retreat isn't fun. Especially when Seo Changbin volunteers to stay back to tend to you- the one man you can never get a read on.

The snow falls, we fall apart ❆ hyunjin @astraystayyh (13k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ roommates to lovers. angst. hurt/comfort. slow burn. longing.

when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.

(+18) Empty my mind ❆ han jisung @forlix (6.4k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ friends with benefits to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort. [posted: 06/01/24]

For the first time in a long time, Han Jisung has something to lose.

Everything has changed (besides myself) ❆ lee felix @forlix (5.4k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ exes to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff. [posted: 09/12/2023]

You spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

Warm winter ❆ kim seungmin @forlix

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff

“i don’t deserve you,” he breathes, “but god, i want to.”

Please fall before I fall ❆ jeongin @astraystayyh (2.8k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ childhood best friends to lovers. hint of unrequited love (they're idiots) [posted: 18/01/24]

3 times you saved jeongin's ass and the 1 time he saved yours. (and ended up confessing along the way)

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

...titles are all inspired by han's incredible songwriting in Winter Falls, han write a happy song #challengefailed.

[itsabouttimex2]

Fizzling Neon

“…can I tell you something that bothers me?”

There’s not quite a sneer on your coworker’s face, but the expression he wears while turning to you is regardless unhappy. The man’s never much cared for your rambles, and especially not while the two of you were on kitchen duty.

Then, he’s never much cared for you in general.

But if he has to choose between his own thoughts (centering mostly on his ex-wife, if you had to guess) your awkward ramblings, or a droning and dead silence that was cut only by Chica’s muffled gorging, the gray-haired man would probably pick you, though he would do so reluctantly.

Very reluctantly.

“Well?” the aged man finally grunts, arms crossed as he leans back against the counter. His tense posture screams impatience, but at least he’s waiting for you to say something instead of outright ignoring you. “What is it?”

You hesitate, unsure if you should bother, even with his explicit approval. Your coworker doesn’t like you- he’s made that clear enough over the past four months. Still, there’s something gnawing at you, something you need to get off your chest before it eats you alive. A rattling clatter of pots and pans kicks up in the washing area, accompanied by incessant crunching noises- the avian animatronic must’ve gotten into an unfinished dish.

You don’t want to sound like some manic conspiracy theorist, of course- that type pops up on the premises of the Pizzaplex constantly, filming themselves as they harangue the workers and scare the children- only to scurry away when you pleaded with Monty to scare them off- the kids always got a kick out of that, at least.

Still, all antics aside… maybe talking about it would do you some good.

“…it doesn’t make any sense for them to be animatronics.”

He turns to you, sporting an expression that implies you may well have grown a second head, utterly dumbfounded by such an out of pocket (to him) statement.

His brows knit together tightly, lips twisting into a grimace that makes him look even less pleasant than he already does. “What in the blazing hell are you even talking about?” he finally asks, his voice a low growl that barely carries over the distant clang of metal on tile as Chica shuffles around.

You squirm for a moment, then spill in a hurried rush of words built around cobbled knowledge from your childhood.

“It’s just… these are… they’re robots. And, animatronics are, well, they… animatronics- real animatronics, I mean, they’re- they’re puppets! Animatronics are supposed to be puppets hooked to machinery hidden in the ground, machines that host the puppet’s programming for the routines they perform! They’re supposed to be fragile, breakable! You’re supposed to be able to shatter them, shove them around, pick them up and throw them- in case they break down and block people in an emergency! Or, or like… the design specs, in general, they’re- so like, if an animatronic closes around a kid’s hands, the design specs of these things are specifically built to be fragile enough to never exert enough force to hurt the kid! They’re not supposed to be able to move arcade machines, or jostle vending machines, or pick up kids! And-“

“You know what, kid? And I’m gonna be real level with you, just cause I don’t think the management bothers doing it when they really should- nobody gives half a damn about your autist bullshit. They were always called animatronics. From the first fucking pizzeria to the last pissing pizzaplex, they were animatronics, puppets, machines, and no one except for you gives a shit about the name they use. And look, you wanna obsess over this crap, fine. Just don’t bring it up with me again. Got enough on my plate without babysitting your paranoia about trivial corpo branding bullshit.”

He throws his soiled dishrag against the metal interior of the sink before him, then stomps off towards the staff room in order to punch out and head home, probably hoping to down a fifth of whiskey and pass out.

You stand there in shocked silence for a moment, throat tight and eyes growing wet, trying to compose yourself as the angry pounding of his footsteps fades away.

It hurts. You wish it didn’t hurt so bad, especially when the scorn comes from someone you don’t particularly know or care for, someone you know doesn’t particularly care for you.

You want to shove those painful feelings away, because you know if you dwell on it too long, you’ll start spiraling, and there’s no one here who wants to listen- not without mocking you or brushing you off.

Except- the sound of metal footsteps breaks your train of thought, and those steps are heavy and deliberate, echoing through the empty kitchen. You freeze, pulse quickening, because it’s late, nearly time to close, and you’re very certainly the last person in the pizzaplex.

“Oh, Superstar…”

His voice, as always, is smooth and warm, carrying an affectionate tone that he usually reserves for children. You don’t need to turn around to know who that soothing voicebox belongs to.

You swallow, hard, gripping the edge of the kitchen countertop as the sound of metal feet against porcelain grows louder. He’s close now, just behind you, and you feel the subtle hum of his mechanical frame, a strange, ever-present vibration that seems to radiate from him, and you are awash in the cyan hue that drifts from his mechanical body.

Glamrock Freddy.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out at first. There’s a lump buried deep in your throat, and with it there’s a fear that if you try to explain yourself, you might break down entirely.

Freddy waits, a patience so unshakable it mirrors the steel he’s built from.

And he waits a little longer still, right up until there are tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill, and then one of his large paws reaches to bundle around the back of your head, holding it there as though he’s cradling something fragile, something precious.

At his gentle, synthetic touch your lips press tightly together, unwilling to speak for risk of breaking a dam that spills regardless, and as the first of many tears trickle down your cheek, Freddy’s thumb; soft with synthetic padding, swipes it from your face.

“That was very unkind of him, Superstar. I will be sure to report his behavior to management, for it is in violation of the rules of the Mega Pizzaplex.”

“N-no, Freddy, it’s fine. Really… really, it’s fine, and I don’t want to cause any trouble.

The ursine machine, so many warmth welling behind his eyes that the kitchen feels cold in comparison, he tilts his head, his illuminated blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, not in anger but in something softer- concern, and to some degree even disbelief. He doesn’t move the heft of his hand, still cradling your head with the care of someone holding glass. “It is not fine,” he insists gently, voicebox unwavering. “Everyone within the Pizzaplec must treat one another with respect. The rules are very clear.”

A bitter laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “Yeah, well, rules don’t really stop people from being jerks, do they? Just… just please let it go, Freddy. It’s not worth it.”

There is a long, lingering moment where he continues to stare, eye lights drooped at your insistence on allowing things to be. But, finally, he lowers his hand, though his frame remains close, looming like a shield against the sterile, fluorescent lights kitchen. “Your feelings are worth it, Superstar,” he says after a beat. “But I will not push.”

Then he pauses, awkward and almost ashamed, then kneels to level his gaze to your own, and quietly speaks. “And I did not mean to eavesdrop on the staff, but I did overhear the management speaking to one another about the weather.

Oh. Oh no.

“So I wanted to tell you that a snowstorm is predicted, and, on behalf of the Pizzaplex, I wanted to extend you an invitation to stay overnight, since you do not have a way to get home if the bus is out.”

Oh, Cassie was going to be devastated.

Freddy straightens up at your lack of apparent response, his hulking frame towering over you once more, though his demeanor remains calm. “I spoke to the daycare attendant about preparing a bed for you- his residence has many cozy spots, and I believe you will find it suitable.”

You cringe when he mentions the daycare, snapping your thoughts from the soon to be birthday girl.

The attendant's dual personalities were a lot to handle during even just the day- but Moon's presence at night, especially, would be downright unnerving. But Freddy, gentle and unyielding, he turns you around with his big paws and nudges you towards the kitchen’s entrance.

The white doors swing open as Freddy pushes you past them, and the sounds of the nearly silent Pizzaplex greet you. The faint hum of machines powering down for the night drifts through the air, and the glittering lights of arcade machines flicker in the distance, while the mascots painted on the walls seem to grin down at you with their smiles.

It dawns on you now, staring up at the acrylic likeness of the lead animatronic that you hadn’t said yes to his offer, hadn’t quite stuck yourself through with the promise of a full night with the daycare attendant… and with Freddy going in the opposite direction, no doubt heading to his own room for the night… well, there wasn’t exactly anyone around to ensure that your footfall led you to the ever-unnerving nursery.

And, for that matter, a revelation dawning quickly upon you- you didn’t even know if the weather had started turning for the worse. If the storm was so bad that it would put out the local bus, sure, then you might not have a choice. But a light sprinkle wouldn’t kill you, and the lost and found wouldn’t mind you “borrowing” a jacket or scarf.

You turn toward the far end of the Pizzaplex, where the staff exit looms. You could just… check for yourself. There’s a strange, dread pang in your chest like the bite of an icicle, the notion that you might be caught going off-course, then returned to your path like an errant child.

Freddy surely wouldn’t mind you only checking out the window, would he?

Definitely not.

But still you step lightly, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor as the exit grew nearer and nearer. The Pizzaplex, as well as you've grown to know it, comes to feel unnaturally large when it’s this quiet- without at least a dozen children to draw your attention from the winding halls and the sprawling white floor, sometimes the place feels more like a labyrinth than a glorified daycare.

