#but the way the debate was framed (at least that I saw)

[master-gatherer]

I just remembered when I was in high school was also the big debate about having a morning prayer at school. Like people were arguing to have, in addition to the pledge of allegiance, to have like five minutes of group prayer before the school day starts in public school. And others were arguing to not have that, because it's public school and there's a separation of church and state, and also we shouldn't be taking time away from learning. And as a compromise, they were trying to have like a silent five minutes so that the kids that weren't religious could lay their heads down or w/e while the rest of the kids prayed.

Because, you know.

All the kids are super eager to pray, at all.

Especially teenagers. It wasn't like most teens were w/e on what church they went to except for the real hardcore religious ones that prayed regardless of school sanction or not.

[zepskies]

'Twas the Night...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean listens, sometimes when you least expect it. This year, Christmas begins to become something new for both of you.    

AN: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone! This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa gift for @eldritchlibertine! The idea is based on this request from @whichwitchwanda (a story prompted from the header image).

Word Count: 2.4K

Tags/Warnings: Fluff and more fluff! Christmas feels. ❤️

A door burst open, and your eyes raised from the page. You nearly dropped your book into your lap when you saw it—the wide, bristled top of an evergreen tree trying to shove its way through the door of the bunker.

Or rather, it only seemed that way.

All the way up at the top of the rod iron staircase, grumbled cursing and muttering and arguing filtered down to you in the common room, where you were leaning back in your seat with an old copy of Wuthering Heights. You sat up, an incredulous smirk beginning to curve your lips.

“Dean, it’s not gonna fit.” That was Sam, obviously. You’d recognize his testy bitching anywhere.

“You kiddin’ me? All that work I spent sawing this thing outta the ground, I’m gonna damn well make it fit. Come on, put your big boy pants on.”

The equally familiar gruff, grousing tone of your man’s voice almost made you snort. You set down the book on the table and debated whether you were going to get up and try to help, or let them hash it out. You were surprised they hadn’t called out for you yet.

After a few more seconds of listening to their frustrated huffing and puffing, you shook your head and got up. You reached the top of the stairs, and their sounds of irritated, breathless struggle became even clearer.

“Dean,” Sam protested.

“Shut up. I’ve almost got it…”

“You’re gonna break the damn frame—”

“Something tells me you didn’t get this thing at Home Depot,” you remarked.

There was a pause, and Dean called your name questioningly. He also sounded a bit embarrassed.

“Yep, I’m here, Chevy Chase,” you said, laughing as you grabbed the branches that were stuck in the doorway. You bent them at the angle the guys needed to get the whole thing inside, and all too quickly you had to step out of the way as Sam and Dean broke through the doorway with the rest of the tree.

Sam caught himself on the wall, while Dean threw a hand out to grasp at the railing of the stairs. You grabbed Dean’s arm to help steady him. Once he had his feet planted, he slung an arm around your waist and looked down on you with a satisfied smile—one that he then aimed at Sam.

“See? Told you it would fit.”

“Where did you even get this thing?” you asked. You eyed Dean in curiosity, even as you were helping him stream the lights around this seven-foot monstrosity. You’d also taken great delight in putting on some holiday music. Now, Frank Sinatra’s “White Christmas” was playing from a Bluetooth speaker on the War Room table.

Dean shot you a distracted smile as he worked in concentration, bringing a string of lights around the part of the tree that was closest to the wall. He handed off the other end to you, and you wrapped the line of multicolored lights around.

“Eh, there’s a nice bit of forest a few miles out of town,” he said. Your brows raised high. You’d suspected, of course, but you still shook your head with a smile.  

“You know you need a permit for that, right?” you said.

“I tried to tell him,” said Sam. He was on his way up the stairs, heading out back to the car to get the box of ornaments he and Dean bought at Walmart this morning along with the pretty multicolored lights, all while you were still sleeping.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother, but just kept focused on his task. Once he started something, he had to finish it, you noticed. And when he got into something, he was Mr. DIY, putting in his all. You liked watching the crunch between his brows, the set of his lips, the sureness of his hands while he mentally calculated what they were going to accomplish next.

Most of all, you liked the look of self-satisfaction when he was done, and happy with his finished product. It didn’t matter if he was tuning up the Impala, making a home-cooked meal for the three of you, or decorating a wild tree. That face was the same. 

“Illegally obtained tree aside,” you said, not bothering to temper your smile, “I thought you guys didn’t really celebrate Christmas. Or any holidays, for that matter.”

Dean gave you a small grin, though again, he seemed a little embarrassed. He freed one of his hands to scratch at the back of his head.

“Yeah, well…weren’t you the one who was talking about the Christmases you had growing up?” he said.

You blinked, your mouth gently falling open in surprise. That had been a couple weeks ago, when the first snow of December began to fall over Lebanon. Late that night, after settling into bed together, you’d turned towards him in his arms. Maybe it was the turn of the season making you nostalgic, but somehow the conversation drifted into you making a confession, about what you missed the most about your family.

Your parents had passed on, and your sister was distant. She had her own family and her own life, and she wanted to keep it far away from the things you hunted. You couldn’t blame her, even if the thought of her always pierced your heart.

Beyond than that, what you missed was the house where you grew up, small but cozy and lived in. You missed the smell of pine and cinnamon that filled the living room every day of December. You missed the nights you and your sister curled up by the fire late at night playing imaginary games, long after your parents’ had put you guys to bed. You missed your mother’s cooking, and helping her bake molasses cookies on Christmas Eve.

You missed togetherness, the feeling of warmth and safety.

You tilted your head at Dean.

“Yeah, but…” you trailed, not willing to finish the thought as another suspicion grew in your mind.

“Just thought we could do some of that this year for you, that’s all,” he said. And he shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. His hands were busy untangling some lights. “Matter of fact, we could all use the time off.”

You couldn’t help but pause. Your breathing shallowed, and no matter how much you fought it, tears stung in your eyes. You bit your lip to try and hold it all at bay. When Dean glanced up at you, he had to do a double take. It made you smile, despite your slightly blurring vision.

“Hey, what—”

You dropped your end of the lights and went to him. You raised up on your toes so you could wrap your arms around his neck in a warm hug. Dean uttered a surprised huff, but his arms came around your waist and gathered you closer. He soon realized he was still holding onto the tangle of lights, and he hung them on a nearby tree branch for now. His smile overtook his surprise and crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“I love you. You know that right?” Your voice was muffled in his neck, but he heard you well enough. He chuckled and slipped a soothing hand up and down your back.

“I do know, actually,” he said, his voice warm and teasing.

A giggle escaped you. You tugged on his short hair in retaliation, making him chuckle.

“Hey,” he warned, but it had heat of a different kind. His hand began venturing down to your ass, but before he could do some retaliating of his own, a door swung open and Sam came down the stairs hefting a couple different boxes of ornaments.

He raised a brow, though he smiled at the way you and his brother were entwined. You half pulled away to nod at Sam, sniffling at quickly wiping at your face. Dean dried some of the wetness from the corner of your eye with a curled finger. You glanced up at him and couldn’t help blushing, smiling, despite your embarrassment.

Dean still had an arm wrapped around your waist as you peered over at the boxes Sam set down near the tree. One of them caught your attention and made your eyes widen.

“Oh my God. They’re Scooby Doo themed!”

The rest of the afternoon was spent decorating the tree with Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby echoing throughout the common room. After you made a trip to the grocery store, soon the smell of cinnamon, brown sugar and rich molasses joined the scent of pine throughout the entire bunker.

It was a Christmas Eve well spent. The night was filled with a rewatch marathon of Home Alone and Christmas Vacation. You agreed to Dean throwing in Elf into the mix, as long as you got to watch Love Actually, and The Holiday with Jude Law. Dean complained more than Sam about your girly chick-flicks, but he became just as invested in Colin Firth pouring his heart out in mangled Portuguese to Aurelia as you were, if less teary-eyed.

When The Holiday came around though, he was half asleep as he laid sprawled across your lap and the couch. Your nails gently massaging his scalp nearly did him in, along with Sam’s heavy-ass pour of eggnog. It was tradition, at this point.

By the end of the movie marathon, you were the one snoozing from your corner of the couch, your hand still in Dean’s hair.

