#and then i started to remember that all the rest

[mimikyusrealform]

globalization

Spencer Reid x Reader. Word Count: 3703. Summary: Three times you leave Spencer speechless, and one time he leaves you speechless. Notes and Warnings: Set during S1 at the beginning, and then at S2. Mention of Somebody's Watching and North Mammon. There's a misogynistic comment, but it's quickly dealt with.

1.

The rivalry started innocuous enough. Three months after Dr. Spencer Reid joined the BAU, you were recruited as well. Fresh out of the academy and without a prebuilt rapport with the rest of the team, you felt out of place. They listened to your suggestions, but after a week and a half, it was like they were still teaching you the ropes, coddling you. Hotch didn’t even let you go out in the field. This piling dissatisfaction reached its culmination without warning.

“C’mon now,” Morgan said one day. You didn’t even remember what led to the following statement, but you remembered the phrase that started the domino effect. “Robberies have been declining since last year.”

“The robbery rate declined last year,” you corrected him as you skimmed through your oddly small workload for the day. They weren’t working on any cases. “It’s been declining since 1986, but it’s possible that the rate will increase this year in comparison to last year’s, which was at an all-time low, at 137.”

“136.7,” Dr. Reid corrected you from his own desk. He had already finished half of his work. “That is given a population of 293,656,842.” He looked at you and Morgan. “Did you know that the U.S Census Bureau estimates the population as of July 1 for each year? Except when it's a decennial census count, like 2000.”

It took Dr. Reid a whole minute to notice your glare. What a genius. He looked as if he was panicking a bit, and his gaze drifted between you and Morgan. He seemed to be begging with his eyes for Morgan to, somehow, reveal to him the secrets of the universe and what he should do to stop your glaring. But Morgan was not a pious entity, and he turned around, suddenly blind. It took Dr. Reid another minute to figure out why you were killing him in your head.

“I—I mean, you round up from 5, so 137 is accurate,” he rectified, staring back at you, like you were the abyss and he, the hero who needed to face it.

You stayed silent for a while. And then, you said, “That's dumb. The rate was 136.7. Sigh. I thought you were a genius, Dr. Reid, how could you even suggest that the rate was 137? Maybe you should check if you need to reinstall the eidetic memory package.”

Morgan made a sound that was between a dog barking out a laugh and a dog choking on its bone. But it was Dr. Reid's perplexed expression what you burned in your memory.

It wasn't your fault, really, that your antagonistic nature decided to pursue a war with the resident genius of the team. If you were to bluff in case of being questioned why you were so adamant in aggravating Dr. Spencer Reid in any way you could, you would say, “complacency is the enemy of natural selection and I'm truly benevolent—so I'm making the Doctor a favor by keeping him on his toes.” The truth was, Dr. Spencer Reid's geeky enthusiasm and nerdy rambles had charmed you. While you weren't on the same level as him when it came to intelligence—your latest IQ test had put you around 137, and that was knowing the common patterns the test tended to use—you had a knack for deconstructing things. When you were 8, you couldn't finish a Rubik cube for the life of you, but when you broke it down to its simpler parts, you found a way to solve it after learning how the core mechanism worked.

Antagonizing was how you dealt with your crushes. All the crushes you ever had, you actively treated them as if they were your mortal enemies. In a sense, they were. Understandably, none of them ever liked you, and you couldn't blame them. But, for some reason, the idea of Dr. Spencer Reid not returning your affections was—troubling, to say the least. And that only made you pricklier.

2.

Lila Archer was not an enemy but a victim with very poor timing. You draped a towel around her febrile shoulders, and patted her back in an ode to comfort. Then, you went out of the house to deal with your real foe. Dr. Spencer Reid was still trying to dry himself with a pathetically small cloth. In another occasion, it would have made you laugh. But you were, at loss of a better word, jealous. How shameful was that? You hadn’t been jealous since Nathaniel Sterling, your crush in tenth grade, started dating Rose Harding, the cloistered girl who ruined your straight-A-record in Math because you were paired with her during one assignment.

You had the bad habit of swallowing the acid that dripped from your own soul and regurgitating it when you were alone. For now, you compartmentalized. Weirdly enough, you found yourself feeling tired, instead of murderous. You understood, then, how having a crush on someone didn’t compare to being in love.

A crush was a candle in the wind; being in love was a fire in a forest.

The color of the night sky, that reflected on the blue water, covered the world of depth and beyond all bounds. Even the air was blue; it bit your skin. Or maybe it was your own feelings that prickled down your spine. If porcupines did mate for life, they would be the most tender lovers in the world, you thought. The prickliest beings loved carefully and purposefully.

Only after Elle left his side, did you approach. Though the look she gave you was too perceptive for your liking. “I didn’t know kissing with the girl you’re supposed to be protecting from her stalker was part of the protocol. Please, forward me the exact article that describes the effectiveness of French kisses as a method of protection against erotomaniacs.”

He tried to ignore your wording, but his ears were red, and so were his cheeks, despite the fact the air had cooled the water clinging to his clothes. “I, uh, I fell in,” was all he could muster given the fact you had a gun, a motive and a cold heart.

“I see,” you nodded. “That’s what tends to happen when you pool your women.”

“I don’t pool my women! I-I don’t even—I don’t even have women.”

“Relax, Doctor, you won’t drown. If you know how to two-stroke, two-timing should come naturally to you.”

Dr. Reid made a pitiful sound when he realized there was no winning against you.

“She kissed me first,” he said.

“Maybe you deserved it.”

“Don’t make it sound like a punishment.”

“I’m not.” You were sincere.

3.

You were pretty good at remaining unmovable, and you were proud of that. But—this guy. This guy.

“All I did was show them who they really are,” he was saying with that stupid self-satisfied smile. “What they were truly capable of. People pretending to be decent. When it came down to it, they… They reacted just the way I knew they would.”

“Is that so,” you couldn’t help but interrupt his little monologue. Gideon looked at you from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t try to stop you. “Congratulations. Be proud of discovering the sky is blue for the rest of your life, I commiserate you; it must have been so hard for you. Do you really think you’re a mastermind for this?” His smile slowly disappeared, replaced by a glare directed towards you. “If you starve a dog, are you a genius for knowing the dog will end up becoming aggressive? But then, that’s a Nobel-worthy dissertation for someone so simpleminded like you.”

He started to say something, voice shaking from barely contained rage, but you were already leaving the basement. He yelled after you. You couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in your ears.

In the plane, you were shutting down the world around you by pretending to read a Russian Copy of The Brothers Karamazov. You didn’t speak Russian. That was—until Reid sat in front of you. He didn’t speak for a moment, just observed you. You flipped five pages before he finally said,

“Are you okay?”

“What an unpleasant question,” you replied. He kept looking at you, which annoyed you because it made your stomach twist. “I suppose. That guy got on my nerves.”

“I thought you didn’t have nerves,” he said. “I mean… you always act as if you’re untouched by the world.”

“I try my utmost not to be perceived. The world is a scary place, after all.”

“It is scary,” he agreed. “But, scary—how? How does someone like you find the world to be scary?”

You put your book down on your lap. “Full of people.” You twirled a strand of hair around your index finger. “And what I hate most are the people who lie to themselves. That guy—lied to himself that he was right. He decided to believe other people were his enemies instead of realizing… realizing he was his own worst enemy.”

It wasn’t without tact—though it startled you all the same—when he said, “Sounds a bit like you.”

“Oh, right.” You supposed it was a fair assessment; you never gave him any indication that you actually didn’t see him as enemy. You acted like you did, after all. Maybe he really believed you hated him. So, “I don’t hate you. If I was smart, I would go as far as to say that I like you.”

You watched him freeze for a split of a second before his face turned red, like a M-class star. It gave you terrible ideas and horrible impulses. You couldn’t help but reach for his glasses, and—gently push them up the bridge of his nose. Your index finger brushed against his skin. His face went a class up in the Morgan-Keenan classification.

“But you are smart,” he managed to choke out. “Very smart.”

“What are you implying?”

He couldn’t answer, and you returned to your book, a bit disappointed, maybe. You had thought he was ready to give in. You still couldn’t read a single word. Reid must have noticed because he ended up prying the book from your hands, and began reading out loud, just for you, just for your enjoyment. It was enough.

+1.

“Kid,” Morgan called as he slid in the seat next to him. “Seriously, when are you gonna ask her out? Save the rest of us from her pining.”

Spencer frowned. “Ask who out?”

He was only half listening, but when Morgan said your name, he spluttered. “What?!” He lowered his tone after that voice break. “Morgan, are you crazy? She hates my guts.”

Morgan looked incredibly amused. “No, she doesn't. She's just pulling your hair. And, if she actually hated you, well, I don't think I need to remind you what happened to Officer Harrison. I really wish I had been there to see it.”

Spencer almost smiled at the memory. A few months back, a case had brought them to Texas when the local police discovered two independent pairs of hands scattered across their state line. The second in command, Officer Harrison, had been a flagrant misogynistic and a stereotypical macho-man.

“But what does cutting the hands-off mean?” Officer Harrison had asked.

JJ, you and him were the only ones from the team still in the bullpen.

Hotch did trust you with fieldwork, but he found that you and Spencer were an especially good match, so he mostly paired the two of you together. You bounced off each other’s ideas with an uncanny synergy.

Before he could ramble off, you beat him to it, “The ancient Greek sometimes mutilated the body of their victim. There's a theory that says that the mutilation of the body corresponded to the mutilation of the soul, so that the shade, without limbs, couldn't enact vengeance over the killer. Maybe the Unsub’s superstitious and believes that by cutting off their hands he’s saving himself from their ghosts.”

Officer Harrison had looked at you, before dragging his gaze up and down your body. He had mainly interacted with Morgan and Hotch, sometimes himself; and almost none with you, JJ and Emily. Then, he whistled sarcastically. “That's very impressive, darlin'. I didn't take you for the smart type. No offense, but you don't look like it.”

Rage was born in the pit of the stomach, Spencer found out that day. It rendered him immobile for a moment, and before he could tell the officer off, you beat him to it, again. Intelligence wasn’t quantifiable, he knew this. But you always managed to prove it to him. Some tests might say he was several points smarter than you, but you were two steps ahead of him, every single time.

From the corner of his eye, he could see JJ’s appalled expression. He wondered how his own face looked.

“Oh,” you had said. “Looks can be deceiving. It's alright. No offense taken. I myself was deceived by your looks—I thought you were a conventionally ugly man, maybe even a rare ugliness, but you're actually a piece of shit in human form. Tell me, did the doctor perform a colonoscopy on your mother to find out if she was pregnant, as opposed to an ultrasound?”

JJ's lips were pulled inwards in a tight, flat grimace, as if she was trying and failing to stifle her laughter, and Spencer found himself playing side-eye ping-pong between you and Officer Harrison.

“Why, you bit—” Officer Harrison stammered, face growing a tint of red and fists comically clenched.

“Jonathan,” Sheriff Mendoza had interjected then, sternly. “Why don't you take a walk? Go on, get some air.”

Officer Harrison looked as if he was going to self-combust from how ruddy his face was and how sweat accrued on his temple. His shoulders were trembling when he attempted to storm out. He seemed ready to shoulder-check you, but you put a hand on his chest and held him in place.

“Officer Harrison. Harrison. Jonathan? Johnny? Johnny, by all means, please underestimate me again,” you told him lowly. “It'll make the look on your face when I ruin your life funnier.”

With that, you finally let him go, and he bulldozed his way out of the bullpen. You could practically hear his teeth grinding.

“... I'm sorry for him,” Sheriff Mendoza had offered awkwardly, a deep sigh pulled out of his chest.

You had shrugged. “Natural selection will do its work.”

Spencer thought you had never looked lovelier than in that moment.

He shook his head to clear the memory away. “Maybe she doesn't hate my guts,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I'm still his least favorite person here.”

“Wow,” Morgan said exaggeratedly. “For a genius, you can be stupid sometimes. She clearly likes you, man. Look, tell you what, the next time she picks up a fight with you, tell her this: ‘you are hot when you're talking about statistics’.” He was laughing by the end of it while Spencer choked with his own saliva. “She'll love it, I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” he replied. “She's so emotionally repressed and so unapologetically herself, I don't think anything I do will ever get a real reaction out of her.”

“Trust me on this one, kid,” was all Morgan said with a pat to his back.

Spencer spent the rest of the day thinking about his words. When he first met you, you had offered him a handshake like most other people. He rambled his well-practiced explanation, “A study shows that the number of organisms, both pathogenic and non-pathogenic, that are passed during handshakes is staggering. Kissing is actually more sanitary than handshakes.” But instead of looking at him like he was a weirdo, you had stared at him, unshakeable, and replied,

“I can say ‘a study shows that shooting yourself in the head is an efficient way to de-stress’, but if I don't say what study it is, then does the study really exist?”

That was the first time his heart lurched in your presence. When he spoke again, his voice was a bit breathless, “Uh, it's a study published in The Public Health Journal, by H. W. Hill and Helen M. Matthews. Volume 17, number 7, July, 1927, I-I mean, 1926. It's titled Transfer of Infection by Handshakes. Pages 347 to 352. I-I can get you a copy of it.”