Though the twin doors come into reach without obstruction, there's still a prickling sense of unease that crawls the length of your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you reach for the silver handles.

Just a peek isn't going to hurt anyone, you tell yourself with a measure of false confidence.

It does not stop the trembling chill that races your heart to pump erratically as you make the move to push the doors open, and your skin grows colder still at the sight before you.

Snowflakes.

Fluffy, chunky snowflakes, cascading from the sky in a relentless flurry, the parking lot and roads already blanketed in white. The wind howls, biting and sharp. The city looks almost like a desolate tundra, smeared in thick strokes of white. The last bus is nowhere to be seen, likely sent back to the station early to avoid the storm.

You pull harshly on the doors, snapping them shut to prevent a gale wind from blowing through, to prevent snow from spilling onto the tile, and then you turn back, resigning yourself to a long night in the daycare, and then there’s a flicker of movement in the reflection of the chilled glass. You freeze, breath hitching sharply.

Slowly, you turn around, expecting to see Freddy or perhaps one of the staff bots patrolling the area.

And there is no one around.

Not that you can see, at least.

But the sound -faint, metallic clicking- tells you something is near. It’s sharply deliberate, like the tapping of long nails against glass.

And then a gangly shadow falls over you, dragging half of a shriek out of your lips right before you slap your hands over them.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and there, in a fluid arc of motion, leaping from the ceiling, is Moon, his painted grin wide and unsettlingly toothy in the dim lighting. He cast an eerie silhouette across the room as he lands upright with barely a thud, tilting his head to regard you.

“Why are you out of bed?”

“I was just…”, you start to say, but the words catch in your throat as he draws nearer. “I was only…”

“You know it’s against the rules to wander, don’t you?”

Your heart races as you stumble back, desperate to put distance between yourself and the unsettling animatronic. For all that you (and perhaps none but you and Cassie shared this feeling) had a soft spot for Sun, there was no denying that Moon had grown strange of late, often over-bolstering his “child-caring protocols”, to the terror of his many, many charges. Too often you had to step in and watch over them in his place just to ensure the kids would get some measure of sleep.

“I-I… no, i was just… just checking the weather,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, checking the weather!” he repeats, his tone exaggeratedly bright and overly cheerful, though there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. “But the rules are very clear- no wandering after hours! And you wouldn’t want to break the rules, would you, Starlight?”

That nickname doesn’t feel the same way that “Superstar” feels, not as warm or bright or genuine.

…but it’s still nice (admittedly less so under these circumstances) to have someone care enough to give you a moniker- and unlike Freddy, who simply maintained that everyone he liked was his special “Superstar”, the lunar half of the daycare attendant was far more reserved with his affections.

If he had let that feeling grow a little longer, that slow drift of bubbling warmth rising around your heart, maybe you wouldn’t have screamed out even past the barriers of your hands as he lunged forward and snagged his thin fingers around each side of your waist.

Instead, you simply shriek and kick.

That doesn’t stop Moon from lifting you slowly, his grip more than firm enough to make escape impossible. He tilts his head, his painted grin never wavering, though there’s something unsettling about the way his glowing red eyes seem to scan every inch of you, as if gauging your intent.

“No screaming,” he chides softly, his voice lowering to a whisper that echoes unnaturally in the empty Pizzaplex. “You’ll wake everyone up. Naughty, naughty.”

Your breath hitches as you struggle against his unyielding grip, your hands clawing uselessly at his smooth, cold arms. Moon holds you aloft effortlessly, his glowing red eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“Please,” you manage to croak, weak voice trembling. “I- I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to cause trouble! I just… I just wanted to see if the storm was bad.”

His metal grin remains fixed, the crescent of his face gleaming faintly in the low light. “Storms are dangerous, Starlight,” he murmurs, his voice mechanical but almost sing-song, and still dripping with a strange condescension. “You could get lost. Hurt. It’s better to stay where things are safe.”

There is an unsteady pulse pounding through your chest now, a staccato rhythm that you’re certain he can sense. His glowing red eyes narrow, and his rictus grin; for all that it is fixed in place by steel, seems to grow wider.

He cradles you closer, the warmth of his metallic hands seeping through your uniform. The hum of his inner workings vibrate faintly, a reminder of the sheer difference between your anatomies. His voice drops lower, head leaning in to hiss lowly in your ear.

“And safe,” he whispers, “means staying close to me, Starlight.”

[manatee-rp-memes]

Drawfee and Secret Sleepover Society Sentence Starters Part 2

~Feel free to tweak as needed~

"At this point, evolve into a person or, like, give up."

"Sometimes my mouth makes noises I didn't tell it to."

"I'm really good at jokes today."

"Damn, I kinda don't care."

"We're a couple of geniuses!”

"I'm the greatest proof that you don't have to be good at art to make art."

"Keep your chin up, sweet king."

"I wish I were a bug and also a dead bug."

"Can you meow as sadly as possible?"

"I'm not stupid, you're stupid!"

"No, we can't start going hog wild."

"Where's your hog wild energy? We're supposed to be throwing caution to the wind!"

"Put on your cool shoes, we're hittin' the town."

"I'm just going to decide I don't care about that."

"He's full of emotions, he can't get off the floor."

"Can we get a proverb?"

"Go up, baldy!"

"Can I take you aside for a second? Can I talk to you for a second in private?"

"You're making me seem like history's greatest piece of shit."

"My favorite part was the surprise key change."

"Looks like it's to the jerk-off pod for me."

"Wow, this already sucks!"

"Where's my wife?!"

"Don't test me, you don't know how sapphic I can be. I've been training with the lesbians for years in the mountains."

"The car lost control because of the water."

"Why did she choose to put all her claws in my leg?"

"I don't dislike you because you're a woman, I dislike you because you're annoying."

"Oh shit, you're right. If you change the words I said to different words it does sound pretty bad."

"How about, um... eat my ass and whole taint? Thanks."

"Do you think that was the right way to treat a friend and coworker?"

"What just happened to me? My vision went white."

"Take this shit seriously."

"Boys~ don't fight over me!"

"Kill your past, become the future."

"If you're gay for one of us, you've got to be gay for all of us."

"What if we kissed in the digital world and we were both girls?"

"I got nothing. My brain broke."

"They don't want to fight, they just want to dance!"

"I wish... I wish we could go back to before."

"What is happening? I feel like I'm losing my mind. Is everyone understanding this except for me?”

“I feel like I've slipped into an alternate dimension where nothing makes sense."

"I didn't know I was here with a bunch of freaking shoobies!"

"I don't hate women, I just looove men!"

"Some of you have never been kissed by a butterfly and it shows."

"Sometimes real art is making lots of mistakes in front of lots of people."

"Look at my disgusting son!"

“‘Fake it til you make it,’ I whisper as I walk out onto the tightrope."

"I always liked the fucked up women."

"They're hittin' the damn doinkus in there."

"I wish my air purifier were next to me right now."

"You must play the bone game."

[irisintheafterglow]

One-Shots

Gojo Satoru

You Are In Love - "you're my best friend," and you knew what it was

...Ready For It? - knew he was a killer first time that I saw him

Hits Different - it hits different 'cause it's you (or, struggling in a situationship with gojo satoru)

Never Grow Up - meeting megumi for the first time

The Archer - all of my enemies started out friends, can he hold on to you?

invisible string - the first time megumi uses ten shadows

even in my worst times, you see the best in me - being the strongest has its downsides, but at least you're suffering with him

life's no fun without a good scare - you have the brilliant idea of playing hide and seek in a corn maze against the most powerful sorcerer in the world. should be fun, right?

it's all me, just don't go (meet me in the afterglow) - satoru is jealous but refuses to admit it.

every dead end street led you straight to me - former fuckboy gojo has some things to say at the top of a mountain

i hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this! - coworkers to lovers with a healthy amount of teenage eavesdropping

he's the death you chose (you're in terrible danger) - married life with husband!gojo means cleaning up bodies at 2am.

Geto Suguru

The Great War - somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Back to December - you gave him all your love and all he gave you was goodbye

say you'll remember me - you were destined to fail from the start, so why does it hurt so badly when he's gone?

dazzling haze, mysterious way about you, dear - need some fluff after reading all the angst above?

tell me that you love me, love me 'til my lips turn blue - being partnered with suguru on a mission takes an unexpected turn

what if all i need is you? - after failed attempts to find a date to a relative's birthday party, your best friend acts as your fake boyfriend.

you know i love you so. - what if he never left you?

Nanami Kento

of daisies and collisions - nanami kento felt a little out of his element, with a small bundle of flowers sitting in his lap and brooding in the dark corner of the jazz bar. yet, you play that song he likes again, and nothing else matters.

Blurbs/Drabbles

the stakes are high, the water's rough, but this love is ours - holding satoru and letting him rest, even if it's only for a little bit

it took so long to know someone like you - he doesn't know who he is with you and it scares both of you

bad days and blanket burritos - good ol' satoru bf fluff

Imagines/HCs

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

how gojo and geto react to their partner being obsessed with them (fluffy !!!)

summer camp counselor!gojo

Gojo Satoru

What, like it's hard? -> law student!gojo / university!gojo

general hcs

when he buys a motorcycle

flirting via the library

I'm with the band -> rockstar!gojo

rockstar!gojo meet sexyy

the valentine's day show

quiet moments and teaching you guitar

awards show

Falling for you, on and off the ice -> hockey player!gojo

someone steals your usual rink slot

watching a game

living in winter, i am your summer - he's terrible at figure skating

Kachow -> professional racer!gojo

on the radio

smoke his ass! - pro racer!gojo needs some motivation after a newcomer to the track pisses him off

Geto Suguru

oops? - satoru finds out that you've been seeing his best friend

a quiet moment in the aquarium

napping with you :)

scare actor!suguru

wooing the rec center worker (university!suguru)

Save a horse, ride a cowboy -> gunslinger!suguru

gunslinger!geto au

big iron - he's not the first to go after the crystal-eyed bandit, but something tells you that this one will keep his promise to buy you a drink when the hunting is done.