He carried you to bed that night, your eyelids heavy as you teetered back and forth between slumber and the waking world. At least you were already in your pajamas. All he had to do was tuck you under the sheets on your side of the bed, then slip in behind you afterwards.

His arm draped around your waist, and you curled towards him, half on instinct as you let out a deep breath. Dean smiled as you settled against his chest. Your soft snores soon greeted his ears. Only then did he let himself rest…

Just not for long.

You woke earlier than you planned to in the morning, mainly because your man pillow was no longer beside you. You reached out a hand and found Dean’s side of the bed empty and cold, the covers pulled back. With a frown, you opened bleary eyes and checked your phone. It was around the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m.

What the hell was Dean doing up at the crack of dawn?

Unless… You paused as your memory served you a grim reminder. Unless he’d had a rough night, kept up by memories and dreams he didn’t always want to talk to you about. It wouldn’t be the first time he came back to bed after a few hours with the heady smell of bourbon on him.

You got up with a sigh, rolling your neck as you did so. You just wanted to check on him. Maybe you could even persuade him to come back to bed.

You threw on a sweater over your pajamas and some fluffy slippers Sam bought you for your birthday—all to shield you from the bunker’s chilly air and ice-cold floors. You’d have to remind Dean to check on the heater.

You padded out of the bedroom and down the long hall…and became distracted by the Christmas tree in the common room. It really was beautiful all lit up. The lights softly flashed in green, red, purple, and gold. Traditional red and gold ornaments hung beside the Scooby Doo themed ones, with Fred and Daphne front and center, along with the rest of the gang scattered throughout.

And then you found Dean.

“Damn it…friggin’ piece of shit ribbon…” 

Dean’s muttering drew your attention to his hunched figure kneeling at the base of the tree. Your head tilted in wonder as your face broke out into a smile. What the hell is he doing? You tried to be light on your feet as you approached him from behind. Peering over his shoulder, you could almost see what he was trying do with some shiny red wrapping paper and a big golden bow.

Your heart swelled. Had he really gotten you and Sam something for Christmas too? He didn’t need to get you anything…

Dean’s hunter reflexes must’ve been tingling though, because suddenly he sat up straighter and looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw you standing there in your pajamas, arms crossed over your robe.

He actually jolted, muttering a curse as he tried to cover up what he was doing.

“What’cha doin’, babe?” you asked. Your eyes gleamed with amusement.

Dean tried to get up, but his foot slipped on a stray ribbon. He careened back onto his ass and knocked into the tree. Not only did its branches poke into his face and arm, making him wince, but he managed to displace a couple of ornaments, sending them tumbling to the floor by his hand. He grunted and raised up onto his forearms. For the pièce de résistance, that lovely golden bow landed right in his lap.

With raised brows, you took in the sight of your man—all bedraggled and looking sheepish (and adorable) as hell. Your hand went up to cover your mouth, but you were unable to quiet the giggle that bubbled up and escaped your lips.

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey.”

You glanced down at the bow, almost perfectly placed in his lap.

“Hey,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile.

You lowered down to kneel in front of him, and you took his face in your gentle hands before you leaned in for a sweet, sensuous kiss. Dean breathed into it. Your eyes shut along with his as you savored the moment, and him.

When you parted, your smile remained as you fingered the shiny edge of the bow. Dean began to smirk as well, despite how warm his face had gotten. His big hands found their way to your hips, welcoming you when you took a comfortable seat over his thighs.

You whispered against his lips, “I already know which present I’m gonna unwrap first.” 

AN: Lol there we go, a cheeky ending for you! Let me know if you liked this! ❤️💚

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[ninguitar]

୨୧　𝓞FF-LIMITS!　˒˒　SL

─── ﹙🎧﹚your sister, daniela, has always told her friends to back off of you, no matter what, telling them you're supposedly "off-limits." however, while intoxicated, you and sophia kiss each other, leaving tension burning between the two of you—until the next time you visit your family alongside dani's members.

pairing. sophia laforteza x f!r genre. fluff wc. 2.5k+ notes. 4 @secretcessy >< & karina from aespa mention + for the lore dani isn't an only child 🤗!!!! made ts way too long oops. ( MASTERLIST )

now playing ⋆ les by childish gambino

LYING ON YOUR BED OF YOUR DORM ROOM shared with one of your friends, incessant notifications blaring from your phone abruptly interrupts you from your nap. you huff at the irritating sound, unlocking your phone swiftly, only to be met by series of notifications from your sister.

fuck.

god was she oddly skilled at being annoying and bothersome. raising your eyebrows, you rub your eyes, trying to focus on her texts, as they merely appeared to be random blobs of words in-between. your thumbs hover over the keyboard, debating on how to respond to her.

plopping your phone on your bed, you huff, sitting up in a fetal position. "guess it's time to start packing," you murmur under your breath, before getting up.

you knew daniela was right—per usual, as much as you hated to admit it. it'd been at least a few months since you last saw her and roughly a year since both you and daniela were with your family at one time. maybe it wouldn't be so bad being back home with daniela.

grunting, you begrudgingly pull your closet door open, dragging whichever luggage you saw first. accidentally slamming the closet door too loudly to your roommate's taste, you hear words in scorn being hollered from across the dorm.

"stop closin' the doors so loudly!" you hear your roommate snort, as she leans against the door frame, a toothy grin tugging the corners of her lips.

"fine, whatever, jimin," you mutter in response, rolling your eyes, as the korean girl watches your face distort into one of disdain, making her giggle.

"what are you even packing for? the break just started," karina raises her eyebrows, "you like, never have anything to do for break." she teases, her arms crossing against her chest, before she saunters over to you.

"got forced by dani to visit our family," you shrug, as karina clicks her tongue, shaking her head.

"you need to pack better; you're folding your clothes too big to fit enough outfits into your suitcase," she critiques, a chuckle escaping her breath, as her hands reach over to some of your clothes, folding them compactly.

you nudge her playfully, "c'mon! give me a break, i just got told i have to visit by dani!" you dramatically sigh, leaning against the wall.

"at least she's paying for your flight, right?" karina shrugs, as her movements are precise while helping you pack, nudging you on the shoulder, "maybe you'll meet somebody new while visiting—somebody who'll deal with your impulsive decisions," she teases.

to your surprise, rather than the visit consisting of you and daniela, it was the two of you and her members. you had only realized once you entered your parents' house, a luggage being dragged by your hand, and there were five other girls besides daniela sat on the couch, all chattering.

it wasn't like you weren't acclimated to hanging out with them; they were somewhat your friends too, but mainly through daniela. the only girl you'd known out of the bunch was sophia—mainly because, the first time you guys partied together with dani and everybody else, all drunk and hammered, the two of you kissed.

to be truthful, you could remember that moment vividly, the memory still clear as day to you—the way her hands cupped your jaw all snug and secure, to the way a wide grin played on her face. and to be even more truthful, right after that moment, you held an irrevocable affinity for her, leaving you in an odd predicament.

you awkwardly wave, hoping sophia coincidentally forgot about that low moment in time, before dani suddenly gets up, parading you around.

you nudge the latina playfully, a groan erupting from her throat, as your eyebrows furrow, "when did you guys even arrive? it's only like 10 in the mornin'!"

"we just wanted to be early," she shrugs, her arms instantly reaching towards your luggage, "c'mon, i'll get you settled down! i have so much shit to tell you, y'know."

you nod, a giggle escaping your breath, as you let the latina lead you to your guys' old bedroom, while her members continued to chatter, teasing insults thrown every few moments.

your eyes scan across your old bedroom, a sigh driving from your lips "shit, it's been a while, hasn't it?" a sense of nostalgia hitting you, as you recall all the times you've argued with dani over your guys' room and who "owns" which side.

the blonde-haired girl nods, her arm wrapping around your neck to your shoulder, as she leans into you, mumbling, "yeah, it sure has been."

a giggle escapes your breath, as you unlock your suitcase, unpacking some of your clothes out. "where's mom and dad anyway?"

"they went grocery shopping—wanted to go all out this year since we're visiting at the same time with the rest, too," daniela meekly replies, as she helps you pack, a hint of a teasing smile playing on her face. pulling out a book, a series of laughs escapes her breath, "no fuckin' way!"

"what—i have studying to do 'cause you made me book a flight last minute!" you retaliate, nudging the girl playfully, as you huff.