You blinked at him, but he didn't feel as if you thought he was a freak. He felt like you were amazed by him. It brought his heart to his throat.

“Is that so,” you had said. “Then, I expect it to be delivered at my doorstep at 5 o'clock sharp, tomorrow. Military time.”

He had been stunned into silence for a few seconds. “That's... unreasonable. I don't even know where you live.”

You said, “It's quite standard.”

“Then you have unreasonable standards.”

“I've been told.”

Spencer had thought you and him would become something like best friends. For the first week and a half, you had been quite friendly with him, and often listened to his rambles. But then, then he had made the terrible mistake of correcting an innocuous error you made regarding a statistic, and the look you had shot at him could have curled water. From that point on, you seemed to have made it your life mission to fight him at any chance.

And yet—he never got the feeling you did it out of malice. He thought you did hate him on some level, but when you argued against his points during a case, there was a glint in your eye. Like you were still amazed by him. Sometimes, you even finished his rambles when he couldn't land them. Sometimes, you were the only one who listened to him when he sidetracked. To him, you defined the wonder of globalization. When you were there, it was like talking to the stars, and having the stars answering him back in perplexing, secret ways. He kind of figured this out when you smiled at his existentialist joke. You told him it wasn't funny, but your eyes were bright.

Maybe trying Morgan's advice wouldn't go so bad.

If only you weren’t so prickly. And clever and quick, he added in his head, just in case you were hearing his thoughts. He wouldn’t put it past your abilities. For three weeks, Spencer hadn’t managed yet to seize a situation in which Morgan’s advice worked at his favor. It wasn’t until the team, you and him included, obviously, went out for drinks that he finally got his chance.

“You aren’t drinking?” he asked you. You were cradling a Virgin Margarita in your hands, and for a moment he wished your fingers were curled around his own instead of the glass.

“No,” you said. “You’re clearly the best in the profiling game. Take pride on this display of your observational skills for the rest of your life.”

He sighed. You were impossible. Still, he couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice when he said, “You don’t have to be so defensive with me.”

“You’re right,” you nodded, and he arched an eyebrow. “I have to be especially defensive with you.”

���That’s not… that’s not what I meant,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Why do you have to, uh, be ‘especially’ defensive with me?”

You didn’t answer him. But he knew you couldn’t go without having the last word, so he patiently waited for you to gather a satisfactorily poignant response. In the meantime, he took the time to examine your face; there was a quality to it he would never find a perfect word to describe it. Maybe it was your supraorbital ridge, or your posterior zygomatic arch, or even the vertical length of your forehead. He just knew you were lovely. He had never been comfortable with not knowing something, but with you, he didn’t need to know. He would rather discover you, if you would let him. If you were full of secrets, he would work them out; if he only found hatred for him, he would press his mouth to it and relish in it.

“Because you have a BA in Psychology,” you ended up saying, stoic as ever, “and I’m a soft girl with mental health issues.”

He laughed. It took him a lot of time to figure out that—the more matter-of-factly you said something, the less serious you were. Your lips quirked up in a little smile, and you sipped your drink. The rest of the team—besides Hotch—hadn’t yet realized your tell-tale sign.

The words escaped him before he could think them over, “You’re cute when you pretend to be emotionless.”

Your facial expression didn’t change, and that was alright, because when you turned your head to the side—he could clearly see the faint blush on your cheekbones. “Fool.”

Ah, he realized. I won. You were at a loss of words. Because of him.

“You know, the word ‘fool’ comes from Old French fol, which means ‘madman, insane person’ and ‘idiot, jester’, and fol is from Medieval Latin follus, adjective for ‘foolish’. The evolution of its meaning can probably be attributed to the use of follis in a sense of ‘empty-headed person’. The word was also used in Middle English for ‘sinner, rascal, impious person’. It actually must have been passed to the English language via its borrowing in the Scandinavian language of the Vikings. And did you know that the association between April 1 and foolishness in Geoffrey Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales could have been a copying error and...”

You didn’t look at him as he continued going on his tangent, but he knew that you were listening intently. Because your body was angled towards him, even if you kept your face away from his gaze, and when he took a pause to breathe, you hummed in acknowledgment only for his ears.

Globalization was saying hello and someone answering hola from miles away.

But you didn’t need to answer him for Spencer to understand you were in love with him and he was in love with you.

[r3starttt]

PAIRING: Caitlyn x younger reader

CW: heacanons. toxic|mean caitlyn. modern au. slightly NSFW: spit. sexting. masturbation.

TAGLIST: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @patronagrona @halle5s @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @nosferatuv

Caitlyn, who spoils you endlessly, though not always in obvious ways. It’s not about extravagant shopping every day. Instead, she hands you her card when you’re heading out with your friends or family. She plans weekends away to escape the monotony of home—maybe a cozy cabin.

Caitlyn, who's making sure you receive gifts with no occasion attached: a book you casually mentioned you wanted, your favorite perfume, or a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

Caitlyn, who ensures you always have the best—well-fitted clothes, styled hair, manicured nails, and shoes that you want. She makes it her mission to provide for you, sometimes before you even realize you need something.

Caitlyn, who fills your day when she takes you out. It starts with a delicious breakfast she ordered (she wouldn’t dare attempt cooking and ruin it for you). Then a massage, a spa session, or perhaps a museum visit if you’re in the mood for it. She drives you everywhere, her hand steady on the wheel, ensuring you don’t lift a finger to worry about a single thing.

Caitlyn who insists on carrying your purse if she isn’t already toting her own. And her bag? It’s spacious enough for both your essentials and hers.

After paying for yet another round of shopping, she stops you. “I’ve told you not to do that,” she murmurs, gesturing at your fingers, taking your shirt to clean the smudges on your lenses. Her fingers gently push your wrist down as she guides you outside, the weight of her hand steady on your back. On a nearby bench, she places the shopping bags and carefully cleans your glasses with a cloth she always carries, her gaze meeting yours with a mix of sternness and affection. “I’ll buy you all the glasses you want, but you need to take care of them,” she says, the seriousness in her voice softening the moment her lips curl into a faint smile.

Her perceptiveness is unmatched. She notices the subtle shift in your posture before you speak. “What is it?” she asks, her eyes flicking from the road to your face, encouraging you to open up. You ramble about work stress, people not pulling their weight, and your longing to spend more time with her. Every now and then, she interjects with an advice or an opinion. When you pause, her hand tightens on your thigh, and she leans closer. “I love you,” she whispers, sealing her words with a kiss.

Caitlyn who loves date nights. She listens attentively as you recount your day, her hand resting securely on your thigh when the car comes to a stop at a red light on your way to a fancy restaurant. Sometimes she brushes your hair from your face, her touch tender, or holds your hand across the table while you wait for your food to arrive. She doesn’t quite understand Instagram or your obsession with aesthetic pictures, but she loves watching you light up while arranging the perfect shot of your meal.

Caitlyn, who texts you without fail. Good morning and good night messages, check-ins about your meals, and reminders to stay hydrated. She sends you small affirmations of her love throughout the day, peppered with bits of her own routine—a rare vulnerability she reserves only for you. She watches every TikTok video you send, even if she doesn’t quite grasp the humor or the drama behind them. She sends you cute memes in return, reels or something she knows will make you laugh.

Caitlyn, who adores your TikTok nights together, scrolling through videos with you, laughing until one of you falls asleep. She remembers the little things you mention—like trending items or snack—and surprises you with them later.

Caitlyn whose attentiveness extends to music too: she has a playlist of all your favorite songs and plays it even when you’re not with her. If an artist you love is performing nearby, she’s already bought front-row tickets for the two of you.

Caitlyn who shows up for everything you do. Whether it’s a hobby, or a sport, she’s your biggest cheerleader, funding anything you need to succeed. She picks you up from practice, drives you to competitions, and sits in the front row, clapping louder than anyone else. She even makes an effort to engage with your family. When she greets your parents, her handshake is firm, her tone polite but warm. “May I treat everyone to dinner?”

Caitlyn, who adores physical closeness. Her hand is a constant presence on your lower back or resting against your hip. She holds your hand whenever she can, letting you fiddle with her rings if it eases your anxiety. She kisses your knuckles, your forehead, your cheek. She lets you rest your head on her lap or her shoulder, her fingers idly stroking your hair. Caitlyn just loves having you near.

She was in the middle of one of her many tedious meetings when her phone buzzed on the table. At first, she ignored it, assuming it could wait. But the persistent vibration made her glance down, panic creeping in at the thought that you might need her. She unlocked her phone, opening your chat—and froze, her lips twitching into a smirk.

Caitlyn, who insists on buying matching everything, especially lingerie. It’s not just about the aesthetic; she loves how it highlights your skin, the way it teases her with just enough touch but not quite. She takes care to pick colors and fabrics that complement you, from silk pajamas to delicate lace, always luxurious and soft. You light up when you arrive at her house, eager to show her what she’s picked out this time. She adores the little runway shows you put on just for her. But nothing compares to the sight of you stepping out of her bathroom, wrapped in the sheerest fabric. The way it clings to your body makes her breath catch. You straddle her lap, your skin warm against hers, and she can’t resist trailing her hands over the material, brushing it aside to kiss every inch of you.

There you were, still tangled in the bed she left you in that morning. The pajamas she had just bought hugged your figure perfectly, the thin fabric barely concealing the lingerie beneath. The second photo stole her breath—a shot of your chest, your nipples visible through the soft material, and your hips peeking out from beneath the hem.

She cleared her throat and excused herself, her colleagues giving her puzzled glances as she walked out. The moment she was alone, she called you, her voice low and steady. “Take it off,” She could already hear the smile in your voice as you replied, knowing exactly what you were doing to her. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

You had spent the evening out with some of Caitlyn’s friends, sitting at a table surrounded by conversations and food thar were far too upscaled for you. Before you’d even glanced at the menu, Caitlyn had ordered for you. She had talked for you, too. She’s always quick to tell you how proud she is to have you by her side, but moments like these leave you feeling the opposite. It was as if, in public, you became part of her curated image—someone to admire but not to hear.

Caitlyn who's accidentally- or so she claims- condescending. But only gets worse during sex.

This time, though, you weren’t going to let her narrate your life as if you weren’t capable of speaking for yourself. So, when one of her friends asked a question, you answered on your own, cutting off Caitlyn mid-sentence.

Caitlyn wasn’t one to lose control of a situation, she was testing just how far you were willing to go.

Which turned into your naked body sitting over one of her heels, rubbing your clit against the edge of it while she held your hair. Your mouth wide open for her to spit on it. "You're going to handle it yourself, since you're clearly the only one who knows what's best for you." Her tone dripped with mockery as she tightened her grip. “I wouldn’t want to risk doing anything else that might upset you,” her voice laced with mocking sweetness.

[moonstruckme]

Mae I feel like we always see the boys doting on reader and I love it! But also I would love a lil fic where may be James or Sirius gets sick or injured and it's reader just taking care of him and being so cautious and loving and doting on him

Thanks for requesting!

cw: modern au, MCL injury, James is not good at recovery

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 912 words

Your senses prickle at a sound from the sitting room. 

“James,” you call warily, hands stilling in the dishwater.

“Yes, my angel?” 

“Are you sitting down?” 

A brief silence. 

“I found some exercises—” 

“James.” You round the corner to the sitting room to find your boyfriend lying on the floor, looking up at you with eyes big and guileless. You wipe your wet hands on your jeans. “You’re only supposed to be icing it,” you sigh. 

“There’s no harm in getting an early start on recovery, right?” He grins his lopsided grin, hopelessly endearing. “I found some exercises online and the website says I can start right away. They’re very gentle.” 

“I don’t think the website knows more about your knee than your team’s PT, lovely,” you say, kneeling beside him. You soothe your fingertips over the velcro edge of his brace. 

James gets injured fairly often playing rugby. That’s no new thing to either of you, but he’s not used to needing to take such a long break after an injury. He tore a ligament in his knee during a match last week—you don’t remember the exact name of the ligament, but the word collateral had seared itself into your brain, recognizable and frightening—and apparently that is one of the few things the team’s PT requires players to actually take a substantial leave for. James is due to start recovery therapy in a few days, but for now he’s only meant to be resting and icing the injury. He is not taking it well. 

“You could make it worse by doing more than you’re supposed to,” you tell him gently, stroking his calf below the brace. “Don’t, okay? I really don’t like seeing you hurt.” 

James’ expression softens. He sits up, giving you a nice kiss. “I’m okay, sweetheart.” 

“Don’t make it worse,” you say again. 

“Okay. I won’t.” 

“Thank you.” You kiss him in return, stroking the hair that curls by his ears. “Will you come sit back on the couch, please? Where are your crutches?” 

James makes a low sound, caught anew. “Upstairs.” 

“You didn’t even bring them down?” 

“I get along just fine without them,” he says, pecking your chin placatingly. “Don’t worry.” 

You sigh and coil his curl around your finger. James gives you a smile, sweet and hopeful. Don’t be mad, it begs you. 

Your lips turn up a bit in response as you stand and reach your hands down to him. “Come on, then.” 

James lets you help him back over to the couch. He flops down onto the cushions dejectedly, taking the ice pack when you give it to him and holding it to his knee. Sympathy swells in your ribcage. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I know you’re bored.” 