Theta Phi Fuckhead -> enemy frat!suguru

ancient grudge, new mutiny

move fast, keep quiet

half the things that haven't happened yet

Series Masterlists

End Game (volleyball captain!gojo x you) COMPLETED

Co-Parenting Megumi with Satoru COMPLETED

I Don't Wanna Live Forever (gojo x you during shibuya) COMPLETED

VIGILANTE SHIT (vigilante!au, IN PROGRESS)

[honeykaes]

heartbroken ghost

thoma x reader II 3.5k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with fem pronouns, switch!reader, switch!thoma, office au, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, hate sex?, blowjob, handjob, riding, use of alcohol, reader isn’t a good person, unedited

synopsis: everyone at the office seems to love thoma. He’s helpful, kind and dedicated to everyone…except for you

Thoma seemed to be beloved in the office. Working for the Kamisato conglomerate as an assistant, he was always helping out the people on his floor. He would bring in sandwiches, stay late helping people catch up with their work, and even buy a round of drinks for everyone once the day finally ended at the izakaya next door.

There was nothing but good things your coworkers would say about him. Everyone always found themselves smiling, whenever he would be brought up in conversation.

Yet, it seemed whenever the two of you were alone he wanted nothing to do with you. Heavy quietness, avoiding eye contact, furrowed brows—he held you at a distance and you had no idea why.

Finally, one day after work, gulping beers down at the izakaya, it seemed all your coworkers trickled out until it was just you and him. Your cheeks felt hot looking down at the froth of the beer smeared across the bottom of your mug, pouting as you finally finished your nth drink of the night.

You lifted your eyes up to see Thoma staring at you. Part of you was shocked he decided to stay, instead of paying the bill and leaving silently like he usually does.

 His green eyes were hazed in a cloud of drunkenness, leaning his soft cheek against his palm as his arm leaned on the table. His eyebrows were furrowed, cheeks flushed as the alcohol in his system pumped through his veins.

Oddly enough, there was something sultry about his eyes narrowing at you. Perhaps it was because you noticed the buttons of his white dress shirt popped down, showing a glimpse of his pectoral muscles from the angle he was leaning at. Or the pierced ears you never noticed he had.

You pouted before pushing your mug away. This would be a good time than any to ask him what his deal finally was. 

“Thoma, why do you hate my guts?” you asked, fingers strumming on the wooden table. Thoma's eyes slightly widened before he sighed, leaning his head back.

“...Can you leave already? I just want one more drink to myself without your presence here,” he replied. Your eyebrows furrowed, hearing his statement. You clicked your tongue in annoyance, leaning towards him from the other side of the table.

“Not until you explain yourself. You are literally, supernaturally kind to everyone but me. So what’s the deal? Did I piss you off or something? Is it jealousy—”

Thoma scoffed, lips curving into a disbelief smile as he shook his head. His false smile quickly fell again as he pushed away his empty glass and lifted his face away from his palm

“Of you? What do I need to be jealous of you for? There’s nothing that you have that I don’t,” Thoma replied. Your lips curved into a smile, as you leaned closer towards him. You noticed his eyes flicker towards your chest before heading back to your eyes. 

You would bet a thousand mora the peak of your cleavage also grabbed his attention.

“Is that right? Then explain yourself, since you do not need to be jealous of me…” you trailed off. You gasped a bit before chuckling to yourself. Thoma grunted.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. You tapped your lip contemplating on telling him.

“A memory just popped into my head. I remember the first day of the office. Instead of you showing me around, Mr. Kamisato did. Were you jealous the boss was showing me more attention than his favorite dog?” you hummed. Thoma furrowed his eyes, getting up from his seat. The mischievous look on your face softened, as you got startled by his sudden movement.

“You don’t remember me do you?” he asked. Your lips curled up about to laugh before Thoma peered at you from the corner of your eye. He was dead serious about this. Yet, his face doesn’t seem familiar.

 “...Figures,” Thoma sighed, burying his hands into his slacks. He threw a few bills down on the table before walking off toward the entrance of the bar and leaving. Despite the crowded and rowdy, dull roar of the salarymen and women around you, the only words that kept registering and repeating in your head were his words.

“You don’t remember me do you?”

You don’t recall anyone that resembled Thoma in your life. You tried your best not to think about your life before college, but was he a discarded figure hidden behind the doors of adolescents you never wanted to face again?

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you look down at your empty beer glasses surrounding you. The buzz of alcohol was beginning to dissipate thanks to that conversation. 

“I need a drink…” you muttered to yourself, getting up from the now-empty table. You made your way out the door, noticing the rain beginning to dretch the Tokyo skyline. The hard, cold droplets clung onto your clothes and hair, quickly drenching you as you cursed out, covering your head with your arms to try and fail to keep yourself dry.

Dashing off, feet wobbling as you struggled to keep up in your heels, you noticed an alleyway that seemed covered and slipped into it. Just as a sigh of relief would sweep through your lips, you noticed Thoma, leaning against the wall shocked to see your presence once again.

He was completely soaked as well, suit clinging onto his skin. He had taken his ponytail down, showing off how long the back part of his hair was. The most shocking part was the lit cigarette between his lips with a small trail of smoking floating upwards from it.

“Thoma? You smoke?” You asked. Thoma sifted the bud between his lips, rolling his eyes momentarily.

“That’s the first question you ask? How did you find me anyway?” he asked. You furrowed your eyebrows again. This guy really knows how to kill your buzz.

“Obviously I didn’t know it was going to rain. I…didn’t bring an umbrella, so this was the first place I saw as a shelter before I could wait this out and head to the trains once this passed,” you grumbled, crossing your arms.

“Besides, you didn’t answer my question,” you muttered. You were shocked to hear, Thoma chuckled. You had heard him laugh before, passing by him and a group in the hallway but this was the first time he seemed to laugh directly in front of you.

“Bad habit I took up from working as Mr Kamisato’s assistant. We all have vices and he has me pick up cigarettes for him. It was just supposed to be a social thing but when I find myself very stressed, I can’t help but indulge.”

“So I’m guessing I stressed you out from my question?” you grunted. Thoma didn’t reply as his gaze wandered away from you and down on the damp concrete ground.

You sighed once more, heels clicking as you walked beside him, leaning against the wall. The two of you remained quiet for a while, letting the pitter patters of the rain to the talking for you.

“...I knew you back in high school before I moved to Japan,” Thoma murmured, dropping his cigarette on the floor and grinding it softly with his dress shoe.

“I had the biggest crush on you, and it’s like you didn’t see me,” Thoma chuckled to himself, eyes narrowing in embarrassment and disappointment. Your eyes softened as you parted your lips to speak, but he kept talking.

“I’d try to do everything to get your attention, but it’s like you purposefully avoided or ignored me,” Thoma admitted. “I had to move shortly after that, but I vowed the next person I would pursue would never make me feel like that again.”

“...Thoma I—”

Thoma simply raised his hand up.

“I was a dumb 14-year-old. It’s been over 10 years. That crush has long died. We’ve both moved on and grew up, so don’t throw your pity onto me,” Thoma muttered. Your eyebrows furrowed as you scoffed. You pushed yourself off of the wall to directly face him.

“You don’t think I know that?” you barked back. Thoma didn’t reply, just remained quiet and looked at you with a scowl.

“Look Thoma, I don’t think you knew how much I hardly noticed anyone in high school because I assumed everyone thought I was a loser. I didn’t have a lot of friends, all I wanted to do was make it to graduation in one piece. I never thought you or even other boys even thought of me.”

“Well, you don’t have to fear that now because you’re not my type as an adult anyway—” Thoma trailed off, closing his eyes. You narrowed your eyes before leaning in, pressing your chest against his own as he gasped. Your hands pressed themselves on his collar.

“You want to say that again? Because I think you are a dirty liar, Thoma. Don’t think I didn’t see you checking out my tits earlier. You’re not as subtle as you think,” you muttered, lifting your chin up to stare him down directly. 

His cheeks were already red from the coldness of his wet clothes before he grunted.

“I-I could say the same thing. You didn’t think I couldn’t feel you’re staring, checking me out!” he stammered back. A grin curled on your face once more.

“Oh? Did your voice just crack? Are you embarrassed to be this close to a woman, hm?” you sarcastically cooed out. Thoma scoffed, narrowing his eyes.

“God, I hate you and the person you’ve become,” he grumbled. His lip slightly quivered, gaze bouncing between your expression and the wall. You quirked your head to the side, leaning towards his ear.

“...So why does it seem like you want to kiss me, huh?” you asked. Thoma clenched his jaw before, suddenly leaning in, capturing your lips for his own. You moaned, feeling your teeth clank against one another from his sudden forcefulness.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. The sweetness from the beer from earlier coated both of your lips, as your tongues soon dragged between each other. You grabbed onto Thoma’s collar, pulling him in even deeper, heads moving and shifting to try to keep up with one another.