"okay, fine, fine! that was uncalled for," daniela begrudgingly admits, as she continues to help you unpack.

while you two work on getting everything out of your luggage, dani drops random, interesting facts from drama that often leave your jaw dropped. at one point, you couldn't help but wonder where daniela gets all this information from. giggles escape your guys' room, bouncing off the walls.

"anyway, we plan on just hangin' out and stuff, then dinner with mom and dad," the latina lists out the agenda, as you two finish unpacking.

you nod, "good, good. just, y'know, i've barely met your friends."

"you'll like them—i can guarantee you that," dani chuckles, as she spots a gift-box with a small tag reading "for: daniela," sitting in the corner of your suitcase, a mischievous smile painting her face.

"no fuckin' way!" the latina exclaims, immediately pulling you in for a hug with her ring-clad hand holding firmly onto the gift-box, "seriously!"

you nod, a grin playing on your face, "what kind of sister would i be if i didn't wanna celebrate your new album!"

"you missed me, didn't you?" she teases, prodding at your cheek, as she flicks your forehead next. you retaliate, nudging her shoulder.

"as if, loser."

sprawled out on your bed with books accompanying you, you cradle a textbook in your lap, tapping against your sheets while fidgeting with your fingers. your head pounds with tension, as you card a hand through your hair.

fuck, in no shape or form were you gonna be able to read all of these pages in time for your finals.

you rub your temples before simultaneously reading over the textbook and typing in small summaries of each section on your laptop, humming to the hushed audio of your spotify in the background.

hearing your door click open, your head snaps to that direction, meeting a familiar face. in your sight stood sophia laforteza scanning you as well. you raise your eyebrows, confusion noticeably washing over your features.

"do you need anything?" you murmur, your voice barely audible, as your eyes scrutinize her features and attire, your demeanor now awkward—especially with the way she looked effortlessly drop-dead gorgeous.

heat subtly curls at your cheeks, as you wait for the filipino girl to answer, sophia equally as confused.

"sorry, i was trying to look for the bathroom, and dani said it was down the hall," sophia tries to explain, shifting her weight to one foot.

"yeah, 's further down the hall—a door down the hall, actually," you point to down the hall from your bed, before returning to your crammed-in studying habits.

"y/n, right?" the filipino asks, a small, awkward smile tugging at the corners of her lips. she leans against the door-frame, no longer meekly standing.

you nod, "mhm. didn't you need to go to the bathroom though?" you murmur, barely sparing the girl another glance.

sophia mumbles an inaudible curse under her breath. "you're right," she says flatly, before muttering out a swift apology and gingerly closing your door.

what a weird interaction, you thought. nonetheless, you presume on cranking open your textbook, huffing at seeing big blobs of texts that you felt disdain reading.

meanwhile, with sophia's back plastered against the bathroom wall, she grunts inaudibly under her breath, sinking down to the tiled floor. god, how could she be so infatuated by you, a girl who barely paid her any mind? the filipino girl could feel her head twisting with tension from your lack of response.

fuck was she crazily awestruck for you.

and so, for the next few days of the visit, sophia couldn't help but feel her self-control slipping rapidly, despite daniela's repetitive warning that you, in particular, were "off-limits."

the filipino girl tosses and turns while lying on the guest room's bed, eventually settling back to her back plastered against the sheets, staring up at the ceiling. constantly, the same embarrassing moment of you two kissing while drunk taints her mind, flickering in it every few seconds. rubbing her temples and eyes in hopes every single little thought including you would dissipate, she sits up.

"she's your best friend's sister—what are you doing?" the thought soon sounding like a bunch of random words strung together.

looking to her sides, sophia notices the rest were all knocked out, hushed snores escaping their lips. to her left, lara and manon were fast asleep, while to her right, megan and yoonchae were sound asleep as well, their laptop still blaring cartoons.

the filipino girl takes one last look around, before she stood up, gingerly opening and shutting the door. her eyes scan the hallways, as she tip-toes to your room.

you hear faint, soft knocks against your wooden door, and crinkling your eyes almost like crescent moons, you reluctantly get up. cracking the door open just a bit, your eyes widen at the sight of the filipino girl standing.

"jesus—it's 1 in the mornin'," you whisper-shout, as you open the door completely, shock and frustration littering your featured. you motion your hands forwards and backwards, beckoning the girl to rush in.

"my bad, pretty," her newfound confidence makes your heart skip, as your cheeks flush. she gives you teasing glances, her slight giggle reaching your ears.

in disbelief, you mumble, "what—"

"please? i know we kissed, when we were drunk; don't tell me we didn't," the filipino girl desperately whispers, her gaze softening at your lips. throwing you an ear-to-ear smile, sophia's eyes flicker to your shoulder, a subtle, non-verbal signal, as you nod.

her arms entangle themselves around your waist, earning a muffled curse from you. her fingers trace your back gently, almost cautious to not be too prying towards you.

"just, a few seconds longer," sophia whispers against your ear, and you couldn't help but feel your resolve crumble, knowing that you, yourself, wanted the filipino girl to stay, too.

"we- we're going to get caught; dani's gonna know you're down here," you warn, cautious to get caught with your sister's best friend in your bedroom. however, your words deeply betray your actions, as your arms were on autopilot, wrapping around the girl's neck.

"what's so bad 'bout that? c'mon, ease up—just a bit," sophia coaxes, her touch gentle and soft against your waist, as she draws patterns.

"is it really worth the risk?" you tilt your head, barely able to hold back a chuckle at how careless the filipino girl was. your eyes linger on her face, making her softly hum.

sophia sighs before grinning, "you're worth more than getting scolded by dani," she drawls out, her face full of apprehension and enthusiasm, so much that you wonder how her words make your knees weaken a bit.

she had you pressing your lips together, fighting back between a smile like a high school girl. one of her hands moves to interlace itself with one of yours, the delicate feeling of her thumbs brushing up against your knuckles leaving you melted.

"maybe, i guess you're right," you admit begrudgingly, pausing before continuing, "but- i mean, don't you think 's a little reckless? you're gonna be busy promoting with the girls at one point."

the filipino girl meekly shrugs, before swiftly mumbling, "it's worth the fun—you know that, and i know that. promise i'll have time for you."

the sincerity laced in her words only made your blood rush and chains of shivers rush down your spine. maybe—just maybe—this wasn't just a fleeting moment to her, not just something to have fun with, and was more so, something sophia wanted to hold onto, for eternity.

"what if we're not ready? what if-" you murmur, making sophia break into a small pout at your words, before she cuts you off.

"i could never be willing to let you go anyway," the filipina whispers, searching for reassurance in your gaze. she nods, her thumb brushing against your cheek, as you eased under her touch.

"and besides, there's just somethin' about you—something i can't figure out. yet, it makes everything with you special."

and for the first time in your life, you were rendered speechless by her pure bluntness—the way she said everything that could make heat curl at your cheeks even more, in meek sentences.

"fuck, sophia," you mumble against the crook of the filipina's neck, before continuing, "i- fine, just, we can't tell dani—not yet."

sophia gives you a slight nod, as her hands find its way to your hair, entangling them, "yeah- yeah, whatever you want—just tell me your boundaries."

locking eyes with her, the prominent sense of familiarity and comfort in her gaze makes your knees buckle, the girl practically giving you heart-eyes.

"can i?" the filipina asks, her voice light-hearted and gentle. you nod, almost eagerly before sophia leans in, closing the gap between you two. her plush lips immediately crash against yours, capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. it was as though she was ready for this moment—ready to gain redemption from the first kiss.

you shudder against her kisses, as you guys pull away—only to catch your guys' breath. before you could continue, a muffled, low voice blares through the hallways.

"sophia? are you still in the kitchen?" daniela calls out, trying to be as quiet as possible to not disturb the rest. the latina couldn't help but be suspicious and skeptical due to how long sophia supposedly spent at the kitchen.

both of you still in your movements, her hands resting on her chest to gently push her away. a cheeky smile plays on sophia's grin before she whispers against your ears.

"that's my cue to go," she plants a haste kiss against your cheek, then to your forehead gently. her eyes scan your waist that was snaked with her arms around it, as she reluctantly slides them off—the girl evidently disappointed at having to leave so soon.