“It’s not your fault that it’s boring. I just wish I could do things I want to, like usual.” He tries on a grin for your benefit, a poor approximation of the real thing. “I know it won’t be for long.” 

You chew the inside of your lip. You know you have to get back to the dishes, but you can’t stand to leave him like this even to go to the next room. 

“What would you do, if your knee was like normal?” 

James’ grin turns wry. “I’d go to training.” 

“Okay, right.” You roll your eyes, leaning your hip against the side of the couch. “But while you were at training, all hot and tired and stuff, what would you be wishing you were doing instead?”

James lifts his eyebrows, contemplative. His gaze moves to you. “I suppose,” he says, “I’d be wishing I was here with you.” 

Your heart warms. “What would we be doing?” 

He grins. 

“You’re not cleared for that, either,” you say quickly, laughing. 

“Fine, fine.” He feigns annoyance, but his smile gives him away. “In that case, I’d settle for a film and a good cuddle.” 

You nod, stepping closer to the couch. “I can do that,” you say. “I don’t know how good it’ll be, but…” 

“Oh, you haven’t got anything to worry about there, angel.” James takes your hip once you’re close enough, tugging you down beside him. You’re careful not to fall too close to his injured leg. “You’ve got an excellent track record.” 

“Do I?” 

He hums, kissing you. 

“I’m not hurting you, sitting here?” 

“You’re perfect,” he assures you. He gives your hip another tug to bring you closer. “Get comfortable, I’ll tell you if it’s too much.” 

You do as he says, still cautious as you cozy up to his side, encouraging him to lean into you. James rewards you by nuzzling his face into the side of yours, happy as a clam. His voice softens as he drops it to a more genuine register. 

“I’m not keeping you from anything,” he asks, “am I?”

You shake your head. “The dishes can wait. I’d rather be with you.” 

“Christ, lovie. I can still do dishes.” 

“You’re supposed to be resting!” 

James makes an amused huffing sound. “Okay, new deal. After the film, I’ll go do the dishes while you handle the more laborious task of laundry or something. Sound fair?” 

When you’re silent, he laughs. 

“You can’t force me to sit on this couch forever! I’ll atrophy!” 

“Maybe we can see how you feel after the film.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” He stamps a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll sneak and do the dishes in the night if I have to.” 

“You will not.”

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach, but you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then, what became of you. I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

Not a big fan of what melatonin has been doing to my dreams lately.

[writingbuckets]

𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is a oneshot that i wrote months ago and edited a few days ago, somehow it's now a lot more than a one shot. wanted to post this between chapters (this has no relation to the hot take btw) while im continuing to write.. found this oddly relatable tbh <3

It’s one of those crisp autumn mornings where the air bites just enough to make you tug your jacket tighter around yourself, your fingers curling into the sleeves as a poor substitute for gloves you forgot to grab on your way out. The scent of fallen leaves lingers in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from the campus café a few buildings over. Each step you take is accompanied by the satisfying crunch of golden and rust-colored leaves underfoot, the sound a small comfort in an otherwise quiet day.

Your headphones rest snugly over your ears, but they’re not playing anything. You told yourself you’d start a playlist or a podcast—anything to drown out the noise in your head—but your finger never quite hit play. Instead, the world is muffled, a half-hearted attempt to create distance between yourself and the people passing by, their chatter fading into a low, unintelligible buzz.

Silence has been your only companion lately, not by choice but by necessity. Words don’t come easily anymore, not when they’re laced with the sharp edges of memories you’re trying to bury. So, you wear the headphones like armor, hoping they’ll trick the world into thinking you’re occupied. That you’re fine.

You aren’t.

The hum of a fake distraction—an unheard podcast or a song you’ve played so many times the lyrics have lost their meaning—isn’t enough to dull the ache that sits heavy in your chest. It’s like carrying a weight you can’t put down, a constant reminder of everything you’re trying to move past.

It isn’t working.

You round the corner near the library, your gaze locked on the cobblestones ahead of you, tracing the uneven patterns without truly seeing them. The wind shifts slightly, carrying with it the faint murmur of voices—just background noise, indistinct and harmless. But then, cutting through the din like a melody you’d forgotten was stuck in your head, you hear it: her laugh.

You freeze.

It’s an instinctive reaction, your body stopping as if commanded by something beyond you. The sound is unmistakable, warm and familiar, a cruel echo of a time when it was meant for you. It’s lighter than you remember, tinged with an ease you haven’t felt in months. For a moment, you wonder if you imagined it, if your mind is playing tricks on you because you’ve replayed that laugh so many times in your head.

But you know better.

Your heart stumbles in your chest, skipping beats in a rhythm you can’t control. The world around you feels like it’s moving at half speed, the rustling of leaves, the chatter of passing students, all fading into a dull hum. It’s just you and that laugh, and it anchors you in place, even as every fiber of your being screams at you to keep walking.

You don’t. You can’t.

Instead, your head tilts ever so slightly, your eyes flicking up from the cobblestones as if pulled by an invisible string. The library looms ahead, its tall glass windows reflecting the bright morning sunlight, and there, just to the left of the entrance, is the source of the sound.

It’s her. Paige.

She’s standing by the bike racks, her golden hair catching the morning sunlight in a way that makes it look almost haloed, a painful reminder of how effortlessly radiant she’s always been. She’s wearing one of her oversized UConn hoodies, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal her forearms, and a pair of joggers that hang loosely on her frame. Her posture is relaxed but engaged, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks, the kind of gesturing she does when she’s caught up in something that excites her.

You follow the line of her gaze, and that’s when you see the girl standing opposite her. She’s petite, with cropped dark hair that looks like it belongs in a magazine ad, framing her face in a way that feels effortlessly chic. There’s an easy confidence about her, the kind that makes you immediately aware of her presence even if she’s just standing there. Her head is tilted slightly, her dark eyes locked onto Paige with an expression that’s half amusement, half curiosity.

The girl’s smile—soft, unhurried—only adds to the ache blooming in your chest. It’s the kind of smile that says they’ve been talking for a while, that whatever Paige is saying has managed to capture her full attention. She leans just slightly into Paige’s space, not enough to cross any lines but enough to make it clear she feels comfortable there. Too comfortable.

You notice the way Paige mirrors her, her own stance leaning slightly forward as she laughs at something the girl says. It’s not the polite, surface-level kind of laughter she uses with strangers or people she’s obligated to be nice to. No, this is something deeper, more genuine, the kind of laugh that used to be reserved for you.

The sight of them hits you like a punch to the stomach, sharp and sudden, knocking the air out of your lungs. Your feet feel rooted to the ground, unable to move, as if your body has betrayed you by forcing you to witness this. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing, that they’re probably just talking about basketball or class or something else entirely ordinary. But the way they look at each other makes it impossible to believe.

There’s an ease between them, a rhythm that feels natural, unforced. It’s the kind of thing you thought you and Paige had, back before everything fell apart. Back before the love you gave her started feeling more like a weight than a gift.

You don’t know why you’re still standing here, watching this unfold like some cruel scene in a movie you can’t turn off. Maybe it’s morbid curiosity, or maybe it’s that small, stubborn part of you that still aches for her, that still hopes for something that deep down you know will never come.

And as Paige leans back against the bike rack, her lips pulling into a soft, easy smile that lights up her face in a way you haven’t seen in months, you realize something else: she’s happy.

Just not with you.

You tell yourself it shouldn’t hurt. You repeat the words in your head like a mantra, willing them to sink in and dull the ache that’s building in your chest. It’s been months since the breakup—months of sleepless nights, hollow mornings, and the constant, gnawing sense that you’re not quite whole anymore. Months since you stood in the middle of her apartment, the walls closing in as your voice cracked under the weight of emotions you couldn’t hold back any longer.

You remember it so vividly, like a cruel film reel that plays on a loop in your mind. The way your hands trembled at your sides, clutching your chest as if that would keep your heart from shattering completely. You remember begging her to choose you, to see you in the way you saw her—not just as a passing comfort, but as someone she couldn’t imagine her life without. You laid everything bare that night, your heart, your soul, everything you had left to give.

She couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. You’re still not sure which one hurts more.

The worst part is, you never got a straight answer. Paige never said the words you needed to hear, one way or the other. Instead, she stood there, her silence louder than any rejection could’ve been. Her hands stuffed into her hoodie pocket, her eyes downcast, refusing to meet yours. She didn’t have to say it, not really. Her lack of an answer was an answer in itself.

And now, as you stand here on this crisp autumn morning, watching her bond with someone else, the pain you thought you’d buried rises to the surface all over again.

She laughs again, and this time, the other girl joins in, her laughter ringing out like a bell in the cool air. What could possibly be so funny? There’s something natural about the way they interact, as if they’ve known each other forever. And then the girl reaches out, lightly swatting Paige’s arm, her smile widening as Paige grins in response.

It’s such a familiar gesture, so effortlessly intimate, that it makes your stomach churn. You used to do that. You used to be the one standing by her side, making her laugh like that, your fingers brushing against her arm without a second thought. It was second nature then, the closeness between you so natural it didn’t need to be questioned.

Now, it feels like a distant memory. Like it belonged to someone else entirely.

You wonder if Paige notices. If she ever thinks about the small moments you shared, the way you used to trace patterns on her arm when you sat next to her, or the way she’d tease you just to see you roll your eyes before swatting her playfully in return. Does she remember those things, or have they already been replaced by something—someone—new?

The thought sends a fresh wave of pain crashing over you, sharp and unrelenting. It’s like seeing your place in her life erased in real time, like watching her rewrite your story with someone else in the role you once played.

And all you can do is stand there, frozen, as their voices continue to ring out, each sound driving the knife a little deeper.

You tear your eyes away, forcing yourself to stare at the path ahead, but it’s no use. Your chest tightens with every second you linger, a vice gripping your ribs as you wrestle with the urge to look back. Just keep walking, you tell yourself, over and over like a chant that might somehow drown out the pounding of your heart. She doesn’t see you. She’s too focused on the girl in front of her, on whatever effortless conversation they’re sharing, on the world that clearly doesn’t include you anymore.

But your feet betray you, refusing to move. You’re rooted to the spot, caught in a torturous limbo between wanting to flee and needing to see more. Your legs feel heavy, like they’re made of stone, and no matter how much you beg them to carry you away from this moment, they won’t obey.

So, inevitably, you glance back.

Your eyes land on them again, and the weight in your chest deepens. The way Paige looks at her…it’s different. It’s not the kind of look she gives her teammates when they’re joking around after practice, or the polite smile she flashes at fans during meet-and-greets. This is something else entirely.

Her gaze is light, unburdened, and warm in a way that makes you ache. It’s the kind of look she used to reserve for you—back when everything between you felt simple and easy, before the cracks started to show. There’s a softness in her expression that makes it clear she’s present, fully immersed in whatever the other girl is saying.

It’s a far cry from the way she used to look at you toward the end, when her eyes always seemed distracted, her mind a million miles away. You remember those moments vividly: sitting across from her at dinner, trying to fill the silence with light conversation while she scrolled through her phone or stared out the window. Or the times when her replies felt clipped, her tone detached, like her focus was anywhere but on you.

But here, with this girl, there’s none of that tension. None of the weight that seemed to cling to her when she was with you. She’s free in a way you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s almost unbearable to witness.

You wonder if it’s because things with her are new, untouched by the complications that came with being part of Paige’s world. You know what that world is like—how it demands so much of her, how it chews up anything that doesn’t fit into the narrow space between her dreams and her reality.

Once upon a time, you thought you could exist in that space. That you could be her safe harbor, the person she came home to when the rest of the world felt too big. And for a while, you were. But eventually, the demands of her life became too much, and you started to feel less like her safe place and more like another weight she had to carry.

But seeing her now, so light and unguarded, makes it clear she’s found that freedom again. Just not with you.

For a moment, you hate yourself for standing here, for letting her have this power over you. You should’ve known better by now. You should’ve walked away when you had the chance, or at least been strong enough to not let her have this hold on you. But here you are, frozen in place, unable to tear yourself away from the scene unfolding in front of you. It’s pathetic, really. You told yourself you were over this, that you had moved on, but now you’re standing here, watching her laugh with someone else, and it feels like you’re right back at the beginning.

You should’ve known better.

Paige was always a force of nature, a hurricane that swept through the lives of everyone around her. She had this magnetic pull, this ability to draw people into her orbit without even trying, leaving them dizzy and disoriented in the wake of her presence. You’d seen it happen time and time again, watching her captivate room after room, effortlessly charming everyone she came across. You told yourself you’d be different, that you wouldn’t let her sweep you up in the chaos of her world.

But you were wrong.

And now, here you are, standing at the edge of her orbit, watching as she’s pulled into someone else’s gravity, her easy conversation ringing out with someone who isn’t you.

It hits different when you’re the one she left.

You’ve tried to convince yourself it was for the best, that it wasn’t her fault, that maybe you were never meant to be. But the truth is, you can’t shake the feeling that you weren’t enough. That no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t keep up with her, couldn’t fit into the space she carved for herself in the world. You weren’t strong enough to hold her attention, not when her dreams were always just a little bit bigger than the life you were building together.