You soon bit down on Thoma’s lip softly, pulling the plush tissue back until letting it go. Your breaths were heavy and visible in the cold air, eyes half-lidded as you continued to stare at one another, realizing what you two had just done.

“(Y/n)—”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” you interrupted as you leaned in to kiss him once more. Thoma had shifted, grabbing your chin with his fingers and lifting it as he moved his other arm to cage you in closer to him. A shaky moan escaped your lips as his lips trailed away from your lips to your neck, peppering the sensitive skin with soft kisses and nibbles.

Finding a suitable spot, he dragged his tongue across it before sucking and nibbling. You clung tighter to Thoma, pressing your thighs together to ease the ache of arousal beginning to burn between your legs. You raised a hand, pressing against his crotch. You could feel his cock pressing against the wet dark slack, shivering as his hips slightly bucked from the sudden sensation.

“N-Not here, We can get arrested if we go further…” Thoma whispered out, capturing your lips once more. Your hand continued to press firmly on his crotch, feeling his member get harder and twitch in excitement.

“M’serious,” he slurred out. “We can both lose our jobs from a scandal of getting caught and lose our visas. M’still not a permanent…citizen…” Thoma muttered as he continued to kiss you. He grabbed your hands, pressing them against the damp brick wall. Your noses pressed against each other, breaths heavy as you fought the urge to kiss him again.

“My apartment is close…we can go there…” he replied. You bit your lip and nodded, as the two of you quickly tried to adjust yourself. Pulling his jacket over your head, the two of you dashed out from the alleyway as he guided you toward his apartment. 

Your heart thumped, adrenaline fueling you as the lights of the cars illuminated his face. He seemed like he was smiling. A memory flashed in your head of a kid who sat in the front of the class in high school, smiling at you the same way.

“I guess he is sweet to everyone he meets…” you whispered to yourself.

Finally, Thoma turned away from the main street where you two walked into a very stylish and high-rise apartment complex. He waved to the doorman as he lifted his hat, greeting him back before you two made it to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, you grabbed onto his collar and kissed him again. 

He groaned in the kiss, hands moving up and down across the curves along the wet clothes clinging onto your body before a loud ding was let out, as the door of the elevator opened once more. Thoma breaks the kiss before grabbing your hand and making a way to his apartment. He eagerly digs into his pocket, fumbling with his key before finally nudging it into the keyhole and opening the apartment. 

You walked in and grabbed his tie, as walked in after you. As soon as the door closed, you kicked off your shoes and he followed suit before the two of you struggled to get to the bedroom. You two quickly disrobed, letting the wet soggy clothes pile in a puddle on the ground before you push Thoma onto the bed.

His cock is raised high, pulsating every few seconds. You grab ahold of his member, as Thoma sucks a sharp breath in. You press your thumb at his flushed tip, pressing against the slit budding with precum. With a tight grip, you began to pump his cock, watching him bite his lip fighting the urge to moan out your name.

“F-Fuck…” he grunted out. A mischievous smirk fell on your lips as you made his way to your lap as you continued to jerk his cock. You pressed your tongue, letting it swirl along the sensitive tip as his hips jolted in delight.

You let one hand tightly grip his cock right under his tip, while the other continued to pump along the base. Thoma struggled, body shivering from the immense pleasure wafting throughout his body. He lifted his hand to his forehead, looking over at you with one open half-lidded eye. Drool dribbled down his bottom lip.

“H-How are you so g-ood at this?” he stammered out. You kissed his tip before keeping your mouth open as you could feel his cock beginning to twitch more. With a loud moan, thick ropes of cum shot out, finding its way on your tongue, face, and Thoma’s abdomen. His breaths were heavy, and his arms covered his face as he slowly came down from his high.

You swallowed the sticky and salty substance and wiped the remainder that clung onto your face.

“Ah, ah, ah…! Not done with you yet,” you hummed, grabbing onto his cock. You jumped his softening cock, watching it soon rise to full-length once more. 

“C-Condom…I should get a—” Thoma whispered, moving his arm away from his face. His cheeks were extremely flushed,  looking as if he was in a drunken state of euphoria. You leaned in, kissing him once again as you lifted yourself.

You pressed his tip along your slick opening, your cunt drooling in your own arousal that painted your crotch and dripped along your inner thighs.

“I’m on a pill. Don’t worry,” you cooed. Thoma grunted, lifting his upper body up. You gasped, feeling his hands make way to your hips, sinking you down suddenly on his cock. You covered your mouth, shocked at his forwardness again as he leaned his forehead against your own.

“Y-You know, you were sort of right earlier. I was jealous…” he admitted. You can barely register what he meant, feeling his thrust inside of you. Your hips bounced, meeting his pace. Your head lifting back in pleasure.

“...That day you joined the company and Mr.Kamisato showed you around. I could tell you were trying to flirt with him. I could see how you pressed your chest around him, how you’d try to flirt…it wasn’t fair…!” Thoma grunted, closing his eyes. His hands grabbed onto the mounds of your ass, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh. 

The sound of slapping flesh echoed out in the bedroom before Thoma grunted once more. He grabbed onto your chin, lifting your head up to look you in the eye.

“Are you even paying attention?!... How is it you seemed to throw yourself at him but not me!” he groaned. Your chest bounced at his face tempo, hand pressed against your stomach where you could feel him stretching you out with every thrust. 

“T-Thoma!” you called out. His eyebrows furrowed as one hand found its way to your clit, pressing against the sensitive mound as you yelp louder.

“I won’t let you forget this…” Thoma moaned, furrowing his eyebrows and capturing your lips. Your hands moved towards his back, nails harpooning against the skin raking downwards. He grunted into the kiss. 

Your walls began to flutter, squeezing his cock rutting inside of you, making it more difficult to keep up his pace. As his thumb continued to rub tight circles along your clit, your back soon arched, seeing white.

You scream into the kiss, gripping him tight as you shiver and ride yourself through the euphoric high. Thoma clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to cum inside of you before he sank his cock out of you. Your cunt shivered, missing the presence of being full as he lifted himself up.

Tears pricked your eyes, lips swollen and glossy as your tired eyes looked toward him. He pumped his cock rapidly, hips bucking with every justle before pressing his tip against your open mouth.

“Swallow…every last drop for me please…” he begged. A loud whine escaped himself as he shut his eyes tight, cum shooting out once again. You did your best to swallow every inch of cum that escaped his cock. With a shaky sigh, he tapped his softening cock on your lips once more before lying beside you.

His arms wrapped around you tenderly, as your head leaned against his chest. He had a soft smile on his face, despite his eyes being closed. He was whispering soft praises in your ear.

He was acting like the Thoma, he was with everyone except you despite unknowingly breaking his heart once and bruising it a second time.

His softness was nice. You could imagine that tension when you two would arrive on Monday in the office would be completely gone. You knew he would volunteer to get you lunch like everyone else now. You knew he would offer to work late to help you out.

You knew he’d probably ask you on a real date. You knew he would put his all into making you smile. You knew that.

But you knew he deserved someone who didn’t play with his heart as much as you did.

Thoma walked out of the shower, smiling. He was much happier than usual, a part of him finally soothed and ready to formally move on. Perhaps this was a start to something he always wished to have.

He had gotten up earlier to wash and dry your clothes. He was excited to make breakfast for you too. It had been a while since he had a Western-style breakfast.

As Thoma emerged from the steamy bathroom, covering his lower half with his towel, his smile faltered noticing you weren’t in the bed. Just before he was going to go to the living room, he noticed your things were missing from the chair he set them out on. The clothes he had dried, the purse he found near his apartment door, your phone that fell when you two were kissing and making your way to his bedroom.

He felt his heart sink to his chest, but he wanted to stay positive. He never gave you his personal cellphone number. Maybe you messaged him on Slack with an explanation or something to quell his worries?

Nothing.

You had left without a trace. No goodbye. No closure. No nothing. 

It felt like he was a ghost all over again.

“Ha…” Thoma whispered out, tears welling in his eyes as he sat down on the bed silently to himself. Looking up in the mirror, all he could see was his 14-year-old self looking back at him with pity. He can’t help but laugh, finally laying down fully on the bed.

“...I’m still such an idiot.”

[an-orca-on-a-stroll]

Severance season 2 ep 2 thoughts/theories under cut

long post!

1. So as I theorized last week, here's the confirmation everything that mr Milkshake told the innies was, indeed, 100% bullshit. It's been 3 days, not 5 months, and also:

this is false bc we know now that Mark didn't want to return, instead it was Milchick who worked very hard to convince him.

This is also false, they were fired and then re-hired after Mark S' outburst.

This is fake as well (this one was very obvious tbh). So I think it's safe to assume that anything else Milchick told the innies should be taken with a huge grain of salt at best, personally I don't believe a single word, especially his claim that there are no more cameras.

2. MS COBEL IS BACKKKKK MY BEAUTIFUL QUEEN WITH SO MANY DISORDERS. Her scenes were very interesting. She was offered a promotion yet was not happy about it. I had my suspicions before but this basically confirms that she doesn't really care about her career at Lumon, she specifically wants to be in the severed floor, so when they promoted her, and as a result removed her from the severed floor, she was not happy. Though of course they didn't give her the option to refuse. I think she's right and that Lumon is scared of her, for some reason they don't want her in the severed floor anymore. Much to think about. I think there is some fuckery similar to the Gemma situation going on with either her (supposedly dead?) husband and/or child. This to me is confirmed by something i bring up in my next point

3. I love that we see outie Mark genuinely furious for the first time ever, it's definitely the most "non-sadness-adjacent" emotions he's ever shown.