"bye, pretty."

we're kissing in the bathroom, girl, and, uh

i hope nobody catch us

taglist. ୨ৎ @lararajjj @kisshae @sed7ction @yeetaberry127 @ilomilosblue

@jellaaa @artrizzler19 @falling-intoo-deep

[cardansriddle]

Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)

Summary: Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps the fates were mocking him. He had not meant to venture into the little coffee shop and he had most definitely not meant to return. But he kept coming back and the waitress kept putting sugar packets near his coffee every damn time.

Warnings: Tom gets possessive halfway through so it's pretty tame for him. not proofread. oh also self-indulgent crime & punishment debate (got a lil carried away).

A/N: 5.5k words but it's kinda mehh. to the person who requested this, i hope you enjoy it at least a little &lt;3

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom felt as if he was a solitary figure in a world hushed by the winter's harsh embrace. With each step he took away from the desolate building of grey against the pristine canvas of winter, he felt lighter. He did not cast a look back towards the orphanage looming behind him, instead focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet as they led him further into the dark street cloaked in a thick layer of snow.

The wizard knew if he spent another moment in that cursed place he would have lashed out and killed someone, so he had hastily thrown his coat and emerald scarf around himself before slamming the door shut behind him. 

Two more years. He thought to himself. Then he would be out and would never be obligated to return again. Perhaps he would even burn the place to the ground if his plans worked out in his favour. 

The air was crisp, and his breath materialized in front of him with each exhale. His eyes quickly scanned the narrow empty alley for a suitable quiet place where he could pass his time. There was nothing interesting, except for the tiny bookstore nestled in the corner of the street that emitted a warm, golden light through its window. Tom quickly decided it would do, and he strode towards the place with purpose. A small bell chimed as he entered the place, which he quickly realised was a bookstore with a cosy coffee shop tucked inside. 

He inhaled the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of weathered books. Before he could lose himself entirely in the intoxicating symphony of scents, a sudden, loud thud echoed from behind the counter, jolting him from his reverie.

"Blimey!" someone cursed, their voice slicing through the tranquillity. Tom found himself rooted to the spot, curiosity piqued, as a figure suddenly emerged from underneath the counter.

It was a girl. Unabashedly, his eyes traced the lines of her features, noting the delicate curve of her jaw and the cascade of hair that framed her face. He assumed she was around his age if not younger and he stared at the girl as she rubbed her head, wincing when she hit a particularly soft spot before she realised that she was not alone in the shop. She froze like a deer caught in the headlights and he watched as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. 

Tom, still an observer, saw more than just the blush; he discerned the subtleties of her response, the way her eyes momentarily widened before seeking refuge elsewhere, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her knitted cardigan.

She attempted to compose herself and met his eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sir. How may I assist you?" She asked cheerfully, resisting the urge to duck her head down to avoid his intense stare.

He crossed the small distance to the counter. "I'd like a coffee. Black."

"No sugar?" she inquired, to which Tom raised a single brow. Her blush deepened as she quickly averted her eyes from his face.

"Right, of course. You may take a seat while I prepare this for you." With a nod, she hurried to fulfil his request, leaving Tom alone with the lingering scent of coffee and old books that were now intertwined with a pleasant smell of vanilla and sweet— 

It was her perfume, he realised with a start.

He hastily removed his coat and scarf before plopping down on the nearest armchair. His gaze remained fixed on the girl, absorbed in the rhythm of her practised motions as she prepared his drink, her movements seemingly both effortless and comforting. There was an almost lazy grace to her actions and he continued to watch as she sang under her breath so softly if he had not been staring so intensely, he would not have picked up on it. 

He wondered how he had never noticed this place before. He had been passing through this little street for as long as he could remember but for some reason, he had only stumbled upon it today. His sharp eyes darted around, instinctively searching for traces of magic, half-expecting the discovery of a hidden passage to the wizarding world but he quickly realised the place was undeniably, disappointingly muggle. 

Muggle.

He tore his gaze away from the girl at the mental reminder of what she was. He fished out a book from his bag and opened it to occupy his mind. 

The subtle shuffle of her approaching steps drew his attention back to the present, and he met her gaze as she placed the steaming cup of coffee before him. A sugar packet sat innocently beside it. His eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before lifting coldly to meet hers.

She, however, was undeterred by the intensity of his glare. “In case you change your mind.” She smiled at him softly before turning on her heel and walking back.

His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, and then, almost involuntarily, it dropped to the innocuous sugar packet.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom did not know why he had returned. Truthfully, he had not even noticed his feet had led him here until he was in front of the familiar wooden door that led into the coffee shop. Perhaps he had thought more than he should’ve about the disgustingly soft smile of that girl for the last five months. She was an insolent muggle, yet here he was, walking into the place as if he had never left. 

The seasons had blurred since he had last been here. Winter had long surrendered to the warmth of summer. He had to spend at least a month in the orphanage, and he was hoping Malfoy would invite him over for the rest of the summer. 

The place was just as he remembered it. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations. He faltered only slightly when he took notice of the girl behind the counter, already staring at him. She had not changed much. Her face was the same, less pale perhaps, but the same, nonetheless. The oversized knitted sweater that once enveloped her had been replaced by a little white sundress, and his gaze involuntarily lingered on the exposed smooth skin.

“Welcome back!” She greeted him cheerfully, and he was not surprised she remembered him. “What can I get you?”

“Black coffee,” he replied curtly

She nodded as if she was expecting it. "Coming right up." Gently shutting her book, she gracefully moved towards the coffee machine. Tom's eyes couldn't help but trail to the volume she had been reading, and to his pleasant surprise, it was Dostoyevsky. He had not pegged her as someone who would enjoy Russian literature, with its weighty and morally morbid themes. In his mind, she seemed more likely to be a Jane Austen enthusiast, with her intricately written romances and flowery prose.

“It’s 'Crime and Punishment'." He suddenly heard her soft voice declare, and he looked away from the book to give his attention to the girl. Then feeling as if she had said something silly, she blushed and looked away quickly. "Though I'm sure you figured that. I just wondered why you look so surprised." 

He replied before he could tell himself not to. "I did not imagine you as someone who would enjoy this." 

Emboldened at his words, she turned to face him, a hand casually resting on her hip as she sported a cheeky smile. "Am I to presume you imagine me often?"

His sharp inhale was audible as he absorbed the unexpected shift in her demeanour. He had not expected this shy, timid girl to tease him so boldly. She was a little vixen.

But he did not give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. A lazy raise of his brow was the extent of his acknowledgement before his gaze wandered towards the rows of bookshelves, feigning indifference. "Do you have another copy? Perhaps I shall like to reread this evening."

She frowned, walking over towards the table he had occupied last time to set his coffee down. He grimly took notice of the sugar packet placed near it. "I'm afraid not. But you can have mine." 

"No, that is quite alri—" He began to decline but she had already crossed the small distance between them and was holding out the thick book. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers closed around the object, careful to avoid touching hers. 

The girl smiled and walked away before he could even say thanks. Not like he was going to. 

Settling back into the soft armchair, he opened the book only to freeze at the sight of a name scribbled on the front page and he knew it belonged to her. The wizard rolled the name around in his mind and determined that it suited her. He stared at her name for a minute longer before turning the page and delving into the content of the book. 

He had been so immersed in the story that he had not noticed how the time had passed. The gradual hush of the coffee shop's ambient sounds finally penetrated his concentration, and he distinctly heard the girl approaching him. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're closing in five minutes." She looked at the book in his hands. "You may return it once you're done." 

He hummed and looked down at where he had stopped. 

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something. 

Tom found himself caught in the silent narrative of this stranger's presence.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He returned the next day.

She looked up to see him enter, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up. 

Tom placed the book on the counter. 

"You finished it in one day?"

He shrugged. "I'm a fast reader." 

She gave him a small smile, turning to make his black coffee before he could ask for it. "Every time I reread it it takes me a few days." She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The usual?"

He nodded. "The usual." He debated whether or not to voice his next question, and decided one conversation with the girl would not hurt.

"Why do you read it so often?"

"Each time I find new details that make Raskolnikov's character more complex. Each time I discover these small little things I missed the last time I read it becomes so much better. Plus I enjoy his moral dilemma."