You think about the nights you spent alone, tossing and turning in your bed, the ache in your chest that refused to go away. It was a familiar feeling, like a tight knot that twisted every time you tried to think about anything else. You replay your last conversation over and over in your mind, dissecting every word, every glance, trying to figure out where things went wrong. Was there something you missed? Was there something you should’ve said or done differently?

You think about how many nights you stayed up staring at the ceiling, your mind racing as you wondered if there was something, anything, you could’ve done to stop her from walking away. Maybe you should’ve tried harder. Maybe you should’ve been more patient, more understanding. Maybe, just maybe, if you’d given her more space or time, she would’ve come back.

But no amount of replaying or overanalyzing can change the fact that she’s gone.

And then you think about her. About how she’s standing there, smiling and laughing, her whole being lit up in a way that feels both beautiful and agonizing to watch. She’s living her life, as if the last few years with you never happened. As if the moments you shared, the plans you made, the quiet mornings and late-night talks—all of it—was just some passing memory she’s moved on from.

You wish you could be as free as she is, as unburdened by the weight of everything that’s left unsaid between you. But you can’t.

And as you stand there, watching her interact with someone else, the anger bubbles up from deep within you, raw and unrelenting. It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that she can move on so easily, as if the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet. It’s not fair that you’re still stuck in this place, unable to let go, while she’s already building something new with someone else. You think about how long it’s been since you let her go, how many times you’ve told yourself you’re fine, but you know the truth. You’re not fine. Not yet.

And maybe you never will be.

You take a shaky breath, your chest tight and heavy with the weight of everything you’re trying to hold back. The last thing you want is to let her see you like this, weak and broken, still caught in the web she wove without ever knowing the damage it left behind. Finally, you force yourself to turn away, telling yourself this is the last time you’ll look at her like this. The last time you’ll let her tear your heart open.

The sound of her laughter follows you as you walk down the path, each step heavier than the last. It’s like the world is closing in around you, her voice lingering in the air, echoing in your ears as if it’s mocking you. A soft wind rustles the leaves, and the chill in the air only amplifies the emptiness inside you. You try to ignore it, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other, on pushing yourself away from the scene you’re not supposed to be a part of anymore.

Your vision blurs, and you blink rapidly, willing the tears to stay hidden until you’re far enough away to lose yourself in the crowd. The last thing you need is to cry in front of her. You don’t think you could bear it. Not now. Not after everything. You shove your hands deeper into your pockets, your body moving mechanically as your mind races with all the things you should’ve done differently. The ache in your chest makes it hard to breathe, but you keep walking.

Every step is like a small betrayal of the self-respect you’ve tried to rebuild over the past few months. You tell yourself it’s fine, that it’s just a moment, a fleeting weakness that will pass. But as much as you try to convince yourself, the tightness in your chest refuses to go away.

You don’t know if she ever thinks about you. If the nights you shared, the love you gave her, ever cross her mind. Maybe they do, in passing, in those quiet moments when she’s alone with her thoughts. Or maybe they don’t. Maybe the pieces of you she carried with her were too small to leave any lasting mark. Maybe the person she is now doesn’t even remember the version of herself she was when she was with you.

The thought stings, and it stings even more when you catch a glimpse of her in the corner of your eye, just as you turn the corner. 

Paige has stopped talking to the girl, her gaze shifting. She doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, her eyes scanning the path ahead of her. And then, as if the universe itself has conspired against you, she turns her head, her eyes meeting yours from across the distance. It’s a split-second moment, brief, but in that flash, everything about you feels exposed.

For a moment, neither of you moves. Your heart races in your chest, the pulse hammering against your ribs as her gaze locks onto you. There’s something in her eyes—something soft, something almost apologetic, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. She blinks, her posture shifting, a subtle tension tightening in her shoulders. But then her gaze drops to the ground, and she looks away.

You can’t be sure, but you think you saw her face fall just slightly. A brief, fleeting flicker of something—maybe sadness, maybe regret, maybe something else entirely—but it’s there, gone before you can make sense of it. It’s a look you haven’t seen in months, one you thought had long disappeared. A look that used to mean she cared. A look that, for a moment, made you believe maybe she did still think about you.

It’s like a punch to the gut, and it almost makes you want to turn back, to walk over to her and ask her what that look meant. But you know better than that. You know the answers won’t bring you the peace you crave. So, you force yourself to turn away again, swallowing the lump in your throat, keeping your gaze focused straight ahead as the sting of her eyes on yours lingers.

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe it’s time to let go. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

By the time you reach the other side of campus, you’ve made a decision. A promise to yourself. You won’t cry over her anymore. You won’t give her that power.

You think about all the ways you’ve tried to move on—telling yourself it was for the best, that you deserve someone who’s not only there for you when it’s convenient, but always. That you’ll find someone who sees you for all that you are and doesn’t make you feel like an afterthought.

But as you round the corner of the building, the weight of everything still clings to you, wrapping around your chest, suffocating you. You push your thoughts aside, trying to keep walking, trying to outrun the rawness of it all. The hurt, the anger, the disbelief. But the faster you move, the heavier the ache feels.

You slip into the nearest building, your hands shaking as you push open the door, the cold air inside only adding to the discomfort that’s settled deep in your bones. You make your way down the hallway, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor, the weight of the moment pressing down on you with every step. The quiet hum of the building seems to echo the emptiness that’s followed you all day, and your chest tightens as you lean against the cold brick wall.

For a brief moment, you just stand there, trying to steady your breathing, willing yourself to feel anything other than this—anything other than the overwhelming ache that has consumed you since you saw her this morning.

But then, it happens.

The tears come anyway.

At first, it’s just one—a single tear that escapes despite your best efforts to hold it in. And then another. And another. They fall silently, tracing paths down your cheeks as your chest shakes with the weight of everything you’ve been holding inside. You hate how easy it is for the tears to come, how they betray every promise you’ve made to yourself. You told yourself you were done feeling like this, that you were moving on, that you wouldn’t let her have this kind of control over you anymore.

But it still hits different.

You weren’t prepared for it. You never are. You weren’t prepared for the way seeing her with someone else would make you feel like your whole world was crumbling, for the way she could still twist your insides with just one look.

And you realize, as the tears fall, that it’s not something you can just shut off, not something you can will away by sheer force. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself you’re over it—this still hurts in ways you didn’t know were possible.

And it probably always will.

And then, as if the universe itself is mocking you, your phone buzzes in your pocket, the sound cutting through the quiet like a reminder that life doesn’t stop just because you’re falling apart.

You pull it out with trembling hands, wiping your eyes hastily as you glance at the screen.

It’s a text from Paige.

“Hey. Can we talk? Please?”

You stare at the words for a moment, as if they’re some kind of trick. You wonder if you’re just imagining it, if the universe is playing some cruel joke on you. But the message is still there, blinking on the screen, waiting for you to respond.

You don’t know what to do with it. You don’t know what to feel.

Part of you wants to ignore it, wants to throw your phone across the room and pretend you never saw it, pretend like you’re stronger than this. But another part of you—one you’re terrified to acknowledge—wants to open the message and respond, to let her back in, even though you know you shouldn’t.

You’ve already been down this road before, and you don’t think you can go through it again.

But as you stare at the message, your heart pounding in your chest, the question hangs in the air: Does it matter if she wants to talk? Will it change anything?

And somewhere, deep down, you know the answer.

But you also know you’re not ready to completely let go, not yet.

[luminni]

Some of you guys wanted a more in depth look into this post of mine so I expanded upon it and I shall deliver! but this can be read on it's own ofc.

Enjoyyyyy <3

Simon woke up with a start, even in the low lighting he could tell he was in an unfamiliar room and a small stirring next to him alerted him to the fact he was close to an unfamiliar presence as well. No, not unfamiliar, but not familiar enough for his heart not to jump slightly at noticing you. Your hand grabbed a fist-full of his shirt and you were seemingly trying to pull yourself impossibly closer to his presence. His startled heart began to melt, and in the calm your resting face brought him he began to remember how exactly he got here.

////

“M’ tellin ya mate yer going tae like ‘er,” Johnny teased, bounding a couple steps in front of Simon, turning back to him and rocking back and forth on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets to protect them from the cold. As Price often quipped, the scott couldn’t stand still for the life of him.

“Mhm,” Simon just grumbled in response.

“See mate, That’s the attitude that scares all the girls away.” Johnny commented, hands outstretched and exaggerated.

“Whatever.” Simon huffed, rolling his eyes. Johnny wasn’t wrong, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything with a girl that wasn’t a quick lay, even then it had been months, not to mention going out on a proper date. Well, a date was a stretch, you were Johnny’s roommate and close friend for a couple years. He had heard of you, but never met you and now Johnny was insisting that he go on a date with you because he was convinced it was going to work well, Simon wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

“She’s real nice though- so put away the tough guy act big man- girls don’t like that.” Simon couldn’t believe he was getting dating advice from his sergeant, so he just doubled down and kept scowling but Johnny kept pressing. “I'm telling you she's a real sweet girl, kinda lass who would try tae make a crying baby laugh on the tube or go and feed some mangy stray dog, perfect for a prickly bastard like yerself.”

“Okay okay, Jesus ’s not like ’m going to scare ‘er off on purpose.” Simon relented 

“You better not, getting laid might do you some good man, calm yer ass down a wee bit” Johnny chuckled

Simon would have yelled at him for that comment but his friend cut him off, “‘Kay we’re ‘ere,” Johnny chirped, “Gaz and his girl should be inside already and she’ll be ‘ere soon,” Johnny said, pushing his Leftenant through the pub door.

Johnny had invited Kyle and his girlfriend for a kind of double date situation because he thought having another girl there would help you feel more comfortable, something Simon couldn’t argue with. Why Johnny’s single ass would be attending was a mystery.

The pub was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the damp cold of the London streets. Simon quickly located Kyle and his girlfriend -whom he had met once before a couple months back- he couldn’t say he wasn’t jealous. Having someone sweet to come home to was a lingering thought that kept him awake most nights. A fleeting hope that persisted despite his best attempts at squandering it. Taking his coat off and quietly greeting the others, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t nervous, terribly so. His hands felt shaky, his stomach twisted in knots, Simon liked situations he could be in control of and this wasn’t one of them. He had no control over whether you would like him or not, over whether you would have a good time, and it terrified him. Johnny had talked you up and made you sound perfect, a fact he didn’t doubt but what if you didn’t “click”, what if the sergeant was wrong. Simon was so nervous he could have passed out right then and there, but little did he know Johnny had been playing both sides.

////

“Ya like serious guys right?” Your roommate had asked you out of the blue, a week or so prior.

“Uh yeah sure? I mean I guess so, more than immature assholes like you.” You had joked back across the small kitchen.

“Well,” He had began, unphased by your teasing, “There’s this guy I work with-”

“Don’t even.” you cut him off

“What?!” he whined

“Don’t try and set me up with one of your military bros,” you warned, “I’m not interested.”

“Just because your last dates have been busts doesnae mean you shouldn't keep tryin’,” He pleaded, catching the sponge you threw at him, “He’s a real good guy, kinda intimidating but you’d like him, promise!”

You glared at him before going back and forth, Johnny was really trying to sell this guy, and he wasn’t wrong, your last three dates had been nothing short of disasters. Selfish bastards that only talked about themselves and wanted to fuck and nothing else. So, after lots of pleading -and a couple tasteful photos from them at the gym- you agreed.

So as you walked closer and closer to the pub, your nerves were buzzing. Just gotta get past his tough exterior is all, Johnny’s words of advice rang through your head. Thankfully your roommate had invited another one of his friends there along with his girlfriend, you would have been hyperventilating if it was just going to be you and some guys. As you reached for the door, you could only hope Johnny was right about this guy.

////

“There she is!” Johnny called out, snapping Simon from his thoughts. He looked to the direct he had sauntered off in to find you. Removing the thick scarf from around your neck, and rolling your eyes at your friend’s shenanigans.

‘Shit shit shit’ Simon began to spiral, biting down harshly on his lip. You were pretty, like really pretty, trying to warm your cold cheeks up with the back of your hand. You looked like the kind of girl a guy would dream about and have to spend a moment getting over after the morning alarm rang. Simon knew he wasn’t unattractive by any means, but it was too damn easy to get self conscious around someone like you.

Noticing his anxiety, Kyle gave him a harsh pat on the shoulder, “Just act natural mate, you’ll be fine.” Easier said than done

You approached the table and it was as if all the pub lights had suddenly focused on you, either that or you were admitting this kind of angelic light from your person.

“Right then,” Johnny began gesturing around the hightop table, “That’s Kyle and his girl,” they smiled and waved, you did the same back, “an’ tha’s the man ‘imself, Simon Riley.”

You took the seat next to him and held your hand out to him, “It’s nice to finally meet you Simon.” You beamed, looking him up and down. He took your hand and he couldn’t help but notice how much smaller it was, how it fit so softly into his. He couldn’t even begin to process the way you had said his name, almost like a little whisper in the buzz of the pub, just the sound made him dizzy.

“Likewise,” He responded, though it was little more than a whisper, “‘eard plenty about you from Johnny.” He continued, accent low and thick. He could’ve kicked himself, even the most normal sentences sounded strange when he said them in front of you. You cast a side eye to your roommate, raising an eyebrow.