I mean think about this guy. His wife dies, he falls apart from grief and can't put himself together, loses his job, then he gets another job that is weird and everybody hates this for him but he does it anyway until after two years it feels like maybe, maybe he might be ready to start moving on.

Then he meets his (alleged) coworker who tells him they're best friends and pulls him into a big conspiracy about Lumon, shortly after said colleague dies in very suspicious circumstances, then he's a witness and accessory to murder (of the head of security of his workplace, no less), then his innie unexpectedly comes out for 40 minutes and wow, nobody told him that could happen except for the fine print in what I'm certain was like, a hundreds page long contract considering how controversial his job is. And his innie says some very unsettling shit about the work he's been doing for the past 2 years, but he is physically unable to remember all this fucked up stuff despite being in the middle of it 8 hrs a day for 2 years. Then his innie claims that his wife, whose dead body he saw with his own eyes, is actually alive. And oh his weird apparently well-meaning neighbor was actually his boss this whole time, stealing his dead wife's things, keeping him under surveillance and repeatedly invading his privacy and trust.

I'm not surprised Mark's first reaction was wanting to get away, he was probably in shock and denial bc that is a lot to take in. He tentatively returns bc, like Cobel said, he does get swayed easily, but I think deep down he knows something fucked up is happening at Lumon (read the paragraph above again for points) but I think he becomes fully convinced something's up with Gemma after his encounter with Cobel. Cobel's reaction is interesting to say the least.

she does this like. Pained sigh, then silence for a WEIRDLY long time, and she looks like she might start crying??? am I imagining this. Like she looks genuinely in pain. Then she screeches, almost runs Mark over, and runs away? I really think Cobel's in a similar position as Mark and something is going on at Lumon with someone she cares about, this is why she's so obsessed with Mark and Gemma specifically

4. Irving's outie is so damn cool. Like there's something about the way he acts?? That makes him so cool, his actor is really good at showing the difference between his two selves.

This line his hilarious considering what actually made innie Irving want to rebel, instead of his outie's weird subliminal messages. Anyway who is he talking to? Whoever is is, they clearly don't want to speak with Irving though.

5. ALSO?

I have no idea what the fuck is going on. WHY does Burt know where Irving lives? Did innie Irving tell him that when they met? Did they even meet?? When we see innie Irving again at Lumon for the first time he's banging against the elevator like he was banging on Burt's door, did they even see each other? If they didn't meet, again how does Burt know where Irving lives? Burt's name was circled in the map outie Irving had, did they already meet in the past? Maybe Irving was trying to convince other severed employees that Lumon is evil? Nothing makes sense but the curiosity is killing me

6. During the sequence of Mark going in and out of work, taking the elevator every day, there's the odd day out where the elevator turns black, like it did in ep 1 from innie Mark perspective. The timing also checks out, it's the day Mark rebelled because he wanted his team back and they threatened to fire him.

From innie Mark's perspective in ep1, he goes "up" the elevator, his eyes kinda roll back like he's having a seizure, then first the elevator turns black, then the screen.

Then the elevator dings, we see a closeup of Mark's eye for some reason,

and he's back on the regular severed floor.

From outie Mark's perspective, he goes down the elevator, and at first it's the transition we see everytime Mark goes up or down the regular elevator.

Then the elevator dings. At this point Mark's eyes roll back, the background fades to black,

Then the elevator dings again, and we see a closeup of his eye

then the black elevator in a distorted perspective, which then morphs into the regular elevator.

Then the elevator dings again, and the doors open to the regular exit.

This pretty much confirms Mark was in the testing floors that day. The same weird sequence with the black elevator as with ep1, plus the three dings of the elevator mean that during that day, Mark got into the elevator three times. Usually, both innie and outie hear the elevator two times during the sequence where they go up and down for a single day. One when they get to the severed floor, and another when they go back up (I checked with scenes from s2e1, and season 1 as well) Which means both the outie and the innie hear and remember the elevator dings, presumably bc the sound plays at the exact same moment they switch, or maybe it's just a cue to help us, the audience (but if not this has fascinating implications that the memories at the exact time of switching are retained by both innie and outie).

Anyway the fact that there are 3 dings means Mark stopped at another floor before going back up. And Mark stayed there until 9:15 pm that day !! We see the clock when he goes back up for the day after this sequence

(Well, I assume it's pm and not am, based on the fact that there are no other indicators from Mark's perspective that his day was odd, if he came out of work the next day at 9am I think they would have shown us Mark's reaction to this. He also tells good night to Judd, the security guard, in a very tired tone, and Judd seems sort of surprised, but I'm choosing to interpret as him being surprised at Mark coming out of work 4 hours late and not the morning after.)

6. HELENA MY BELOVED. Listen, I love Helly, I really do, and I've decided I love Helena as well. I wasn't sure before since we almost never see her directly, but honestly, ever since her "You're not a person" speech (which is one of my favorite scenes in the series) I knew she had something seriously fucked up going on with her and what can I say, I'm predictable, I eat that shit up. Love me a woman with so many disorders. Now that we have an episode with a lot of her perspective... man.

The way she just fucking. Smiles serenely after his father only says TWO (2) incredibly cruel words to her after the incident. Where her body was basically taken out of her control without her consent, which I can only imagine how scary that is (again, for all the outies it must have been very unsettling) And this happened at such a crucial moment, but it wasn't Helena's fault, it was Helly's (techically, arguably, Helly obviously had her reasons and we love her) And it's so fucked up compared on how her father treated her (Helly) in the season finale

He seems like a loving father, but then Helena fucks up, and he calls her a "fetid moppet"? My god, the implications. Does this mean that Helena only has the love of her family, her father, if she meets his expectations? And the instant she doesn't, her father treats her like that? So she grew up in this kind of environment where affection is not unconditional, where she has to hide her emotions, and always be the perfect heir, who can never make mistakes and who lives for her company.

For her company she became severed, and she wanted to keep at it at any cost, even when it was obvious her innie was miserable. Bc I think Helena always pushed herself to the limit all her life, so maybe she thought her innie also had to suck it up, bc Helena doesn't get to choose her life, so Helly doesn't either?

This shot!! Imagine how horrifying this had to be. She went into work and woke up hanging from the ceiling bc her other self tried to kill her. And she still went back to work afterwards. She still pushed on bc failure was not an option. That's so messed up

I wonder what exactly she thinks of Helly, if she really considers her not a person or if she said that just to get her to do what she wanted her to. But I think Helena's feelings changed after viewing the footage of her innie, and she's actually somewhat "jealous" of her now. Because Helly gets to be herself, genuinely, without a mask, she gets to have real friends who like her (does Helena have friends? maybe with Natalie, but are they really friends or is it just because Helena is the boss? Does she have other friends?) she gets to be bold and loud, and finds love, maybe, while not even "being a person".

Imagine how that has to feel, but maybe it's easier to take it out on Helly, instead of accepting that the way she grew up is fucked up. I'm full into speculation territory, I can't wait to see how this evolves. In the meantime, I DO think that Helena went to the severed floor, and she's herself, not Helly. Now that we've seen Helena in ep2, compared to how this "Helly" acts in ep1... it's really similar. "Helly" just looks kind of subdued, less bold, less angry. She lies about her experience outside, she kind of "pushed" her relationship with Mark, etc ...

Plus in the last scene of ep2, we see the MDR gang go down the elevator, one by one. For all of them we hear the elevator ding, but NOT for Helena. Which might be a cue for us that she didn't switch with Helly. Can't wait to find out more but in the meantime. Helena did nothing wrong. I mean yes she did all that (being the heir of an evil fucked up company) but also I love her so I forgive her.

7. It's just very interesting thinking about the innies and outies as a nature vs nurture kinda problem. Innie Dylan being funny and confident while his outie is anxious and stressed. Irving being all cool outside vs how his innie is, plus his anti/pro Lumon difference between innie and outie, bc he needs to give meaning to his actions. And it manifests in such different ways, although innie Irving still decided to rebel in the end. Helena vs Helly, two very strong-willed people but Helena gives it all for her company and familiy, while Helly fights against the system. And Mark, who I still haven't figured out bc I think Mark himself hasn't figured himself out either.

8. Last point, but why do they want Mark back so badly? At first I thought it was because he's the only one whose innie came out where there were clearly other witnesses (besides Helly), so they wanted to make sure he was still loyal to Lumon. But then they said this

They need Mark specifically to complete Cold Harbor (hinted in the previous episode to be Gemma's file) Why? Why does Mark have to do it? What about the previous files, they couldn't all have had connections to the other members of MDR, so why is this different? Or is Mark just that good of a refiner in general, and they just really really need Gemma's file completed? Why is Gemma specifically so important? Much to think about. Can't wait for the next episode !!

[vodika-vibes]

*gently slides some credits over to you* spare some more Fordo x reader x Alpha-17 poly fics please my sweet vodika? 🥺🙏

Ruthlessness

Summary: You’ve been patient. You’ve been kind. But the Kaminoans have finally pushed you too far.

Pairing: Alpha-17 x F!Reader x Fordo

Word Count: 1734

Warnings: Uh...Fordo gets experimented on and Reader loses her shit.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So. So. This probably isn't what you had in mind when you sent in this request, but I got smacked with the inspiration hammer. And this was born. This Song was the inspiration.

It’s late when your boys come to you. 

Later to be more specific. You’re not unused to Alpha’s late nights, or Fordo’s for that matter.