He hummed, his curiosity piqued. He took his usual seat and watched as she brought his coffee and set it down in front of him. "Enlighten me." He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She hesitated only for a second before taking a seat. 

"Raskolnikov is obviously a complex character. His actions are driven by a desire for power and superiority, a belief that he is exempt from conventional morality. However, one could argue that his internal struggles and eventual remorse suggest a more nuanced exploration of morality." 

Tom furrowed his brows. "I see him as a product of his environment, a desperate man driven to extremes by the harsh circumstances he faced. His morality shifts to the other side of the spectrum." 

She cocked her head to the side, and he could see her getting slightly frustrated. "But morality is not just a spectrum; it's a complex interplay of values, societal norms, and personal convictions. Raskolnikov's guilt stems from the clash between his actions and the intrinsic moral compass within him. It's the consequence of recognizing the weight of one's choices."

He scoffed before he could stop himself. "Morality is subjective. What is right for one may not be right for another. Raskolnikov was weak and he was an idiot. Guilt is a useless emotion and it is for the weak."

Her expression remained unwavering. "But perhaps it's that recognition of guilt that separates the morally discerning from those who lack empathy. The fact that you can't comprehend his guilt doesn't make it foolish. It makes it human."

Tom's eyes narrowed a glint of impatience in his gaze. "Human or not, guilt is a hindrance. It's a sentiment for those too feeble to rise above their actions. If I were to make a difficult choice, I would do it without hesitation, without remorse." 

He only realised the slip of his tongue after the words left his mouth. He stilled, gauging her reaction yet her response was measured but firm. "Raskolnikov's guilt is a testament to his humanity, his ability to grapple with the consequences of his choices. It's what sets him apart from those who operate without remorse." 

"But—"

"So what you're saying is you would kill and feel no remorse?" She cut him off.

Yes.

"You do not understand." He did not intend his tone to be so harsh, yet the words left his mouth coldly. She visibly withdrew and nodded stiffly. "Right. Enjoy your coffee."

He opened his mouth to say something but realised for the first time in his life he did not know what to say. 

He was left staring at the cursed sugar packet she had left near his coffee again.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He did not return the next day. Nor the day after. Or after.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Two weeks passed with no sign of him.

And then she saw him step into the coffee shop. He walked in with determination. He walked up to the counter, meeting her gaze with an intensity that mirrored the unspoken tension between them. "I'd like a black coffee," he said, his tone even, though a hint of something lingered beneath the surface. 

She nodded, her expression composed but guarded. As she prepared the coffee, the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Her usual cheerful smile was notably absent. The absence struck him, and he realised he had enjoyed her smiles.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, there was a palpable pause. He glanced at the sugar packet, a subtle acknowledgement of the lingering disagreement. Without a word, he took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he poured the sugar into his coffee. 

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering, before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He returned the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of summer.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

The next time he stepped into the familiar place, winter had covered the city with a snowy blanket once again. It had been a year since he first discovered this little place. And he had not seen his little waiter since he left for Hogwarts in September. 

When he walked in, her eyes lit up visibly. "Hi!" She waved at him with a bright grin. 

"Hello." He greeted as he unwrapped his scarf and settled in his usual seat. In a matter of minutes, she was bringing him his usual order. She was back to wearing her warm knitted sweaters. "How did you enjoy the book?"

"Oscar Wilde never disappoints," he said. She hummed in agreement, pleased at his words. He watched as her hands dropped to fidget with the bottom of her sweater. "You wish to ask me something." He stated. "Ask."

"Do you study in a boarding school?"

Tom hesitated only for a moment before replying. "Yes."

"Oh. Well, that explains the months of not showing up."

"Were you expecting me?" He teased her with an amused smirk, taking delight in the way her cheeks reddened. 

"I was just wondering that is all," she admitted, a hint of curiosity peeking through. Tom observed her, noting the return of the timid, shy girl from their first encounter. It amused him how a few teasing remarks could momentarily whisk away her fiery boldness. He couldn't help but wonder what it would take to awaken it once again.

"And do you wonder about me often, little vixen?" he added, a playful glint in his eyes.

She blushed harder at the nickname but then as if a thought had struck her, she straightened and Tom watched as she visibly mustered up her courage. "I actually was wondering your name."

He bristled, but she must have not noticed because she continued. "I suppose I have not given you mine either." She mused out loud and announced her name to him. "But I thought it bizarre that considering all the time we've talked we never got around to that. Friends who do not each other's names." The girl laughed at the last notion and only then she realised that Tom had remained unnervingly quiet throughout the exchange. She raised her eyes from the frayed edges of her sweater, and the sight almost made her take a step back. His eyes had darkened, and she could have sworn she saw them flash red. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his gaze. 

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, an ominous tension permeating the air as he advanced towards her with every word. "We are not friends. You dare to think I would be friends with the likes of you?" His words were sharper than the keenest of blades, cutting into her with merciless precision. "Foolish, little girl," He spat out before grabbing his things and storming out of the place. As the door closed behind him, the little coffee shop seemed to exhale, the echoes of his harsh words lingering in the hushed aftermath.

She stood frozen in her place, helpless against the storm of emotions and the tears that began to veil her vision. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom fumed for months after their last encounter. How dare the ignorant muggle insinuate that they were friends? He scarcely considered his Knights of Walpurgis as his friends, and she thought she would just appoint herself the title? Who did she think she was?

"Mate, you alright? You've been unresponsive for a while." Malfoy nudged him slightly, attempting to draw his attention back to the present.

Tom made a noise of acknowledgement before mentally shaking the image of his little waiter— no, not his, he berated himself— from his mind. 

But no matter how he tried, he could not. He could not just banish her from his thoughts. He knew a part of him, a rather embarrassingly large part of him enjoyed her company, her passion, her conversations— just her. 

And there, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, lay her damned book— a taunting reminder of her. The temptation to burn it, to obliterate any remnants of her from his life, danced on the edge of his thoughts. He had shoved away, out of sight if only just to save himself the fury, the anger, (the longing).

He wondered if she was going through the same turmoil as him. He hoped she was. She had no right to make him feel this way and get away with it unscathed. 

But she was too enticing to give up. He did not know what it was about her. She was a muggle, an ordinary, plain girl working at a forgotten little cafe. Sure, she liked books, but so did a lot of other people. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of other girls. But none could even come close to stirring his emotions as she did.

Perhaps it was the ease with which she conversed with him. Or the entirely too cheery smiles. Or her endearing knitted sweaters— though he secretly favoured the sundresses.

He, of course, knew what it was. He had tried to deny the idea to himself, but there was no escaping it. Tom had never been able to be unequivocally authentic with another individual before. From his early childhood, he refused to allow anyone close to him. He never lowered his walls and rejected anything that would yield a genuine connection. It was refreshing with her. He had no cause to uphold a curated facade.

Had she not been a muggle, he would entertain the thought of her bewitching him. He would have been convinced the girl put some spell on him or slipped a potion into his drink. 

It was maddening. 

She was maddening.

He sighed upon realising that he had spiralled again thinking of her. He needed to return the book, and maybe that would ease his mind. Perhaps once he was rid of her possession, she would not haunt him anymore. (Though he knew he was only trying to reassure himself with the last thought.)

As summer loomed around the corner, it felt both too distant and too imminent, mirroring the paradox of his tangled emotions.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

The sound of her laugh rang out before he could even close the door behind him. His head snapped up so fast it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. But there she was, his little waiter, chuckling delightfully as some boy spoke lowly from behind the counter. Chuckles escaped her lips, and she bit down on her lip in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter, her hands deftly at work preparing a drink. Despite her efforts, laughter bubbled forth once more, forcing her to set the cup down to avoid any potential spills.

An immediate surge of anger coursed through him. Who was this boy? What business did have with her? What right did he have to elicit such genuine laughter from her? (Most importantly, how dare she replace him?)

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to gather himself into some semblance of a composed, unaffected man that he most definitely was not at that moment. With a loud, purposeful cough, he sought to catch her attention.

She spun around, the practised smile reserved for customers settling onto her face as she readied herself to serve him. However, the smile swiftly vanished the moment her doe-like eyes locked onto him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights as she stared at him, wide eyes roving over his face as if to confirm that he was really standing there, in front of her, and was not a figment of her imagination. 