“Only the good things hen!” Johnny defended himself, hands in the air. Simon was in love already.

////

Intimidating was the understatement of the century, this guy was absolutely terrifying. He had to be at least 6’4”, probably over 200 pounds of pure muscle, topped off with the most soul piercing brown eyes you’d ever looked at. But there was something more behind all of that, those eyes betrayed just the smallest amount of vulnerability, and with how softly he took your hand in his, maybe Johnny was right. 

Thankfully the conversation flowed easily, having Kyle and his girlfriend there helped and Simon was surprisingly easy to talk to. He didn’t say too much, but he always made it so clear he was listening to every word you said, hanging on every syllable. Nodding along and encouraging you to continue. When he did talk, his voice was low, grumbly and deep but somehow soft at the same time, like he was trying to approach some frightened wild animal. Not to mention the way you couldn’t stop your heart from pounding when he leaned down to hear you better, your height difference on full display even when you were both seated. 

As the night went on, conversation shifted from being the entire table, to you and Simon going back and forth between each other. Bodies angled towards each other, he had taken his mask completely off by the time the food arrived and you couldn’t deny he was handsome, in a rugged and charming way. When the conversation began to naturally sizzle out you pointed to his arm,

“Tell me about your tattoo?” you asked innocently. Kyle and Johnny held their breaths, their leftenant didn’t open up about stuff like that, got defensive when anybody asked about it. To their surprise and relief, a smile tugged at his lips and he began to gently explain to you the parts of his sleeve, leaving out the more traumatic parts.

“Bruv,” Kyle whispered, leaning into Johnny, “This is like- actually working out.”

“Just had to work some of that MacTavish magic mate.” Johnny grinned, elbowing his friend

“Please never say shit like that again.”

Even when Simon began to feel comfortable enough to start cracking some jokes and Johnny thought his chances were done right then and there, you buckled over and laughed, hitting at his bicep. Not noticing how his eyes shone with pride when he was the one making you laugh.

“I’m going up to get another drink, anybody need a refill?” You asked, nodding as people put in their requests. Simon watched you leave as you weaved your way through the crowd, his eyes never leaving your figure- the curve of your waist more specifically.

“Don’t just stare at her mate, go on ‘an follow ‘er ya big sap” Johnny teased, all but shoving his friend from his stool.

“Fuckin’ workin’ on it,” Simon growled, “Impatient bastard.” He downed the rest of his drink and made his way to where you were perched on the edge of the bar.

“Oh hey!” you beamed, “Did ya want something?” All of your attention immediately on him, Simon felt a surge of pride at seeing the dashed hopes of some stragglers who had obviously had an eye on you when you came up to put your order in.

“Jus’ gettin’ another whiskey is all.” He murmured. He watched as you put the orders in, including his, feeling a strange tightening in his chest when you had to lean in close to the bartender so he could hear your order. Smiling when your face screwed up after asking for a sip of his whiskey, eyes shining when you hummed along to the song blaring from the pub speakers. He realized he was going to have to lock this down immediately. 

“Would you-?”

“Hey um,” You unknowingly cut him off, “Would you want to keep talking somewhere quieter?” your eyes didn’t leave you fidgeting fingers, “Like I mean, the apartment is just a couple blocks that way.” you smiled, gesturing in the general direction. 

Simon would have jumped for joy if his pride had allowed him, instead he stuttered a response, “Yeah that sounds good, -I mean I’d like...that”

“O-okay, yeah okay,” you nodded, relief washing over your face, grabbing the drinks and asking him to follow. He downed the second glass of whiskey so fast he feared he might have drowned in it. You set the glasses on the table and began to grab your coat.

“Ya leavin’ already lass?” Johnny questioned, sounding a bit defeated, until he noticed Simon shoving his beanie onto his head with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. “Ohhhhh,” He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows, “You’re leaving.”

You threw him an exasperated look, “Did you remember your keys?”

“Ya know I never do” He winked

You smirked and rolled your eyes, tossing him your extra pair and adjusting your scarf.

“Now ye behave!” Johnny called after the two of you, “I run a right tight ship in tha' gaf an-” He stopped when Kyle threw and hand over his mouth and provided a sweet “Be safe on your way”

Simon gave him a curt nod and led you out of the pub with a steady hand on your lower back.

///

The brisk wind hit you the moment Simon opened the door for you into the outside world. A quick shiver passing through you as you let your arms wrap themselves around your body. Your ears began to burn and you cursed yourself for not bringing a hat. You only got one teeth chattering block before Simon noticed your bright red ears, with an amused sigh, he tugged off his beanie and ruffled his short, blonde locks. Without warning, the hat was then shoved onto your head, pulled snuggly over your ears. You whipped around to face him, big doe eyes shining up at him.

“Don’t mention it.” is all he said, before taking the lead and walking in front of you, thank god it was cold enough to blame his red cheeks on the harsh wind. 

You led him though the dark streets, your and Johnny’s shared apartment was only a 10 minute walk from the pub. 10 minutes that were filled with countless questions from you, questions that had felt too awkward to ask in the loud and crowded pub. Favorite color? Favorite song? Favorite food? Favorite animal? What kind of movies did he like? Did he like warm or cold weather? Simon couldn’t remember the last time someone wanted to know this much about him, people on base always seemed to want to get to know Ghost. To try and humanize the intimidating persona he took on when at work, they didn’t want to put in the work to know, to understand the humanity he already possessed. But here you were, asking him questions like your life depended on it. Not in some feeble attempt to make him less scary, but because you were genuinely curious about the person that he was. He felt strangely at peace around you, uncomfortably comfortable, or maybe it was just the fact you made him feel human.

You stopped him at the front of your building with a tug on his sleeve. He let you lead him inside, shuffle into the tiny European elevator that made him look comically large, and hold the door open for you as you slipped into the apartment. It was very clearly a place inhabited by Johnny, the xbox controllers on the coffee table, the 4 empty protein shake bottles in the sink, the ratty sneakers Gaz had begged him to throw away still by the door, and a sleeveless workout hoodie throw haphazardly over the back of the couch. That you scurried to pick up, not expecting company,

“Sorry, he just leaves his shit everywhere.” you sighed, grabbing the shirt and shoving it into the closet hamper.

“Don’t I know it.” Simon chuckled lightly. The parts of the apartment that grabbed his attention next were your additions, a lip gloss tube in the key bowl, a cute teapot on the stove, the CD player next to the TV. You had given the home a “woman’s touch” as Price would have put it. Simon found himself foolishly imagining where your items would fit into his sparsely decorated flat as he toed off his shoes, but then again he was here, in your apartment, so maybe not so ridiculous after all.

“You can come in, ya know?” You giggled from the living room, kneeling down to slot a CD into the player.

“Right, sorry.” he muttered, shuffling his feet across the creaking wood floors and taking a seat on the couch, wincing at how it groaned under his weight. You plopped down right next to him and just began chattering on above the din of the quiet music.

////

When the clock read 11:53, around an hour and a half after you had originally arrived, he began to get antsy. He worried you were going to ask him to leave, to exit this warm bubble you had created for him, it was late but he would have stayed for hours had you asked him.

His stomach dropped when you moved to get up, he had a feeling he knew what was coming. That this would be some one time thing like he had feared, a nice conversation and nothing more. He began to clench and unclench his fists subconsciously, the thought of going back out into the cold streets now felt torturous. But then you just asked him sweetly what kind of tea he wanted.

“Anything.” he rushed out, just relieved he could stay here, with you a little longer. He followed you like some lost dog into the kitchen, watched you fill up that cute teapot with water and click on the stove before leaning against the counter across from him.

You were pressed close by the small layout of the kitchen, “I uh, I hope you don’t mind the music I put on.” You murmured, trying to fill the suddenly awkward silence.

“No, I like it.” He responded bluntly, but  his eyes were no longer meeting yours. For the past hour they had been locked onto your lips. Gaze silent, but wanting. 

Gingerly, you reached up a hand to his face, noting the way his breath caught in his throat when your fingertips brushed against his scarred skin. On the tips of your feet now, you tilted your head to get around that handsome roman nose before gently placing your lips on his. It was quick, fleeting, it ended as soon as it started. You pulled away, embarrassed due to his deadly still posture, not a hair on him moved.

“Sorry, I just, well- it was a good time with you tonight and-”

It was his turn to cut you off, the quick kiss apparently being all the motivation he needed to surge forward, sliding his hand onto the curve of your waist and guiding your head with a gentle hand on your cheek. Your surprised yelp was swallowed up by his lips enveloping yours. Pressing your body to his and inhaling deeply, it was as if he was trying to swallow you whole with his figure. 

Finding a gentle rhythm, he moved his lips against yours, and god were they soft. Like velvet against his chapped and scarred ones. He practically growled when your lips left his, his mouth chased yours. Quirking into a crooked smile when he noticed you teasing smirk. The hand on your cheek moved so he could intertwine his fingers in your hair, cradling the back of your head and guiding your lips back to his. The sweet kiss turned hungry and feverish, the hand on your waist slid down to cradle where the fat of your ass met your thigh. All of a sudden you were being lifted to sit on the counter with just one of his hands, placed down gently by him before he resumed his desperate grip on your thigh. You attempted to move away once more, to catch the breaths he had been taking from you. But his grip tightened on the back of your head,

“Don’t.” The deep rumble of his Manc accent had you pressing your thighs together.

He noticed immediately, smiling as he trailed those kisses down towards your neck, “Ya like that sweet’art?” The grumble in voice almost made it sound like he was purring.

You nodded quickly, gasping and whining as he found that sweet spot on your neck. “Tell me whatcha’ want love, c’mon love need’a ‘ear it.” He growled, forehead resting against yours.

“You.” was pathetically all you could manage after the sudden release of the tension that had been building since the moment you asked him to leave the pub, but that was good enough for him. He let out a low whine and let his forehead rest on your shoulder, one hand slipping up underneath your sweater and the other finding the hem of your jeans. You were back to whining in his ear and placing soft kisses on his neck, both of you too wrapped up in the moment to hear the click of the front door lock and someone made their way inside.

You both heard the door close though and paused, not daring to look, bodies tensed and unmoving.

“Hey we’re back,” Kyle’s voice, “Soap said it was okay if I came to grab copy of- oh.”

Another awkward moment of silence before-

“Ye’ owe me a tenner then Gaz!" Johnny erupted into laughter.

“Aye! No, I still won!” Kyle argued back “It’s 12:11 now, so technically it's not today anymore mate.”

“Yeah but 12:11 's still tonight and I was bettin' that they’d shag t'night so I think-”

“COULD YOU GET THE FUCK OUT JOHNNY?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” You suddenly snapped, finding your voice under the mountain of embarrassment you were under. Simon had been completely silent, hands now white-knuckling the counter top, as he looked away from the scene, staring holes into the cabinets under the sink. All while still leaning over you, jaw tight and teeth grinding, the tips of his ears noticeably red.

“ 'ave some sympathy lass! I jus' lost a tenner!” Johnny continued, unfazed, “I mean really Lt. could ye 'ave started a wee bit sooner then? What were ye waitin’ for? A full moon?”

Simon stayed silent so you took it upon yourself, “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING JUST BARGING IN HERE?!” You tried to regain some decency and push Simon away so you could stand up, but he remained stationary against your attempts to move him, still having a staring contest with the wall.

“I live 'ere too, ye know! An' I texted ya!”

You groaned, realizing your phone sat untouched on the couch.

“Just- just-” You let out a frustrated growl, “You are insufferable.” You hiss, finally slipping from Simon’s guard and yanking on one of his firmly placed hands, and he let you. Whirl him around and wordlessly drag him down the hallway to your private room, following your steps.

"What about yer tea?!" Johnny called out, laughter lacing his voice.

"Oh fuck off!"

////

You shut the door behind you after shoving him through it, embarrassed beyond belief and burning with frustration.

“Sorry he’s such a pain in the ass”

“ s’okay,” Simon finally spoke again, “was hoping to end up here anyway” 

That made your eyes widen and cheeks burn almost uncomfortably hot, as he swiftly crossed the room to continue what had been rudely interrupted. He clung to your waist like his life depended on it.

“But he’s-” You began, in between feverish kisses “They’re still-”

He growled in your ear a low, “Let ‘em hear.” It was once again all the warning you got before one hand lifted you up once more “wrap ya' legs 'round my waist sweet thing,” he encouraged, "yeah jus’ like tha’.” He smashed his lips against yours, walking you over to your bed, avoiding the clothes you had strewn around from trying to get ready early on that night, which he immediately picked up on. Setting you gently on the bed, he began to murmur against your lips with a smile, “What's all this? Wanted to look nice for me huh?”

You nodded along dumbly, the feeling his hardened cock in his trousers pressed up against your clothed core became all too much. He let out a low chuckle as he felt you ankles lock around waist.

“ 'M not going anywhere love don’ worry” He slid two calloused hands back under your sweater, ready to take it off. He stopped immediately upon hearing your whines of protest

“Wha’s wrong then love?” He whispered

It took all your brain power to form a coherent sentence in this state but somehow you managed. Lazily removing a hand from his neck and pointing behind you, “The window.” you said breathlessly.