But generally speaking, Alpha and Fordo don’t come to you if it’s after a certain point of night. They want to make sure that you’re getting enough sleep, that you’re able to function to the best of your ability the next day.

So when Alpha keys open your suite door at 2 am, all but dragging Fordo with him, your heart plummets into your stomach.

For a moment, one heart stopping moment, you think that your Fordo is dead.

There’s so much blood, and some of his limbs are twisted at unusual angles, and it’s not until he releases a pained groan and rolls onto his side to spit blood across your floor that you snap out of panicked girlfriend mode and into doctor mode.

You tie your hair up into a knot at the back of your head and rip your robe off, throwing it to the side to be dealt with later, and you drop to your knees next to him. “Alpha, I need my kit.”

“Where is it, cyare?”

“Under my bed, the green bag, not the blue one.” You don’t turn to see if he’s following your instructions, you know that he will. “Fordo, baby, can you hear me?”

His head rolls and you swallow your panic with great difficulty. Alpha returns with your med kit and the emergency gurney that you keep stored in your closet. He sets it up quickly while you go about removing Fordo’s armor.

He looks...bad.

His injuries wouldn’t look out of place on someone who’s been thrown from a speeder. Ideally you’d bring him to your medical suite, but…

Alpha brought him here, to you directly. Which means there is some information that you don’t have. Information that you don’t need. Not right now. Not yet.

Fordo’s eyes are closed, but he’s breathing. So you push everything from your mind except the next step you need to follow to keep him alive. You allow yourself a single touch of your fingers against his badly bruised, and bloodied, cheek. “It’s going to be alright, Fordo. I’m going to fix this.”

It takes you hours to pull Fordo back from the brink. Long enough that you have to send a comm to your coworkers telling them that you caught a bug and won’t be able to work today. Long enough that you skip not only breakfast, but also lunch and dinner.

But, by the time the sun sets, Fordo is stable. His wounds dressed, and is sleeping peacefully on the bed.

You leave Alpha watching him for as long as it takes for you to shower and make some quick food for the pair of you, and then you collapse on the couch next to Alpha, your head falling to his shoulder.

Now that you’re sure that one of the loves of your life isn’t going to die under your hands, you’re starting to tremble. And it’s obvious enough that Alpha, the other love of your life, wraps his strong arm around you and presses his hand against the back of your head.

“You did great, cyare.” he rumbles against your ear.

“Alpha...what happened?” It’s a demand. It’s a plea. You’re not sure, really, what it is, but you need to know. “He looked like he was thrown from a speeder-”

Alpha hesitates and you pull back to stare up at him. Alpha never hesitates. Ever.

You reach up and press your hand against his cheek, “Alpha?”

His dark eyes scan your face for a moment, and then he sighs and brings his hands up to cup your cheeks. Slowly he pulls you into a gentle kiss, and then presses his forehead against yours. 

“You know the new Kaminoan who arrived the other day?”

“The doctor? Iza Nu or something, right?”

“Yeah. She had...ideas. Fordo-” He trails off, as though he doesn’t have the words to explain what he saw, what she did.

You consider his words for a moment, your gaze drifting from his face to linger on Fordo’s bruised and battered body, “If I’m understanding you correctly,” you murmurs, “Iza Nu did this to him.”

“...yes.”

You’re a doctor. You know exactly what would need to be done to a person to inflict those types of injuries on someone. In fact, you can even picture it in your head, exactly what tools would be needed, exactly how much force-

Not for the first time since you took this position, you feel the stirrings of rage deep in your heart. Unlike the previous occasions, though, this time you don’t shove the rage away. You don’t bottle it up.

This time you let is envelope you.

You’re done.

They have, finally, pushed you to the point where you can no longer look the other way.

You exhale slowly, and focus your attention back on Alpha and offer him the softest smile, “You look tired, love.”

His eyes close, “It’s been a long, long day.”

You hum your agreement, and gently card your fingers though his hair. “Fordo is using the cot, but he doesn’t need constant monitoring anymore if you want to sleep.”

“What about you?” He asks, pinning you in place with a serious gaze.

“I’m afraid I’m far, far too wired to try and sleep.” You trail your fingers down his cheek, “Will you try to get some sleep? For me?”

He searches your face for a moment longer and then he sighs and kisses you gently, “For you, I’ll try.” Alpha stands and pulls you with him, and he brings your hands to his lips, his gaze locked with yours, “I love you.”

“Love you too.” You watch as he vanishes into the bedroom and listen as he settles in the bed. If you close your eyes, you can see him shifting and turning until he’s comfortable. If this was a normal day, you’d be tucked protectively against his chest and Fordo would be pressed against your back and their hands would wander as they regaled you with stories about the day-

But today isn’t a normal day.

You press a feather light kiss against Fordo’s forehead, and check his IV one more time, before you straighten and head for the door. With luck, you’ll be back before Alpha realizes you’re gone.

You quickly walk through the halls, until you reach the office belonging to the newest Kaminoan. Iza Nu looks just like all of her brethren, though draped in the crisp white jacket of a medical professional.

She tilts her head when she sees you, “Ah. Doctor, you are feeling better? I was saddened to hear that you were unwell. I was looking forward to working with you.”

You hum a response, “Is this your workspace?”

“Indeed.” She gracefully motions towards the massive surgical suite, “I’m still trying to clean-”

You step into the suite, and trail your finger against the cold metal of the surgical table. There’s blood on the floor. “It looks like you had a busy day.”

“Indeed, the clones are most interesting subjects.”

You walk further into the room and pick up a scalpel that was left out. It was made for Kaminoan hands, not your much smaller human ones, so it looks more like a dagger in your hands. “Is that right?”

“Do you not agree?”

“They’re still human.” You reply flatly.

“That is true, I suppose.” The door to the surgical suite slides shut, “Ah, you like my scalpel? It was specially made for my hands.”

You hum noncommittally.

She walks over to you and reaches out for the blade, and you smile as you dodge her hand and press the blade against her chest...and then into her chest. She staggers back, a surprised noise falling from her as you twist the blade and then pull it out.

“Y-you...what-?”

“I have been...patient. I have been kind. I have been gracious.” You list quietly, “I find that it takes a lot to make me angry. But you...in one day you managed to cross the line.”

“I don’t-”

“Stop talking.” You don’t raise your voice. You don’t have to. “No one is coming to help you.”

She slides backwards on the floor. “Perhaps...we can talk about this?”

“I spend the majority of the day trying to save the life of the man you decided would be your test subject.” You say flatly, “There is nothing to talk about.”

“Please...I didn’t know he was yours. Have mercy-” She pleads.

“Mercy,” You repeat the word, as though it was foreign, “I have no mercy left to give.” And that’s that.

You leave the surgical suite 15 minutes later, Colt is leaning against the wall across from the room. He glances at you, and then passed you at the dead Kaminoan in the room, “Doctor.”

You tilt your head, “Commander.”

“Looks like there was an accident.” He notes absently as he pushes off the wall and brushes passed you, “Is Fordo okay?”

“He will be.”

“Good. I’ll handle this.”

“You’re an angel, Colt.”

“I know I am.” He smirks at you, “Beat it, doc.”

You favor him with the smallest smile and turn to head back to your room.

Alpha is sitting on the couch when you return, and Fordo is somehow awake and talking. “Welcome back, cyare.” Alpha greets, “Get everything sorted?”

You hum your answer and walk over to check on Fordo, “Colt is handling the rest.” You smile warmly at Fordo and press your hand against his cheek, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a bus,” He replies honestly as he leans into your touch, “Sorry for worrying you.”

You blink tears out of your eyes, “It’s alright. I’m just glad Alpha brought you to me.”

Fordo turns his head and kisses the palm of your hand, “As if he’d bring me to anyone else.” He focuses his gaze on your face, “Love you, cyare.”

“Love you too, Fordo. Get some more sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake.” You whisper as you brush your fingers though his hair.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

As he drifts back to sleep, you sink onto the couch next to Alpha and bury yourself into his side. He kisses the top of your head, but doesn’t say anything. Because there’s nothing left to say.

[awkward-halfhug]

listening ear | warren peace x reader

summary: you have a hard time getting your words out, but warren doesn't seem to mind

contains: stuttering!reader x warren peace (there are many kinds of stutters. this is similar to how I stutter when I'm stressed), fluff

0.6k

"And then um, Mr. um, Mr. Boomer, he he he said I couldn't, I couldn't save a um, save a kitten out of, of a, of a tree." You take a deep breath. Your stuttering has been getting better lately, but after Save the Citizen earlier today, you find yourself all wound up with nervous energy.

Warren, your coworker and fellow classmate is bussing the table that just cleared out. It's pretty much dead at the Paper Lantern tonight so you have time to talk and he has the time to listen. And he does listen. To your continued amazement, since starting work together the start of senior year your surly classmate and you have developed a slow, almost reluctant on his part, comradery. You would almost say you're friends, except his nonchalance in your interactions sometimes borders on apathy, so your confidence in the idea varies by the day.

But some days, you find yourself wondering if he likes you better than it seems. Perhaps he might even consider you two friends, deep deep down. Because when your shifts wind to an end and you both wind up at a table waiting for the hours to pass, you ramble about your day. And he listens, attentively, patiently, for you to get your words out. He doesn't roll his eyes. Doesn't huff an annoyed breath or check the time compulsively. He just listens, like he has all the time in the world. It calms you, his quiet stare, as much as it makes something in your chest flutter.

He's about the only one in your life to let you get your words out without cutting you off. Even your parents try to finish your sentences for you via guesswork, in the interest of saving time. You love them, but half the time, they're wrong, and while you know they love you, it makes you feel like they don't have time for you.