Because despite their last encounter, despite the anger, and the hurt she had felt, she kept hoping he would return. She kept imagining him standing there, with his ridiculously fancy scarf as he spewed out an apology. She had delved so deep into her fantasies involving him that now that he was actually there, she did not what to do or to say. Her tongue was tied, and her brain was fogged. What was she supposed to say?

It seemed he decided to grant her mercy and be the first to break the tense silence.

“Hello.” 

“Hi.”

He shuffled closer, though his steps were unsure, unlike his usual confident strides that she was used to seeing. “I wished to return your book.” He declared yet made no move to reach into his bag for the said book. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of her, her eyes that always seemed to glisten, her hands that were always fidgeting, her little sundress that he was afraid would drive him to insanity, (and her lips that he wished he could press against his own just so he could find out what they felt like, tasted like.) He shoved the last one into a drawer in his mind and locked it away. He could not fantasise about her. She was a muggle. He could not stoop so low as to hold affections for a muggle girl.

“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked tentatively as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, have him spitting more harsh words that would dig deep into her skin and remain there. 

“As always.” He replied. Because every book she gave him held another meaning. She was a clever girl, choosing the ones that she knew would have him coming back with a strong debate prepared in his mind. They always seemed to stand on opposite sides of every argument that the books posed, ensuring that their discussion would get heated, exciting, and thrilling. 

While Tom vehemently disagreed with her views, he found pleasure in the way her mind worked. He admired her quick-wittedness, her ability to counter every argument he posed. No one else had engaged him in such stimulating conversations. She was a breath of fresh air, a captivating force he wanted to inhale and never release. He yearned to suffocate in the essence of her being, to be consumed and to consume in return. He wanted to own her— that irrational desire to keep her for himself was always there in the deeper parts of his mind that he was scared to venture into.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She responded but he could detect the subtle undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice.

He hesitated. “May I have one black coffee?” He was extending an olive branch, and while it was not an outright apology, coming from Tom, it was a whole declaration. 

“It’s five minutes until closing time.” 

She would not be swayed so easily then. 

Fine. Tom thought. He would make her come to her senses. 

The boy who he had forgotten was still there suddenly came to stand next to him. Tom eyed him with disdain, his features curling into an unimpressed sneer, raising a lazy brow.

“I’ll help her close up, mate. You can leave now.” 

“Daniel, that is not necessary.” She muttered, glancing between the two men nervously. Daniel? Tom clenched his jaw, enraged. In his absence, it seemed she had gotten on first-name basis with a boy. His mouth soured with the taste of betrayal at her blatant ignorance. How could she discard him so easily? Had she not suffered all these months at the mere thought of him? Had he been alone in his suffering?

“No,” Tom stated flatly. “You will leave.” He told the boy then turned to face his waiter. “We will talk.” 

“Tom, I do not think—”

He cut her off with a hiss. “It was not a request.”

Daniel seemed wholly displeased. He opened his mouth to argue, but his girl beat him to it. “It’s okay, Daniel. I will see you some other time.”

“Whatever he has to tell you, surely he can say in front of me.”

She shook her head gently, trying to dissuade him. “It’s a matter between him and I. I would rather talk privately.” 

Tom looked smug as he faced Daniel again, struggling to contain his smirk. He could see the indignation clear on the boy’s face as his eyes flickered dubiously between her and Tom. He knew the wizard was no ordinary acquaintance of her, he could feel the palpable tension in the air like a wolf. 

Tom, of course, wished to push his buttons further, just to have the last word. “You heard her. Leave.” 

Daniel scoffed. “I will see you tomorrow then.” He muttered and with one last long look, he squared his shoulders and left the café with as much dignity as his wounded pride could muster. 

As the door shut with a final thud, they were left in pregnant silence, both unsure of the dynamics at play between them. The air in the café hung heavy with unspoken tension as if the silence itself had taken on a weight, pressing down on them both. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second echoing in the quiet space.

She was the first to cave. "Well? You wished to talk." Gesturing towards him with a hand expectantly. "Talk." 

Tom inhaled sharply, and for the first time in his life, he did not quite know what to say. How to proceed. 

"Who is he?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. 

She raised a brow. "Seriously? After how you walked out of here last time I would think your choice of words would be different."

"Different? I hardly think the question was unfair."

She huffed impatiently, discarding her apron as she turned from him to put everything away for the night. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume that you have no business inquiring about my life when we are not even friends." She chuckled bitterly. "You made the notion quite appalling if memory serves me right. You wish to know who is Daniel? For all you know, he could be my fiancee. Would it matter? No. Because you and I are hardly acquaintances." 

An unfamiliar feeling began coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. She briefly turned to fix him with a pointed glare and froze at the look on his face. The dancing flames of the candles seemed to mirror the flickering emotions in Tom's eyes—flames of irritation, discontent, and an unexpected pang of jealousy.

Tom could scarcely believe his fate. How was it that he— the most powerful wizard of his generation— had succumbed to the pathetic disease of— what was it? Desire? Lust? Infatuation? Such mundane urges were beneath him, he had no wish to pursue anyone or anything that was not remotely related to his quest for power. Yet there she was. In her infuriating fucking dress and those innocent eyes. Did she even know what sort of turmoil she had caused him?

All of a sudden he felt exhausted, defeated. His shoulders sunk visibly as he ran a hand through his hair. He would use a hundred of her sugar packets in his coffee if it meant she would just grace him with her bubbly smile again and just— just what? Leave him be? He did not want that. Treat him as if nothing had happened? Maybe. Release him from whatever enchantment she put him under? Yes.

"What do you want from me?" He asked at last, frustration clear in his voice.

She regarded him with disbelief as she rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. "What do I want from you?" She repeated incredulously. "I want an apology! I want an explanation! I want—" she sighed, cutting herself off before she could finish the thought. "You cannot just show up here demanding things and ordering people around after how you treated me last time. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will apologise to me."

"You want me to say sorry?" He took a step towards her.

"Yes!"

"Fuck your apology." 

Before she could register what was happening, Tom closed the minute distance between them and caved into his desire. He grabbed her face, fingers threading through her hair, and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of pent-up tension and bottled-up desires.

Tom's lips moved fervently against hers, pouring his frustration into the act. It was a silent declaration that transcended the boundaries of his complicated inner turmoil. Tom knew that. But he could not pull away from her— not after having tasted how her lips feel like. 

Her hands, which had hovered hesitantly in the space between them, found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer. 

She felt—tasted like God's favourite nectar, sweet and addictive and he knew he would never get enough of it. She might not have been a witch, but he was bewitched by her. 

As they broke apart, breathless, the air between them hung heavy with the residue of their shared kiss. He dared not to ease his hold on her, only stared at her with darkened eyes, taking delight in the way her lips were bruised, and puffy, all because of him. But it was not enough. He needed to mark her for all to see. 

He dove into the tender skin of her throat like a man starved, teeth sinking into her flesh with no warning, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him at the muffled moan that escaped her mouth. He sucked on the skin until he was sure there would be a purple mark blooming on the spot before running his tongue over the flesh to soothe the sting. He did not waste any second before moving to mark another spot.

"I do not even know your name." She managed to choke out in between her whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair, and a particular tug had him growling deep in his throat. 

"Tom." He whispered, pulling away from her neck only to return his lips to hers. "Say it. Say my name." He murmured in between the kisses, pushing her back until her back was pressed against the counter. He easily picked her up to place her on the surface, his fingers trailing along her thighs to her knees to nudge them apart so he could stand in between them. 

"Tom." She breathed out in a daze, and he smirked in delight. 

She was his. He had already branded her, and he would do much more to ensure she knew it was him she belonged to. 

He leaned to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "I hope you know there is no going back from this. From me." He whispered, fingers slipping under the strap of her dress and dragging it down her shoulder slowly. "You are my dirty little secret now. Mine."

She shuddered under the weight of his words but he was already snaking his hand around her throat as his lips found home on her own once again.

No going back.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

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[crownofgildedlilies]

mistletoe

pairing: hanta x reader summary: Hanta has an incredible amount of mistletoe, for some reason. wc: 1.9k event masterlist

There was something going on in the dorms, and you were pretty sure you knew who was to blame. 