He turned to find the blinds of your street facing window open. He might have been able to deal with his mates hearing some but strangers was a different story.

“Shit.” he untangled himself from you and quickly pulled them shut, “Don’t need anybody seein' what I’m doin' to my girl.”

“Your girl?” you questioned weakly

“Yeah,” he smirked, “ ‘m keepin’ you.”

////

It had all come back, crashing down on him like a wave. He could barley believe he had spent the night with you. You had actually want him, asked him to stay, let him have you, all of you. He untangled himself from you arms, hellbent on grabbing you a hot towel and a glass of water. He slipped into his boxers and his T-shirt and quietly opened the door to slip into the hallway. He could only hope you believed he meant what he said when he told you he wanted to keep you, though now he cringed at his confidence and wording.

He was met with a smirking Johnny leaning over the island as he entered the kitchen.

"Where's Garrick?"

"Fucked off back to his place before you woke up."

"Hm." Simon grabbed a cup from the same cabinet he saw you had last night and began to fill it at the sink.

" 'Hm'? really? Thas' it?" Johnny scoffed "Come on then mate? How'd it go?"

Simon was about to disappear back into your room, without so much as another word to the sergeant before he stopped. Without turning he muttered a quick, awkward, "Thanks."

"Ya know what, I'll take it." Johnny clapped a hand over his friends back and Simon winced. The scratches on his back you had given him burned a bit.

"Oh?"

Simon grumbled and left a bemused Johnny in the kitchen. Back in your room he was reminded how lucky he really had gotten. The sun light perfectly highlighted and shadowed your featured. the curves and dips of your naked body were covered loosely by your white sheets. Your sleeping face peaceful and angelic, you really did seem like a dream.

So he could put up with Johnny more, for you.

A/n: Is this just me coming to terms with the fact I have a humiliation kink? Yeah probably.

[elryuse]

Pt. 2 Troubles

BABEL'S CHAINS MASTELIST : HERE

Y'n's POV

The Next Morning

The next day started much like the last—my alarm blaring, my groggy attempt to silence it, and my mom sending me off with a reassuring smile. But this time, as I pedaled toward Babel University, an odd sense of anticipation weighed on me.

Was I dreading the day or looking forward to it? I wasn’t sure.

As I approached the gates of Babel, the familiar wave of whispers and stares hit me. I ignored them, parking my bike in the same corner as yesterday. My steps quickened as I made my way to the classroom, hoping to slip in unnoticed like before.

But when I stepped through the door, my heart nearly stopped.

Karina Yu was already there, lounging in her seat. Her perfectly polished nails tapped idly against her desk as she scrolled through her phone. When her sharp eyes flicked up and spotted me, a slow smirk spread across her lips.

And then, she waved.

It wasn’t subtle, either. Her arm stretched high, drawing the attention of half the classroom. A few of her friends snickered, and some students turned to look at me.

I froze, the heat rising to my cheeks. Why was she doing this?

“Y/n!” she called, her voice carrying easily over the chatter. “Come sit here.”

She patted the empty seat beside her.

My first instinct was to bolt, but her gaze pinned me in place. With no other choice, I shuffled toward her, painfully aware of every pair of eyes following me.

When I reached her desk, she grinned and moved her bag off the chair. “See? I saved you a seat.”

“Uh… thanks,” I mumbled, sliding into the seat.

The energy in the room shifted. Conversations buzzed around us, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than Karina’s presence beside me. She radiated confidence, her every movement casual yet commanding.

“Relax,” she said, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “You’re acting like I dragged you here.”

“I just… didn’t expect this,” I admitted, keeping my voice low.

She chuckled, resting her chin on her hand. “Why not? You’re interesting, remember?”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,” I muttered, earning another laugh from her.

The Lecture Begins

The professor entered shortly after, and the room fell silent. As he launched into another dense economics lecture, I tried to focus on taking notes, but it was almost impossible with Karina next to me.

She didn’t seem to care about the lecture at all, doodling absentmindedly in her notebook. Occasionally, her elbow would brush against mine, sending my brain into overdrive.

“Hey,” she whispered, leaning closer. “What’s the answer to this one?”

I glanced at her notebook, where a half-written equation stared back at me. “It’s… 7.32.”

She jotted it down, her lips curving into a small smile. “You’re pretty handy to have around.”

“Glad I could help,” I said dryly.

The Lunch Break

When the lecture ended, I quickly packed up my things, hoping to escape the awkwardness. But as I stood to leave, Karina grabbed my arm.

“Lunch?” she asked casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

I blinked, stunned. “With you?”

“No, with the janitor,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Of course with me. Come on.”

Before I could protest, she looped her arm through mine and practically dragged me out of the classroom. A few students stared as we passed, their expressions ranging from curious to jealous.

When we reached the cafeteria, Karina led me to the same table as yesterday, where Winter, Giselle, and Ningning were already waiting.

“Look who I found,” Karina announced, pushing me into a seat beside her.

“Y/n!” Ningning greeted cheerfully. “Welcome back to the cool kids’ table.”

I glanced around nervously. “I’m not sure if I belong here.”

“Don’t be silly,” Giselle said, resting her chin on her hand. “Karina doesn’t invite just anyone to sit with us.”

“Yeah,” Winter added, smirking. “You must’ve done something to impress her.”

I turned to Karina, who was calmly unpacking her lunch. “Why me?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

She paused, her chopsticks hovering mid-air. Then, she looked at me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Because you’re different,” she said simply. “And I like different.”

The rest of lunch passed in a blur. The girls talked and laughed, including me in the conversation more than I expected. Karina, however, seemed content to let the others do most of the talking, occasionally glancing at me with that enigmatic smile of hers.

By the time lunch ended, I felt like I’d stepped into a different world—and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find my way back.

The Rival Encounter

The following day started much the same as usual, but it was the moments after class that took a surprising turn. As I was leaving the lecture hall, Karina waved me over—again.

“Sit here,” she said, patting the seat beside her in the cafeteria.

I hesitated, clutching my tray of simple food. The eyes of Babel University’s elite bore into me, their whispers audible even across the room. Still, something about Karina’s unwavering gaze made it hard to say no.

Sliding into the seat beside her, I braced myself for another round of teasing or curious prodding from her and her friends. To my relief, Ningning quickly shifted the attention with a story about her weekend, and the table’s atmosphere lightened.

The Walk

Lunch ended, and to my surprise, Karina and the girls insisted on walking with me. Ningning had latched onto my arm, her energy infectious as she joked about everything under the sun. Winter trailed slightly behind, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. Giselle walked beside Karina, who carried herself with her usual composed elegance.

I couldn’t help but feel out of place, like a black-and-white photo amidst a sea of vibrant color.

But things took a sharp turn when I accidentally bumped into someone.

The collision was minor—a gentle brush of my shoulder against someone’s arm. Yet, the aftermath was anything but.

“Oh, great,” a voice snapped.

I turned, finding myself face-to-face with a girl whose beauty was just as striking as Karina’s. Her long, sleek hair framed her delicate face, but her expression was anything but delicate. Her name tag read "Jang Wonyoung."

Behind her stood a group of equally stunning girls, their presence commanding the same aura of privilege as Karina’s group.

“Watch where you’re going,” Wonyoung said coldly, crossing her arms.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, taking a step back.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Yujin, another member of Wonyoung’s group, chimed in. Her sharp gaze bore into me, and her voice was as icy as her demeanor. “Do you even know who you just bumped into? Wonyoung doesn’t tolerate disrespect.”

“Yujin,” Gaeul, another girl in the group, said, her tone calmer but no less pointed. “He’s clearly out of his depth. Let’s not waste time.”

Karina stepped forward then, her expression unreadable.

“Out of his depth?” Karina repeated, her voice quiet but laced with steel. “I don’t recall Wonyoung being royalty. Or did I miss the coronation?”

Wonyoung’s eyes narrowed. “Karina, I didn’t realize you were running a charity. Is this your new project?”

Winter stepped up beside Karina, her arms crossed. “Wonyoung, if you’re going to pick a fight, maybe try someone who’s actually worth your time.”

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Students nearby had stopped to watch, their eyes darting between the two groups like spectators at a tennis match.

I opened my mouth to apologize again, but Karina’s hand on my shoulder stopped me.

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” she said firmly, her eyes locked on Wonyoung’s. “Some people just thrive on drama.”

Wonyoung’s lips curved into a tight smile. “And some people mistake arrogance for confidence.”

Karina didn’t flinch. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

Before the situation could escalate further, Ningning stepped between them with her usual playful energy.

“Alright, ladies,” Ningning said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s save the drama for the stage, yeah? This isn’t worth anyone’s time.”

Wonyoung gave Karina one last withering glance before turning on her heel, her group trailing behind her like a flock of impeccably dressed swans.

As they walked away, Giselle muttered under her breath, “Always so theatrical.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Thanks,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Karina turned to me, her expression softening. “Don’t let them intimidate you. They’re all bark and no bite.”

“Mostly,” Winter added with a smirk.

Ningning looped her arm through mine again, pulling me along. “Come on, Y/n. Let’s get out of here before Wonyoung decides to stage a comeback.”

As we walked away, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder. Wonyoung was watching us, her expression unreadable.

Whatever I’d gotten myself into, it was clear that life at Babel University was only going to get more complicated.

To Be Continued…

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach, but you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then, what became of you. I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

[emchante]

oh my god, why would you mention daniel cumming in his pants? that's like... way too hot 🫠

like the idea of older divorced dad daniel cumming in his pants like a goddamn teenager because that's just the effect you have on him?? yes. even better if it's a time where you're just fooling around and making out on the couch and grinding against each other. and he just can't help it and cums in his boxers, and he's maybe a little embarrassed about it before he realizes how hot you find it

oh nonnie you have me dead with this ask. it’s been marinating in my inbox for awhile now, and every time i see it.. i go a little feral. let’s jump back into this au, shall we?

18+ content below, minors dni.

it happens to daniel. a lot.

it’s been with him all his life, gets too excited over the smallest things. he remembers a time with his ex, cumming just from the dirty talk she had whispered in his ear, while being sat atop his lap. no grinding, no nothing. just the words were enough to send him over the edge.

and you? he thinks the issue has gotten worse since he first lay eyes on you. the time he watched you through his window like a perv, watching as you innocently fended to your garden? he could’ve came without the palming, but alas he needed to touch himself, trying to ground himself as he thought about the filthiest scenarios with you.

and now that you’re his.. well it happens all too often. the first time it happened though, he was more embarrassed than ever.

the night had started innocently enough. you had come over, opted to make dinner for him and the kids— nothing unusual. it was nice, it felt super domestic when you were all sat at the table, chewing away at the food with some small chatter in between.

it was as soon as the kids were upstairs though, that you were all over him. he hadn’t expected it, that you’d jump onto him. he caught you with ease, both hands holding your ass as he tried to kiss you back with as much energy you had put into it yourself.

he had to ask though, where this all suddenly came from. he tried to pull back, tried asking you about it, but your lips just kept attacking his. “sweetheart,” he tried, before being caught in another kiss. “i need to—” another kiss, “ask what’s going—” another, “on?” he finally finished, and you pulled your head back.

“what do you mean?” “don’t get me wrong, i love the attention.. i love this a lot. but it’s so sudden, what changed from dinner to now?” he asks, placing a chaste kiss onto your lips.

he really doesn’t remember what happened between then and getting to the couch. something about you complimenting him, how hot he looked when he wasn’t trying. he didn’t care though, because things were only getting hotter.

his back was against the couch pillows now, you on top of him as your lips fought for dominance. his large hands were resting on your hips, occasionally squeezing them to try distract you, trying to cheat his way into winning.

your hands were on his shoulders, gripped tightly onto them as you tried to hold your ground against him. it made it easy for to start grinding down onto him, seeing as you had a way to keep yourself stable.

you felt daniel falter, the grip on your hips loosening as his fingers went slack momentarily, along with his mouth. you had won the battle for dominance, tongue slipping into his mouth as your hips continued to grind rhythmically onto his. 

it takes a couple moments for daniel to snap out the daze, but when he comes back to his senses he’s replicating your movements, bucking his hips up to meet your moves. his hands find their way back to the original spot they were rested in before, putting more strength into making sure your clothed cunt was hitting against his erection.

he felt giddy, like he was on cloud nine. your tits bouncing in front of him, your cunt rubbing against his cock, your mouth owning his, and the soft praises that escaped you between breaths— it was all too much, really.

that’s all it took for him to cum right then and there in his boxers. his head tilted right back, eyes squeezing shut as his mouth once again went slack. the moans that escaped him were delightful, ranging from higher, more whine-like moans to deep, breathy groans. his hips continued to buck, though a stutter momentarily made it’s way into the rhythm as he rode out the orgasm completely.

you watched as he came down from his high, chest panting as his eyes couldn’t open fully from being in such a daze. it took him a minute before he realised what had happened, the sticky feeling in his boxers reminding him where he was.

his eyes widened as he tried to sit himself up properly, but with you still on top of him he didn’t make much progress, and his eyes warily looked into your own.

your hand moved up to cup his face, thumb slowly dragging over his cheek before teasing his lips gently. “what’s up, dan?” you asked dragging your thumb off his lip, letting it pop back into place. you watched as his adam’s apple bobbed, a gulp evidently just passing.