Warren doesn't interrupt your recounting of events. He fiddles with a fortune cookie absent-mindedly while you finish your sentence and then breaks it apart, handing you half. He pops the other half in his mouth, chewing while he comments.

"Boomer's a jerk."

It's all he says, but you've learned not to get offended by his short answers. His steady stare seems to prompt you to continue, so you do.

"He um, he he might be ri-right. I could barely even, barely even, reach the um, the the the citizen in time let alone think of how to, to, sa-ave him." You look down, shaking your head in self deprecation.

Warren nudges your shoe with his and you look up at him. He hands you another cookie. Waits till you're chewing before he speaks.

"I lost my first few Citizens". He says, confides, it with an affected casualness, though you know better. You recognize the hint of vulnerability when you hear it. It's a chink in his bad boy armor and he's allowed you to see it. You feel a surge of gratitude as well as a healthy dose of shock and disbelief.

"No way!" You exclaim, delighted.

Warren lifts his eyebrows with a "you can believe it or not, I don't care" kind of look and you shake your head in awe of this revelation.

"You just seem so, so, so…"

Warren waits, patiently as always, for you to finish your sentence before it becomes obvious you weren't intending to. He seems to understand what you were trying to say regardless.

"Yeah, well. Gotta start somewhere…look, you'll get better is what I'm saying." He looks away then, as if embarrassed by the show of support.

"Thank you, Warren. I um, I appreciate it. That makes me feel better."

It takes you a moment to realize your stutter has improved. He's calmed you, once again, and you look at him in awe, once again. He's realized it too, you can tell. He's got the faintest hint of a smile on his face, like he accomplished something, and you cement your assumptions mentally.

Whether he admits it or not, you and Warren Peace are definitely friends.

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging/commenting, it means a lot! ♡

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two

TW : Abuse of authority, alpha male, sexual harassment, the word “no” is not in this man’s vocabulary, nsfw, angst, forced proximity

After a hellish 24 hour shift, you’re starting to think you should have taken him up on his offer. Give me a foot rub then get the fuck out. However, it most definitely would not have ended at only a foot rub. You know yourself too well to think you can keep your grubby hands off that man in any sort of private, intimate setting. Yeah, you’re staying the hell away from Ludlow. 

It’s gross, but you don’t even take a shower, and pass out cold on the couch as soon as your rat's nest of hair hits the throw pillow. 

Dark, honey eyes welcome you to the land of unconsciousness. The place where you can’t control your disobedient vagina so easily. And, apparently, she liked Tom Ludlow a lot. Especially his hands. Fuck. Thick fingers, surprisingly gentle and teasing, tucking up inside you, coaxing at that sweet little spot you can’t quite get at on your own. His mouth swallowing your moans, tongue licking urgently against your teeth, practically eating you alive. Something hard and velvet pressed against your thighs. 

A loud knock wakes you up in the same position you started at. Face down on the couch, except now feeling even grosser because of the slick arousal between your legs. You stumble to the door, pull it open. It’s Ms. Higgs, your sweet next door neighbor. 

“Oh, hello, y/n, I heard…. Yelling? Is everything okay?” 

You look at her stupidly. “Yelling….?”

“Yes, it sounded like you were in distress. Sorry, is this a bad time?” She eyes your just-got-hit-by-a-semi-truck appearance, complete with gore and all. 

Oh. The dream. Oh… oh. You feel yourself freeze despite the embarrassed heat warming your skin. “Uh.” Yes, great, make her think you’re out of your mind. You try a terse smile. “Oh. Sorry. I had a long shift and I must have been having a nightmare.” 

How in the hell did you pass nursing school?

Thank God she looks like she wants to leave as soon as possible. “Right. Well.” Clears her throat. “I’m glad you’re okay. Have a good day.” She moves fast for an older woman, shutting herself back into the apartment next door before you can bid goodbye. 

Your neighbor now hates you, and you’re definitely blaming Ludlow for it. 

Shower, eat, masturbate. No, wait. Masturbate, then eat. No. Eat first so then you can masturbate as many times as it takes to get Mr. I’m a Pretty, Dark Eyed Cop With Huge Hands - 

You have to literally pinch yourself to stop this train of thought from turning into a derailed crash. 

Your plans fail miserably, and that is actually Ludlow’s fault, but you refuse to admit it. At least you’re eliminating two steps at once with the handy dandy shower head.

And then again after you eat. And then again in your bed. And, damn, you really need to invest in a vibrator like Sheila told you to do a long time ago. 

You don’t consider yourself a prude by any means; there’s just no time for adult toys or one night stands. Your job, more often than not, consumes your life, and you like it that way. The fast pace, the interesting medical anomalies you get to see, your funny coworkers, cute and oh so nice Dr. Julian who brings you all Starbucks on Sundays. You usually pick up more shifts than you’re scheduled, fueled by rising violent crime rates in the inner cities. There is a satisfaction in bringing someone back from the dead, especially someone young with their whole life ahead of them. Grim Reaper? Psh. Kiss my ass. 

***

Sometimes you need a break, and these next two days you have off are going to be that time away. 

Except, on the second day, you’re bored, so you end up going in for an eight hour shift. 

You have a bad habit of not viewing your patient’s info before you get into their exam room, favoring the ol’ fashioned method of actually looking at the person instead of a computer. As soon as you walk into your next assigned room, however, you vow to change your messy bitch ways. Handsome Cop - the one you refuse to admit you spent two full days rubbing yourself off to - sits on the cot, grinning at you like the cat that caught the mouse. 

You do feel a little bit like a tiny mouse under that hefty stare, scurrying in and going right to the computer so you don’t have to make eye contact longer than necessary - well, long enough for ruined underwear. 

“Hey.” 

“Hello, did your stitches come open?” You try to maintain a strictly professional voice, but you can tell by the sharpening of his grin it’s not working. 

“What? You’re not gonna fight with me today?” 

“Do nurses fight people where you’re from?” Here you are, playing into his game. Stupid. 

“There she is.” 

Your jaw tightens. “What are you being seen for, Mr. Ludlow?”

“Ouch, surnames? Really?”

“Surprised you know what that big word means.”

His gorgeous eyebrow cocks as he looks around the monitor at you, and you tuck yourself further behind the computer to hide. 

“Okay, okay.” He puts his hands up in surrender. Well, he puts his right hand up. His left can only rise so far into the air. “Yeah, I tore them.” 

“Can you show me?” 

He strips his shirt, revealing a long, toned torso that belongs in X-rated cinema instead of bed number 3 at the South Bay General ED. 

“Have you ever heard the phrase, close your mouth or you’ll catch flies?” He asks. 

“It’s actually, shut your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” 

“Okay, how about this one: My eyes are up here, darling.”

First of all, you didn’t even look at his bare chest that much. He’s definitely exaggerating. Second of all, well - ugh - second of all fuck you, Ludlow. 

His stitches are busted open right in the middle. You have to unstick the bloody dressing carefully and then spray the center with some antiseptic. 

“You should be more careful.” Is it just you or does he smell different tonight? Less sweat and copper, more spice and cardamon.

You do your best to shake it off. Plenty of men wear cologne everyday–it doesn’t mean he got cleaned up just for you. 

“I don’t really have anyone to be careful for.”

“Get a dog?” 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“What why? I don’t know, blue?” 

“So I can pick out a collar you’ll like.” 

He’s joking, but the feral urge to jam your thumb right into his tearing wound is palpable. 

He realizes he fucked up when you don’t have a witty retort. 

“Oh, fuck. I didn’t mean that you’re a bitch.” If you’re giving him credit, he at least looks sorry. And sorry looks far too good on him. The big grinning Doberman turns into a wide eyed puppy dog and it makes your heart squeeze tighter. “I’m sorry. I just meant - hey, hey.” He tips your chin up so you can see the apology in his softened eyes. “I’m an asshole.” 

You flick his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” 

He must be hard of hearing, because he dwarfs your arm in his grip and pulls you closer. “C’Mon, little nurse. Now you have to let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a fancy dinner or something.” 

Pulling away is not an option, so you come up with a better idea. “Okay, fine. I will. If you can answer one question.”

He looks delighted by this. “Try me.”

“What’s my name?” 

You relish the sight of his smile wiping clean. The big grin transfers from his face to yours. 

“Seriously?”

“Well?” It’s your turn to raise a cocky eyebrow.

He tries to flip your badge frontward, but you slap his hand away. He’s quick, catches your wrist, pulls you closer so that your body is pressing into his calves, traps both of your hands in one of his and spins the badge so that he can see your picture and name. He repeats it, first and last, grins back with a vengeance. This little tussle really bruises your ego, because it doesn’t even seem like you made him wince or falter even once.

“Cheater,” you snarl. 

“Takes one to know one.” 

“Let me go.” 

“Make me.” 

“I’ll scream.” 

“Oh yeah you will.” He winks. 

Fucking sexy bastard. 

“Want those stitches worse or better?” You threaten. 

“I don’t really care,” he shrugs, eyes light with humor. “Just did it to come see you anyway.” 

“You tore your own stitches?” 

“No. Someone else did after I insulted their mother.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

You put him back together once again (you might have to start calling this man Humpty Dumpty, that will put him in his place) and start to peel off your gloves. “So when can I pick you up?” he asks, those dark eyes shining like high-polished ebony. 

“Half past never?”

“Hey, we had a deal.”

“We did, but then you cheated. Manhandling me at work is a major disqualification.”