Mistletoe littered the doorways of the common areas, but only when you were in the area. You never saw anyone placing them, or actually using the mistletoe for its intended purpose, but you knew everyone was getting suspicious. Fingers were going to start pointing, and all at the same target.

Because each sprig of mistletoe was stuck to the door frame with a very familiar piece of tape. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew that the only person who could have been hanging up all the mistletoe could have been Hanta, but you hadn’t recognized the pattern until Mina had pointed it out to you.

“You know, this only keeps happening when you’re around,” She had teased, eyeing the bundle of leaves and berries taped conspicuously above the doorframe you had been only seconds away from crossing under. Narrowing your eyes at her, you questioned her intention without using your words. 

“C’mon, we’re going to be late for class!” Kirishima’s shout had broken your stare from your silent conversation with Mina. Not willing to confront the accusation she had thrown your way, you hurried through the doorframe so as not to be late for class. 

You tried your very hardest not to look at Hanta standing oh so innocently on the opposite side of the doorway, unless he saw the flush that crept up your neck. 

That had only been the third time mistletoe had mysteriously appeared. Currently, you were staring up at the eleventh sprig of holiday greenery, taped above the archway that led from the kitchens to the common area. 

Part of you wanted to step underneath it, to see just what Hanta would do if you finally fell for the horribly planned coincidences he had laid out throughout the dorm building. He had tried setting it up once in the classroom, which led to a lecture from Aizawa about romantic endeavors distracting from the goal of attending UA.

“Aw, man, more mistletoe?” Kirishima’s voice echoed loudly through the slowly filling common areas. Your attention snapped towards him and away from the mistletoe, watching as he, Kaminari, and Bakugou returned after getting in extra quirk training. Hanta was lingering in the kitchen, casually darting his attention towards you repeatedly as you debated whether or not to cross underneath the hastily taped up sprig of green leaves, and half a dozen of your other classmates lounged on the couch within earshot. 

“It was up when I got downstairs,” You answered, snickering as Mina and Ochaco poked their heads up over the back of the couch to listen in to your conversation. The two of them, along with Hagakure, had been the most interested in figuring out just why so much mistletoe littered the dorms. 

“Give it up.” Bakugou pinned his glare on Hanta, who suddenly found the ceiling entirely interesting. Except, all eyes in the room darted towards Hanta, watching him carefully. No one, at least when you had been around, had actually called out Hanta for placing the mistletoe, though it was a bit of an open secret. 

“Of course you’re against holiday spirit, Scrooge,” You playfully rolled your eyes at Bakugou, finding yourself defending Hanta without really even meaning to. You liked seeing the mistletoe, even if you hadn’t let yourself get stuck under it with anyone, just yet. 

“Tch. ‘M not a Scrooge.” Bakugou defended, which led to a round of arguments from nearly everyone in the room. Hanta, usually one to call Bakugou out, remained suspiciously silent. Turning towards him with a frown, you saw the distracted look on his face and stepped towards him with the intention of asking what was wrong.

“Wait!” Mina and Ochaco’s shouts tore through the room, freezing you in place as you whipped around to stare at them perched over the couch. Except, they were grinning so wide it made you nervous—especially because they were staring at you. 

“What’s wrong?” Kaminari asked from beside you. Ochaco let out a giggle, Kirishima muttering a quiet oh shit, and you turned to face Kaminari with wide eyes.

He was standing beside you. Underneath the mistletoe.

You hadn’t even noticed him cross the room until he was beside you, and in your rush to comfort Hanta after Bakugou’s teasing you both stepped underneath the mistletoe. 

On instinct, in response to Bakugou’s loud laughter echoing throughout the space and Mina’s claim that you just had to kiss, you shoved Kaminari away like he repelled you. 

“Hey!” He whined, clutching his chest like your push had done actual damage. “It wouldn’t be that bad to kiss me!” 

“It’s just mistletoe,” Hanta spoke up for the first time since everyone had arrived. He’d remained silent even through Bakugou’s teasing, but now that you were faced with the possibility that you might kiss Kaminari, one of his best friends, he suddenly had a lot to say. “You don’t have to do it.” 

“You were just complaining about me being a Scrooge,” Bakugou countered Hanta’s reasoning, a teasing smirk on his face. Clearly he was enjoying this a little too much. Rolling your eyes, you glanced back up to the mistletoe before landing your attention back down on Hanta. 

“Bakugou, man,” Kirishima shot his friend a look, and you suddenly knew that all the boys were already aware of Hanta’s attempts to get you underneath the mistletoe. Kirishima was trying to get Bakugou to lay off, but the blond was nothing if not a grade A shit stirrer.

“Holiday spirit,” Mina repeated, a smirk on her own face. You narrowed your eyes at her, silently willing her to not encourage whatever Bakugou was trying to accomplish. “I say you do it.” 

And suddenly there was a chant of Kiss! Kiss! echoing through the common floor, started by and maintained mostly by the girls of your class. You couldn’t see her, but you heard Hagakure joining in from somewhere. 

Your face was flushing, you couldn’t look at Hanta, and all you wanted was the chanting stop. So, with quick steps, you closed the distance between you and Kaminari and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. It was a blink and you’ll miss it moment, a split second of affection that could only be seen as something between friends. 

But when you finally found the courage to risk a glance to Hanta, he had already disappeared. 

Okay. Maybe you had taken it a step too far. 

It had been a few hours since your little stunt with Kaminari, and you hadn’t seen Hanta once in all that time. You had sucked up your pride and asked Kirishima where he’d gone off too, and discovered with a pang of guilt that he had apparently locked himself in his room.

You’d been having fun messing with Hanta about his ridiculous attempts to kiss you with mistletoe, even though all he needed to do was ask, but all of a sudden you realized that maybe you shouldn’t have gone so long without letting him know his feelings were reciprocated. 

You needed to set things straight before Hanta got the wrong idea. 

Finding the mistletoe hadn’t been a problem. You’d been collecting them each time Hanta had taped them up somewhere in the dorms, dropping them in a box in your room for a reason you couldn’t piece together. Though, you were thankful for your packrat tendencies as you grabbed a collection of the leaves and berries. 

Knocking on Hanta’s door, you found yourself holding your breath in anticipation, listening for sounds on the other side. Part of you assumed that he would just ignore the knocking and go back to moping about in his room, or so Kirishima had said he was doing. 

To your luck, you heard movement on the opposite side of the door, and in seconds it was opened. Hanta leaned against the frame separating the hallway from his dorm, bracing his body up with one arm. The position forced him to lean closer, almost hovering over you with his tall frame. 

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, breaking the silence first and snapping your mind from spiraling as you thought about just how attractive he looked. Arms tucked behind your back, you scrambled to cling to the remains of your bravery that seemed to all shrivel up after boldly carrying you towards his door. 

“I, uh,” You stammered, forcing yourself to not glance away from him. He looked exactly like Kirishima had said. Like he’d been moping. “I don’t have any tape.” 

His face twisted in confusion, and you bit the inside of your cheek in reprimand for stumbling over your words. 

“You came here because you needed tape?” 

Oh, you were crashing. 

“No!” You hurried to correct your mistake, face warming with a blush you had no hope of fighting against. “I just, well, you always taped it up, but I don’t… Screw it.” 

Before you turned and ran with your tail tucked between your legs, you held out the sprig of mistletoe you’d brought as an apology.

Now, it was you and Hanta under the mistletoe.

“You don’t have to do this,” He repeated his earlier words, though instead of trying to encourage you, he sounded like he felt you were pitying him. 

“I know.” You assured him, meeting his eye and smiling softly. “I want to.”

“You… want to?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled, tilting your head to the side with a teasing grin. “I’ve known since the third attempt that you were trying to catch me under the mistletoe. And I thought it was cute.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His words came out as more of a groan, turning his face to the side in a futile attempt to hide his embarrassed flush.  

“I don’t know. Guess I was worried I was reading too much into things? But then you were so upset after I kissed Kaminari on the cheek that I figured that I should tell you how I felt. The mistletoe was a really sweet idea, especially with the holidays coming up.” As you explained, he turned back so that he was looking at you. And you hoped that he could hear the sincerity in your voice, too. “So, are you going to kiss me anytime soon? Because I don’t have tape and my arm is getting tired.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. Both of his warm palms settled on your waist, tugging you flush against him. The arm that was holding the mistletoe fell to wrap around his shoulders, while your opposite hand found home flat against his chest. And suddenly, his lips were on yours, a kiss so long in the making you worried that you weren’t going to live up to expectations. 