“i— come on, sweetheart,” he starts, shaking his head lightly as he sighs. “i fucking came in my boxers like a teen. you’ve got to understand my issue?” he laughs dryly, anticipating the laugh that’ll escape you. whether it’s a teasing laugh or a grossed out laugh, he doesn’t want to know.

that’s why it surprises him when it doesn’t come, and you’re just watching him with a raised brow. “why is that an issue, dan?” you ask him, allowing your free hand to trail down his body. past his shirt, lingering over his crotch before moving to the waistband of his slacks and boxers, and slipping your hand in.

you feel his cock already hardening again, as well as the slight jerk of his hips. still sensitive. “this,” you start, squeezing his cock as he lets out a low groan and tries to squeeze his thighs together, “is fucking hot, daniel. you have no idea” you murmur, moving your face right infront of his again.

“let me show you how much i love it.”

so.. divorced dad! daniel is back..? 👀 neglected our resident dilf for too long! he’s back with a bang<3

[stardust-thief]

look after you

an: this my first x reader fic LMAOO, i needed to write smth and this spencer was on my brain :// i am in the middle of a rly long donna fic but i cba this was much easier. also i absolutley have not proof read this sorry

synopsis: you get hurt while hunting down an unsub, after some reluctance (and kind words from papa rossi) you let spencer take care of you, 1.7k words

cw: descriptions of violence, panic attack, spencer swears and can drive (the most un-canon thing abt him) umm italians..., the rest is just fluffy, hurt/comfort, x reader but no y/n

masterlist

The unsub had his gun pointed at you, the cold press of the barrel against flesh. He was ranting and raving about needing to be seen and understood, having spent his childhood in emotional neglect. Teachers and parents failed him at every turn, it’s not his fault that this happened but he can fix it if he just drops the gun. Rossi tried to tell him this over and over, but he only got more angry, pushing the gun in harder and harder. 

If you were to open your eyes, you would’ve seen JJ and Luke there too, guns trained on the unsub. Their eyes glancing between you, the unsub, and the gun. But you didn’t. Not until the bang went off and you could breathe again. 

The flashing lights of the ambulance do nothing to dissuade the pressing headache you feel coming on, the movement of people helps even less. You watch as the EMT’s cart the unsub away on a gurney, sheet covering him. 

“You okay, kid?” Rossi asks from beside you, he had been hovering ever since the ambulance arrived. 

“I’m fine, just need a good night's rest. I’ll be good as new.” You hummed half-heartedly. 

David Rossi always knew when someone was lying to him, part of that talent comes from his job as a profiler, but it’s mostly because of some ancient Italian magic. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that to me. Look, Hotch is on his way with Reid and Emily. They’re gonna be taking some witness statements, but I imagine Boy Wonder will be a little distracted. I want you to let him take care of you, ok? You’ve been through hell tonight kid, let him worry.”

Italians never lie, although you wish they did. Spencer had very obviously caught feelings for you, everyone on the team could see it. Unfortunately, so could you. Spencer Reid was one of the kindest, most genuine people you had ever met, always putting other people's needs before his own. A voice in your head kept telling you that there is nothing you have done to deserve someone like him doting all over you? You had only brought trouble to the people who loved you. Eventually you learned that it was better to just keep everyone at a distance; if you don’t let them in, they can’t get hurt. Which worked well, up until Spencer.

He had such a wormy way of getting into your brain at the worst times; whether it was when you were alone in your kitchen, or at slightly dangerous, very inappropriate times on a case. You couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupidly cute (and sometimes ill-timed) facts. Some part of you wanted to let him in, in the end the stubborn side always took over. 

Before long, you heard the worried cries of Spencer trying to find you in the chaos. Rossi called his name and gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Remember, you deserve to be looked after too.” and left to find Hotch.

“Oh my god, are you okay? We tried to get here as soon as we could, but they managed to take down the unsub right? What happened, did he hurt you? How did you get so close? Talk to me are-” Oh, how he rambles. 

“Spencer, I’m fine. I just need to… rest, you know. He didn’t hurt me that bad, just a sprained wrist, couple bruises. Could’ve been worse.”

He spluttered, “Could’ve- you know, that doesn’t make this any better, I was so worried about you. He had a fucking gun to your head, I was going insane thinking about what could’ve happened. What did the EMT say about your wrist?”

“Just to rest it, and use an ice pack if it starts to swell or hurt.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, he was so worried about you. It made butterflies dance in your belly, but there was a twinge of guilt there too. He was so busy, he worked so hard and then went home to look after his mom. He had too much on his plate, how could you add more to it? “Spence, I’m really sorry about worrying you. I should be fine to leave now, so I’ll just head home and sleep it off. Have a good night.” You pushed yourself off the ambulance, eyes focused downwards, restless fingers fidgeting with the already frayed bandage.

“No- wait what are you talking about? You’re gonna drive yourself home in this condition? I can’t let you do that, even thinking about it makes me feel sick.” He lowered his head to yours and spoke softer this time, “Please let me take you home. I don’t have to stay, I just want to make sure you’re ok, ok?”

Fuck that voice did things to you. Leaning from side to side, you thought about what Rossi had said earlier. Maybe, it was ok to let someone in? It would be cruel to let him suffer more, not knowing if you were ok or somehow got in a car crash with 5 other vehicles on your way home. Just this once, you think.

Looking up into his soft eyes, you give a small nod. His lips immediately turned up into a smile, his hand comes up to cup your head, fingers stroking your cheek. It felt… nice. His thumb was calloused but he still moisturised enough for it to feel smooth, and he smelled like lemongrass and ginger. His hand fell to the small of your back as he guided you to his car. Ever the gentlemen, he opened your door and softly placed his hand over your head as you got in. Manoeuvring himself into the driver's side, he pulled out his phone and typed something, then quickly stuffed it away into a pocket and turned on the engine.

The sky was dark when you woke up. The unsub had a gun to your head at dusk, and Spencer was walking into your apartment when the moon was out. He took off his shoes and the door, and walked into your living room.

“I’ve never been here before,” he mused. “I like it.”

He looked at ease wandering around your apartment, his shoulders had relaxed and he let out soft musings as he perused your photo collections.

“Oh Spencer, not that one, it’s embarrassing!” You tried (with not a lot of effort) to pull him away from the frame.

“No this is cute, was this when you were at University?” He asked, wrapping an arm around you.

Oh my god. “Yeah, um- those were some of my friends at the time. I try and keep in touch but, you know.”

He hummed, pulling you closer into him. Finally content, he looked down at you. “How’s your wrist?”

“It’s ok,” you shrugged, “just a little tender now.”

“Where’s your kitchen, I can get some ice.”

“Spence-” you wanted to tell him no, to go home and look after himself. But his body was so warm, having him so close to you melted your brain, leaving you unable to think of any good reason as to why he should leave. “It’s the first door on the right.”

His grip tightened for a moment before he swiftly navigated you to the sofa, and turned to leave for the kitchen. The cold of the apartment rushed to get you as soon as he unraveled his arms. You hadn’t been alone all day since the unsubs attack, it somehow felt more claustrophobic. His hand on your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. The way he grabbed your arm, contorting it so he could throw you to the ground. The gun, pressed into your forehead. The knowledge that the only thing between you being alive, and you being in a ditch, was a madman's finger on the trigger. Reality faded as each memory pressed further and further into your mind. You weren’t in your apartment anymore, you could feel the cold concrete beneath your hands. The thick air in your lungs, Rossi and the unsub shouting.

A hand on your knee, a soft voice bringing you back. There was no unsub, no gun to your head. You were alive. You were alive and Spencer was in your apartment, wiping the tears that had fallen down your face.

“You with me?” His voice was so soft, you couldn’t recall ever hearing Spencer raise his voice in anger. He was so gentle when he touched you. 

The floodgates burst, choked sobs made their way past your lips. Your shoulder shook as you cried, pressing yourself into Spencer’s arms. “Oh honey,” He murmured, pressing his lips into your head, softly rocking you back and forth as you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It was too much. You could have died today. Very nearly did. You weren’t ready to die, not yet at least.

As your cries softened into hiccups, you pushed yourself back from Spencer. “I’m sorry, that was so disgusting. It just all- I don’t know.”

 “Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise to me ok? What you went through was really scary, I’d honestly be more shocked if you didn’t cry.” His hand moved to draw soothing shapes along your back as you leaned back into him. “You want to watch something to calm down? I brought you some water and an ice pack for your wrist.”

He would be the death of you. You nod and push yourself back into the sofa, moving your wrist to rest in your lap. Spencer gently places the ice pack across your wrist and grips the tips of your fingers. He leans forward to push your cup of water towards you and grabs the TV remote, then turns and leans back so your side is pressed into his front. Truthfully, Spencer didn’t seem like the type to watch cable TV but he navigated the menu with somewhat ease. 

“Look at what’s on! It’s your favourite isn’t it, you want me to put it on.” He said as he nudged your shoulder.

He remembered your favourite film, of course he would remember it he has an eidetic memory. You hummed a yes as you relaxed your body further into his, finally content. Maybe Rossi was right, having Spencer close really wasn’t so bad after all.

[deathofacupid]

⤷ in which you're the only one soft!sukuna treats this way .ᐟ

soft!sukuna who took forever to say "i love you" for the first time, and thank his ego for that.

when you'd said it for the first time, soft!sukuna couldn't do anything but let his face heat up, avoiding eye contact as if his life depended on it. of course, you knew his nature. you told him he didn't have to say it back, even though (on the inside, at least) you were hoping so much that he would. you just wanted him to know.

and god forbid, once you'd said it that first time, you couldn't stop.

soft!sukuna didn't end up saying it that day, but it didn't really matter. he showed you his love in different ways.

soft!sukuna, who shows you his said love in his own ways, remembers everything about you. the things you said once, then forgot. from your dreams in life to what you had for lunch last tuesday - if it has to do with you, the chances are, he'll remember it.

soft!sukuna who gets up earlier than you do (he doesn't enjoy sleeping in much), and on his morning walk, picks you a single flower from the estate's garden and leaves it on his bare pillow, right next to yours. soft!sukuna doesn't like it when you make such a big deal about it. you see it as you wake up, while he's showering. it's just a flower, in his view, but it makes you happy, so he'll do it for the rest of his life.

soft!sukuna who doesn't really understand human dating customs much, but he'll go along with it - well, most of the time. for example, when you first met him, you wanted to take it slow, so you went on some "test" dates. soft!sukuna was going to make you his anyways, so he thought to entertain it.

the idea of going on "dates" – pre-mating trials to assess compatibility, seemed odd to him. what he wanted, he got. there was no "testing" of anything.

you and soft!sukuna who had some communication issues at the start. he didn't get indirect communication - subtle cues, body language, or "reading between the lines" to express interest or disinterest. soft!sukuna never had a problem with saying what was on his mind, but for you, some things you didn't think really had to be said.

soft!sukuna who's the single most possessive and jealous man you've ever known. somebody looked at you the wrong way? they're a waste of space. he'll dispose of them later. or, hey, did their tone sound a little off? doesn't matter, they should've known better. maybe next time. oh, wait - there won't be a next time.

in fact, this one time, when a guy hit on you at the bar, you had to drag him out, begging and pleading him to not resort to murder.

soft!sukuna who can't bring himself to say no to you, because that pretty little pout tugs on his heart-strings. he thinks it's pathetic, how you've hexed him.

instead, all he can manage is huffy, begrudged "fine."

soft!sukuna who loves cuddles so much. he loves when you rub his back or stomach, not that he'd ever verbally say so. he may be soft for you, but there's still pride.

instead, whenever you're on the bed, he'll look at you a certain way, and you'll know what to do. he loves your touch, so soft and gentle. soft!sukuna has never had anything like it before. he doesn't know how he's lived all this time without it.

soft!sukuna who can be very blunt at times, unintentionally hurting your feelings. he doesn't mean it, he's just not used to being careful with his words. he never says sorry, but the second you get that pained expression in your eyes, mouth parted slightly, soft!sukuna is basically on his knees apologizing. it's nothing short of humiliating, to him, but he'd rather be humiliated than apart from you.

soft!sukuna who said those three words to you, for the first time, during an argument. you'd wanted him to start killing less, you couldn't bear all the lost lives of the innocent. he didn't like that very much. either way, it had escalated quickly.

but the second soft!sukuna saw those tears sliding down your cheeks, he had pulled you flush against his chest, murmuring soft apologies.

"okay, okay. don't cry. i'll do what you want. i love you."

how they slipped out so naturally, as if he weren't planning on saying it in the first place, it surprised the both of you. but when you looked at him, eyes wide with both love and shock, he decided it was the right thing.

soft!sukuna didn't regret it at all.

because both for and to you, soft!sukuna was the sweetest, most gentle man you'd ever known.

all banner credits to @anitalenia and @dollywons .ᐟ

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach, but you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then, what became of you. I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

Archive.org: "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" by Isabel Fall

were you aware that the short story that got Isabel Fall bullied all the way off the internet and into fucking inpatient was truly brilliant? I was too grossed out by the twitter shitshow to read it when it came out and thus managed to only read it now. it was a Hugo finalist for a reason. I hope she can find it in herself to write again bc she's got really interesting and creative stuff to say. would recommend it if you haven't read it yet. 7726 words.