“Pretty sure you liked it,” he fires back with a smirk.

You sigh, propping a hand on your hip, because he’s not wrong. You’re more than a little touch starved at the moment, and you’re sure the ease with which he manhandled you will haunt your dreams (your poor neighbor!) and fuel your fantasies for weeks to come. But there’s just something about this guy that warns you not to give in this easily. He feels…a little dangerous. To your physical health, or your personal sanity, you’re not sure. 

“Please try to be more careful with your stitches, Mr. Ludlow. Have a nice day.”

Understanding that he’s being dismissed, he stands, one step in the small room bringing him right in front of you–and boy, does he tower over you. You try to conceal how very much you like that, but fear you betray yourself in the shaky exhale that escapes you. “I’m just going to keep coming back,” he tells you, seeming far too pleased by the idea. 

“For your own health, I certainly hope you don’t.”

“I’m in a dangerous line of work. All sorts of things can happen.”

You pick up what he’s putting down pretty quick, and it annoys the shit out of you. “If you get yourself hurt on purpose, that is not on me.”

“Then save me some pain, sweetheart. Didn’t you take an oath or something? Do no harm?”

“That’s doctors. I took a pledge to practice my profession faithfully–which I’m doing. Didn’t you? What happened to ‘Serve and Protect?’”

“Sure thing. And I keep my oaths too.” The weight with which he looks at you makes something warm and uncomfortable coil in your belly, radiating outwards to your fingers and toes. 

A man who keeps his promises? 

Never heard of him. 

You are too young to be this jaded, but maybe it’s better that you learned the hard lessons quicker than most. Maybe it will save you some pain in the interim. Avoiding this utterly edible man in front of you probably falls into that category. 

You stand silently, waiting for him to leave. He seems to find this funny as hell, and tips an imaginary cap down at you. “See you soon, y/n.” 

You hope not, but you’re afraid that’s a promise he’ll keep. 

[romanology]

which of these jegulus fics would you like me to begin writing? and/or which one is the most interesting

it turns out I can't make another poll. idk how to feel about that. anyway, well, I'll just write them down then, heehee.

also, I didn't add Winston Morgue because that one is already being written & people like it so... here is The Duality of man as well as A Shutter in the Shuddering as some morbid replacements.

LONG GREY LINE Regulus Black is a retired Lt. Col. in the army. He's blind and impossible to get along with due to his bitter nature. Draco Malfoy is at school and is looking forward to going to college. To help pay for a trip home for Christmas, he agrees to look after Regulus over Thanksgiving, as Regulus is Draco's uncle (sort of) after all, and they had never met. Draco's mother says this will be easy money, but she didn't reckon on Regulus spending his Thanksgiving in New York. [ movie reenactment - Regulus is Draco's Uncle - James comes in at the end :( though ]

CONTRA MUNDUM It's a bit of an issue when you're a month away from proposing to your girlfriend and suddenly develop a debilitating crush on the publisher of your book. [ publisher Regulus / author James - Awkward moments - Coworkers to Friends to MORE MAYBE??? ]

ANGELES' ANGEL When filming a biopic in LA, the star of the movie James Potter is playing the part of model Regulus, and upon realising he has no idea how to play Regulus, they both go for dinner to learn more about each other. For work, of course. [ famous actor James / famous model Regulus - Coffee Shop AU but it's so luxurious you can't help but hate them for it - Secret Relationship ]

SETTLE DOWN & EAT YOUR PANCAKES After getting into a car crash James finds himself unable to remember anything but his name, and, distressingly, he can't recognise his husband right in front of him. As Regulus helps the naive James, the latter begins to fall in love all over again with the love of his life. [ 50 First Dates AU - Memory loss/Amnesia - Falling in love again ]

A SHUTTER IN THE SHUDDERING When James Potter, a famous Ghost Photographer visits the so-called haunted house "Shuddering", he doesn't expect to see the face of a beautiful yet very clearly dead boy in the mirror behind him. [ nonbeliever photographer James Potter x Picture-Of-Dorian-Gray-Esque muse Regulus Black - modern gothic literature ]

DUALITY OF MAN The Bloodletter Murderer is still on the loose, and James Potter, a resident private investigator, is on the case. When the Malfoy Family is viciously murdered and Come Find Me, Jamesy is written in their blood, James decides enough is enough and brings backup on this increasingly disturbing case. Soon enough, Regulus Black, a nationally celebrated forensic scientist, is beside James while they examine the bodies of his relatives. Of course, the one thing that James doesn't know about his dear friend Regulus is that the man has a secret hobby of calligraphy. Only, the ink always seems to be in blood. [ Murder mystery except we know who the killer is - Hero / Villain ]

KISS THE CHEF Regulus is the loud and proud owner of a Michelin-star restaurant by the name of Au Bon Vivant. It's been in his family for generations, and after his eldest brother held no interest in taking it over, the reigns were given to Regulus instead. But the boy quickly found out what exactly was supplying his family with so much money over the years. [ chef Regulus Black / mafia boss James Potter - restaurant AU x mafia AU ]

MY CLOSEST YET FURTHEST FRIEND Regulus has always thought the Sun to be his only friend. Always a warm hand on his face while he goes about doing his daily duties, that is who the Sun is to him. He wants to meet the Sun, wants to meet the beauty that is that glowing brightness. Desperately, Regulus Black constructs wings to see his best friend. A pity that wax melts when too close to a fire. It turned out the Sun was James Potter, and he was so beautiful, so lovely, that it burned. [ mythology retelling - Regulus is Icarus and James is Apollo/The Sun - Sirius is Daedalus ]

A SPECTRE IS YOUR "MORTAL SOUL" There isn't enough room in this town for the both of them. When Vampire Regulus Black, posing as a Sheriff, saunters into the town of bandits looking for new prey, he doesn't realise his archenemy James Potter, a renowned Vampire Hunter, as well as actual Sheriff, is running the town. [ Western AU - Vampire / Vampire Hunter ]

IN THE CLOUDS, YOU LIVE STILL As the Wizarding War continues to surge on for far longer than anybody expected, the Death Eaters, now the losing side, lost their General, Regulus Black. Regulus, now captured and wondering if he is going to be tortured to death by some lackey, is met with horror to see James Potter, his old friend, assigned to Regulus' case without any knowledge of what, exactly, James has to do to the man he cared so much about. [ Friends to Enemies to Friends-Lovers? Forbidden Love AU ]

WRITTEN IN THE SUN (& THE STARS) After being professional (and exceeding famous) Quidditch stars, Regulus Black and James Potter finally retired after nearly fifteen years of playing. Now in their thirties, they're asked to co-teach a high-level Quidditch class in Castlebruxo. The one problem? They absolutely detest each other. [ Past-athletic rivals to friends to lovers -- Everybody Lives AU ]

[themistressdomme]

mkay you’re sleeping (or supposed to be) so i don’t want to wake you with a message so this is where it’s going because it’s hot to think about you randomly checking these and finding things and i won’t know until you bring it up randomly. (not my report cause that will be so long.)

having you talk to me so simple and having my brain turn into literal mush while im sitting at the nursing station, trying to chart, was the hottest thing in the world. i couldn’t focus on my charts. i couldn’t focus on anything except the ping of discord on my phone, and your name popping up. i wasn’t even touching and i was soaked, brainless and disoriented.

you should have seen me. my friends kept coming up behind me and having to literally switch apps so fast was dizzying. (i need a privacy screen.) one of my friends knows about the discord and she’d come up behind me randomly and say, as she calls you all my “favourite internet whores” (btw she thinks you’re all catfishes and ai generated but that’s besides the point.) “you sexting your internet whores??” queue blushing and stammering and trying to make it seem like i was not being melted by you. then, coworkers coming up. asking about the day. asking about my patients. “how was your assignment? did you get a break today? was it busy?” just me nodding, my eyes so hazed over and lost, throbbing and my knees squeezed together so tightly. grinding on the chair when the room was empty, squeezing my legs together. the wetness in my panties was unbelievable for no touching. giving report??? dazed and confused. i was suffering. my charge nurse asked if i was nauseated because “you look so pale and flushed.” 🫠🫠🫠

i stayed late just to talk in the discord, and quiver at your words, and then b getting started too, because i didn’t wanna lose the headspace. so spacey. so subby. and i hadn’t even touched???? that’s how big your words have an effect on me. god im so easy.

fire in the er so no elevator AGAIN. 5 flights of stairs, all that bouncing and steps was killing me. if my heart wasn’t already beating out of my chest it was then.

edging in the car???? that was so fucking hot. brain. dead. sitting there for 20 mins just hand in my scrubs, whining and blushing. god that was hot.

mkay im done going on and on now. im in the bath, 7 (mini? so fast to the edge 🫠) edges just done plus 1 in the car, 100 spanks (uh i think you’d definitely have done them harder but i did my best. good ouch.) & 1 ruined orgasm (mean.) & i don’t wanna stop. (gunna try a do a little bit more cause i want to but don’t wanna drop too hard after a long day at work & gotta work tomorrow.) cough cough see i can be a good girl when i wanna be.

thank you (even though you’re mean) <3 you’ll get your report tomorrow. night night! - 🐈‍⬛

My darling little black kitty cat.

I want everyone to read this and know what a pretty little slutty princess you are for us. 😏

And car things, hm?

Perhaps we'll explore that in the new year.

Teasing you all throughout your shift...

Only to make you fuck yourself senseless in your car, after, hm?

Best keep a towel in your car, puppy.

clickclickclick

🐈‍⬛

P.S. You drip when I'm mean. xo