[weneeya]

touch starved w/ hinata, atsumu, sakusa, bokuto m.list | rules

note. omg i heard 2020 is back? guess i'm back with it then

Hinata as touching cheek to cheek

You always came to watch Hinata play, there was no exception to the rule. He was your lovely boyfriend, and obviously your favourite player. It was the first match of the season today, and you were in the front row to see him be as good as he always was. 

When his team won the game, you made your way through the crowd to join him and the rest of his teammates. You waved at Bokuto who saw you first, before your boyfriend turned around and yelled your name with a bright smile. You almost ran and jumped his open arms. 

The second you were in his arms, Hinata pressed his cheek against yours, making both of you chuckle a little. He loved doing this so much. It was a simple touch, leaving no room for imagination on your relationship with him, but without being too demonstrative. 

Hinata did not care, but you were more discreet than him, and he understood that you did not want your intimacy to be shown to the whole world like this. Pressing your cheeks together was the best way he found to keep being clingy to you in public. 

Atsumu as hiding his face in your neck

Everyone knew how much Atsumu loved to be seen, to have all the attention on him all the time. He was the biggest show-off you ever met, and sometimes you wondered how you ended up dating a guy like him. Until you saw the way he looked at you, and how needy he was between your arms when you two were alone. 

Today was no different. It was early in the morning and you were making breakfast for the two of you. Alone in the kitchen, you were softly humming to the song playing on the radio while cooking the eggs. You were stopped by two strong arms sliding around your waist to keep you in place, and a nose nuzzling against the skin of your neck. 

You giggled softly at the feeling, and one of your hands rested on his arm around you. It was too early for Atsumu to be awake, so you were not surprised to see him being so sleepy and touchy. 

“You should have stayed in bed,” you told him in a soft voice, and he grumbled something against your skin. 

“Missed ya…” You understood in his half said words, before you put the eggs on the side and turn off the gas. 

You slowly turned around to be facing him, but it did not last long, his face soon hidden back into your neck. You ran your fingers on the back of his neck, and he hid his face even more, if only it could be possible. It was those moments which made you remember why you loved this man so much.

Sakusa as feeling your pulse

Sakusa hated crowds, it was nothing new : and being a world famous volleyball player did not help at all. He despised them, but he could not simply avoid them all of the time. Thankfully, you were now by his side to help him get through this. 

It was an important meeting for the teams which were about to play a friendly game for both the public and the wellbeing of practices. The real problem was how many people were there for the encounter. Sakusa was in a pretty bad mood, and everyone had noticed it, especially his own teammates. After a quick talk, Hinata made his way to bring you there. 

You were now by your boyfriend’s side, holding his hand while talking to him to try to ease his poor mind. He was glancing here and there from time to time, but his attention slowly began to focus on you. You knew he was solely focusing on you when his fingers slowly moved down to rest on your wrist. 

Sakusa closed his eyes for a second, his touch on your wrist taking note of your calm pulse. It always soothed him down, knowing how relaxed you were next to him while he was a nervous wreck. He stayed like this until he felt his own pulse slowing down, before he looked back at you. 

You gave him a light smile, and he nodded as an answer, as his lips were hidden behind his mask. With that, you waved at him and left, the match about to start. He waved back at you before a light sigh escaped his lips. He would never be grateful enough for how much you were helping him all the time, with even the smallest details.

Bokuto as resting his head on your chest

It was safe to say that Bokuto could not wait until he finally got home to you. The man was tired from practice ; not physically, but mentally for sure. All he wanted to do was to spend time with his pretty girlfriend and care about nothing else but the comfort of your presence next to him. No surprise he almost ran away when the coach told him they could leave the gym. 

He probably never came back home so quickly before, and it almost surprised you who did not expect him to be here so soon. You were laying in bed, reading a book, when you heard the slam of the main door shutting. You did not have the time to move from your position, Bokuto was already in the bedroom. 

Before you could say anything, your boyfriend let his broad figure fall right on top of you. You gasped slightly for air, putting your book to the side so he would not destroy it. A smile dancing on his lips, he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on top of your chest. Eyes closed, he simply hummed softly in satisfaction. 

You ran your fingers through his messy hair, and it simply made him nuzzle even more against your chest. It was all he needed, your body pressed against his and nothing else around. Your chest was definitely his favorite pillow ; no wonder why you always ended up like this while laying down with him. 

You decided that it was perhaps the right time to take a break from your book and just relax for a moment. You kept playing with his hair while your free hand ran along the top of his back slowly. It didn’t take long before the two of you fell asleep like this, in the warmth of each other's embrace.

thank you for reading!!

[writingwisterias]

hi!! could you do an eras leon where he’s drunk but he’s in like a sillier mood and he gets like really clingy and stuff and just random stuff he would do?

-🪑 also THANK YOU for the fic about vulnerable leon it was so so good

🪑!!!

I'm glad you liked it! I hope you are doing well!

Warnings: Fluff, Drinking, Drunk Leon,

GN!Reader

RE2:

He's a sweetheart so when he gets drunk he's such a touchy feely mood

I love the no Apocalypse AU so let's say he went out with a few of his work mates to celebrate closing a case or something

He spends the entire time praising you and explaining how much he loves you that the guys actually get him to call you to get him

When you do arrive he's smiling like an idiot and following you instantly

He does lean on you as he walks, but also apologizing for crushing you with his weight

Complimenting you the whole time home, talking about how he wants to spends the rest of his life with you

Naming any pets you'll get in the future. He's planning it all out

When he wakes up he doesn't remember any of it, not until you say some of the things he said during the walk home

He's blushing and hiding his face in his hands embarrassed not looking forward to going back to work

RE4R:

Very clumsy

He's tripping on everything, walking into things. His spatial awareness has gone all together.

You need to keep an eye on him as well because hes prone to wandering, you'll turn around to talk to someone and then he's gone

Almost like a toddler

You might as well get one of those backpacks with a lead so he can't go too far

When he hugs you or kisses you there's no Co ordination

He's aiming for your lips and gets your nose or cheek

Nudging your face as he tries to bring you into a hug

Infinite Darkness:

He's a jealous one

Will start fights with literally everyone if they look at you for too long

Once punched Chris because he bought you a drink to be nice.

He's very touchy, often groping you as a display

You have to swat his hand away a lot depending on the event

Rough kissing when you get home to try and get you into the mood but then passes out

You'll wake up with a hungover Leon making you breakfast as an apology for being so rough swearing that he won't do it again

Damnation:

Does not stop cracking jokes at any chance he gets

It gets to the point the only thing that comes out of his mouth is another shitty joke

You don't mind, sometimes they are actually funny but most of the time it's just cringe

He's smiling though so thats a plus

If he's drinking at home with you, he's got the music up loud like you can't hear a thing and neither can he

RE6:

Sleepy drunk

He prefers to drink at home for the reason so he can just get drunk and then fall asleep cuddling you

Either sat next to you with an arm round the back of the couch, his head thrown backwards with loud af snores

Or he's crushing you like dead weight

If you are out, you know it's time to go when he starts doing slow blinks

You have to keep talking to him in the cab or he will fall asleep and then you can't get him out

Vendetta:

He always gives me the impression that you can never tell he's been drinking or is drunk unless he's tried

I don't think he would fall asleep all the time but the drink has more effect and he is sillier

Probably touchy, like he doesn't want to let you go.

He's clinging you to the entire time. At home he's got his arms around you as you cook

If you want a bath well make room he's joining you

He's vulnerable so expect lots of talks of how he's feeling but only because he trusts you

He doesn't want you to fix him he just wants you there

He knows he'll get back up eventually, he has to

Death Island:

Actually really good at dancing

Like he starts off with a small jig in the bar and then by the time he's home you are being dragged around the living room in a swirl of laughter and music

It's not the right music ofc, and he does stumble

But he has enough rhythm to pass as it being a decent attempt

Also super flirty, giving you one liners, winks and large smirks

He also encourages you to drink more, like you can barely keep up with him

He's already bought you another drink before you finished the last one

[cjlouwho]

Trust

Yesterday, you guys voted on this poll and decided that Buck and Tommy should have an argument over trust. Here is that argument:

“You don't trust me.”

“Evan, I-”

“I can't believe it,” he huffed, shaking his head. “After all this time y- you don't trust me.”

“I never said that, Evan. You're not listening to me.”

“I told you it was a mistake. Told you he misheard me and once I pushed him away he was embarrassed and very apologetic about it.”

“I still shouldn't have heard it from him!” Tommy exclaimed, his tone causing Buck to step back in surprise. In their three years together he'd only heard Tommy raise his voice one other time, and that was when he was kicking his own dad out of their home.

“I told you, Tommy, I didn't see a real reason to tell you. Vinny's new to your station, he came to the bar late, and he didn't know we were together. We were talking about dung beetles and then he asked if he could kiss me. I said 'I've got a boyfriend' but he thought I said-”

“'If you'll be my boyfriend', I know the story, Evan. I heard it from Vinny while we were in the sky! Nearly crashed the damn bird!” Tommy ran a hand over his face. “You really didn't think, for a second, that maybe you should have told me about this?”

“N- Not really. It didn't mean anything. I want- wanted to protect you.”

“Ha!” Tommy laughed bitterly. “Protect me? Why do I need protection, Evan? I'm not a delicate flower. If you would have told me, I wouldn't have been caught off guard and then grounded for the rest of my shift. I could have talked to Vinny about it right as work started so he didn't go five hours thinking I was playing a psychological game with him!”

“I don't really know what you want from me, Tommy! I told you I was trying to do the right thing. I didn't cheat on you, it was a misunderstanding. You're blowing everything out of proportion and making i- it seem like I just hide stuff from you.”

“Can you blame me?!” Tommy asked. “You literally just said you wanted to protect me! So yeah, I do wonder what else you've hidden from me while using protection as an excuse.”

“There's nothing!” Buck yelled, tossing his hands up in the air. “God, this is going nowhere!”

“You're right about that.” Tommy walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up his keys.

“W- Wait, where are you-”

“I'm just going to the garage, Evan. I need a minute to think.”

“We made a promise to never walk away from an argument, Tommy!”

“You broke that promise the night we made it!” Tommy reminded him, walking down the hall and slamming the garage door shut behind him.

*****

When Tommy walked back into the house he was overwhelmed by the scent of sweetness coming from the kitchen. He entered the room slowly.

“You're baking,” he said, his voice calm and measured.

Buck shrugged. Didn't even bother to look up from the measuring cup he was filling with flour. “Force of habit.”

“I didn't leave, Evan,” Tommy said, upset to know just how nervous Buck had to be to resort to baking. Even all these years later, baking was reserved for when he felt like his world was falling apart. “I just needed a minute.”

“Two hours,” Buck corrected. “You were out there for two hours. I heard your truck start and I didn't...” His voice trailed off as he set the nearly empty container of flour on the counter.

“I was working on my engine,” Tommy explained. “Truck's been s-”

“Slow to start this week,” Buck finished with a nod. “I remember.”

Tommy walked around the counter to get closer to Buck. He placed a gentle finger under his chin and guided Buck to look up at him. “It was never about me not trusting you, Evan,” he explained. “I know you didn't want him to kiss you; he told me that. I just wish I would've heard it from you. I was caught off guard. You're my partner. I should have heard it from you.”

Buck's eyes glistened as he stared at Tommy. Tommy could see he'd been crying. It broke his heart. “I know,” he conceded. “I should have told you. I just- I didn't want work to be awkward.”

“Oh, it's definitely awkward,” Tommy replied, which got a brief smile out of Buck. It felt like a victory.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Buck said. His voice was quiet, still a bit unsure. “And I'm not hiding things from you.”

“I know,” Tommy assured him with a nod. “I know. I overreacted. I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry too.”

They leaned in for a kiss at the same time, Buck closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of relief.

When Tommy pulled away, he kept Buck close, wrapping his arms around his waist. “It's a shame you can never be around anyone at the 217 ever again though,” he informed Buck playfully.

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, there was Lucy, me, and then Vinny. It's like you're a drug to that station. Everyone wants a bite of Evan.”

“Hate to break it to them,” Buck replied, his arms draping over Tommy's shoulders, “but you're the only one who gets a bite of Evan.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Not even Franks?”

“Isn't he the oldest firefighter in the LAFD?”

“Hes is,” Tommy confirmed. He pressed a chaste kiss to Buck's lips. “I know you like them older.”

“Hm,” Buck hummed, pretending to think it over. “No, sorry. You're stuck with me.”

Tommy smiled. “Good. I love you, Evan.”

“I love you too.”

After one more kiss, they let each other go. “So, the baking can be done now?” Tommy asked.

“Baking can be done. I was gonna make those caramel crunch cookies you love so much though.”

Tommy perked up at that. “Should we fight about something else so you'll still make them?”

Buck snorted out a laugh. “Get a new container of sugar from the pantry,” he ordered. “You can help.”

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach, but you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then, what became of you. I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

I know I’m probably in the minority here but the pool scene, Gideon giving Harrow a kiss at the juncture of nose and forehead , infinitely more romantic and tender than on the mouth for a moment like that. It was perfect.