Except, all your worries disappeared the moment he kissed you. You hated sounding cliche, but it felt like he was made for you. He met your every action, pulling you close and pushing against you all the same. 

He left you breathless when he finally pulled back, grinning down at you. You were glad he was finally back to normal, evidently satisfied that you had given him a kiss. With how wide he was smiling, how close he was holding you, you doubted he even remembered what happened with Kaminari. 

“I really wasn’t being subtle, was I?” Hanta asked, still beaming, and you couldn’t help but match his expression. 

“I’m surprised it took Bakugou that long to call you out,” Grinning, you slid the hand that was on his chest upwards so that both arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders. 

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” “Not as smoothly as just asking me out would have gone.”

[writtenbymoonflower]

Round

You hate your chubby cheeks and Sirius is deeply offended. Sirius Black x gn!reader. modern!au

cw: negative self talk, no specific body type but reader has a round face, swearing

1.1k words

You huffed as you took in your appearance, wishing you could blame the mirror, maybe it was warped, maybe it made you look different. But then your hand mirror would also be inaccurate, as well as the bathroom mirror, and store windows, or every reflective surface. You wished you could believe that level of delusion, but ultimately you were given over to facts, so you had to face the truth that your face just looked like that. 

You cruelly pinched at the flesh on your cheeks, under your eyes, and even around your jaw. You tried sucking in, then puffing out, but nothing made your face look defined in the way you desperately wanted. You just wished that your cheekbones had a little definition, but instead all you had was a round and puffy face. By now most people your age had dropped the baby weight in their cheeks, but you hadn’t, and no amount of contour or bronzer made them look sharper. You were still pinching at your face when your boyfriend walked in. 

“What’re you doin’ in here, dolly?” You dropped your hands like a child caught in the cookie jar, feeling caught.

“Nothin’” You said in quiet response. All Sirius did was hum before moving to stand behind you and lean over your shoulder, both of you in front of the mirror. You looked up to meet his eyes, but you weren’t able to him looking like he wanted to eat you alive, dropping eye contact almost instantly. He chuckled evilly. 

“Hm, so pretty.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he leaned over to kiss the same cheek you had scrutinized not seconds before and held in a wince. “Your cheek is all red, babydoll.” 

“Maybe you just make me flushed.” 

“No,” He laughed, “No baby, I know what that looks like, trust me. This is different. Besides, you look all sad.” He pouted when he said that, grabbing your face in one hand and kissing over more of your cheek before stepping away to sit on your bed. You swiveled in your chair to look at him. Well, at least be facing his direction, you kept your gaze strictly on your lap as you spoke.

“Siri?” You said hesitantly. 

“Yes, dolly?” He had pulled out his phone and was scrolling. 

“I- You know that surgery everyone’s getting? The face one?” 

“I think you’re gonna have to be more specific than that, dollface.” He still didn’t look up from his phone. 

“The cheek fat one. I-” You took a deep breath. “I think I want to get it.” That made him look up so fast you thought he might get whiplash.

“What?” He laughed. You would feel insulted, but you knew that Sirius only laughed like that when he was shocked or upset, his eyes were wide as he searched for any sign of you pranking or messing with him. 

“It’s just a thought.” You instantly backpeddled “I just thought it might be worth thinking about.” You said sheepishly.

“Well it’s not.” He laughed again, clearly not finding it funny. “What put that shit in your head?” You felt defensive. 

“I just think my face is too round. I look like a blowfish or something.” You forced a laugh. 

“What? No?” He stood up from the bed and stepped over to you, crouching down to meet your eyes. Only after he saw your sad expression did he soften. 

“I just-” You debated the right words. “I just think I would look better if my cheeks were more hollow. There’s just so much-” You pinched at the flesh of your cheeks. “There’s so much fat on them, I look like Charlie Brown.” 

“Okay firstly, I don’t know who that is, but if they look like you I’m guessing they’re adorable.” You rolled your eyes. “Secondly, I love your face. It's my favorite. Stop being so mean to it.” 

“But you don’t know what it’s like." You whined. "Your face is perfect, all of you is.” And you meant it. Sirius always looked like he could be carved from marble. He had a perfectly structured face, gorgeous eyes framed by too-long-to-be-fair lashes, and inky black hair. He looked like a model on a bad day. On a good day you could barely bring yourself too look at him.

“Compliment taken.” He smirked, displaying his shiny and sharp canines. “But you aren’t giving yourself enough credit, gorgeous.” He looked so distraught, it didn’t suit him at all. He batted your cruel hands away from your cheeks to grab your face instead. “Just because your face is round doesn’t mean you are any less beautiful.” He said, sincerely. You tried to look down but his grip didn’t let you. “If I’m being honest actually, your cheeks are one of my favorite parts of you.” 

You scoffed at him. “You can’t be for real.” 

“I am, baby!” He argued. He started to pinch your cheeks, though much kinder than you were. “They’re so cute.” He pouted. “I know you don’t like them, and I don’t wanna draw attention to it if it’s gonna bother you,” He stood up, tilting your face up to look in his eyes, swimming with sympathy, love, and a hint of playfulness. “But, I think they’re fucking precious. I just wanna grab your little face every time I see you. You’re like a little cherub.” You laughed. It’s not the look you were going for, but the way he described it didn’t seem so bad, especially not when there was affection dripping from every word he spoke. 

“You’re really sweet.” Was all you could say, standing up to hug him. He accepted you greedily, squeezing you close to him.

“I wish you saw how gorgeous you are, baby.” He nuzzled into your neck. You thought you could cry.

“It’s okay, I know you love me, it’s enough.” You pulled away from his neck to look at him. 

“Yeah, at least for now.” He smiled, leaning down to press his lips to yours. You kissed him back, hoping he could feel your gratitude. “Anyway,” He said when he pulled away. “There’s a practical advantage I really like.” He was all at once his usual wolfish self, giving you no time to question his meaning before speaking again. “More face for me to love.” He spun you both around, throwing you onto the bed and pinning you down before squishing your cheeks in his hands and sponging rapid-fire kisses all over your face. 

You let out an awful squeal of surprise. “Siri!” You giggled, barely able to speak between attacks. He looked at you hungrily before kissing you greedily, pulling a high-pitched whine from your throat.

“I think you like it too, dollface.”

[dicejpg]

You should have left a note - {Five Hargreeves x GN!Reader}

Synopsis: Five is ordered to kill his ex-commission partner. He doesn't want to.

Note: I made this really late at night. I would really appreciate requests for Five :)

(Not edited)

WORD COUNT: 1K

2nd POV:

Five peers down at the paper that bears your name, hands shaky. He was ordered by the Handler--just this morning--to terminate you for immediate extraction.

It’s been a year since you left Five since you left the Commission. He'd been rightfully frustrated since your abrupt departure. He didn't get a note, nor a goodbye. Sure, you two weren’t all that close as partners, but he at least deserved a warning, he thought.

He doesn't know how to feel about the idea of blowing your brains out with his M1935.

You’ve been gone for approximately a year, leaving no trace or hints as to where you may be. But, the Commission finally tracked you down to a small town in New Jersey, 1978.

When he arrives in front of your supposed living quarters, he is taken aback by the rundown apartment complex in front of him. A real shithole. Its bricks are chipped and sun-bleached, presumably from old age. Police sirens and gunshots are audible from a neighborhood away, giving away the unsafeness of the area.

It’s twelve o’ clock at night. Five quietly blinks up to your numbered room. If he remembers correctly from the paper, it's room 395. Third floor, second door to the left.

Your apartment is dark, gloomy. Five does not turn on the lights, not wanting to give away his existence. But, he assumes you’re not home anyways. Your job as a bartender at a rundown restaurant downtown would have you occupied for at least another hour.

He wonders through the confined living space, taking note of a few books scattered on the coffee table, and an unmade bed. There's a small pile of dishes in the sink, a pot and two bowls. There are no picture frames, or wall decor. The room is barren with no personality at all.

Five would not even know that you lived here from the looks of the place.

It smells like you though, he unwillingly notices. He finds it oddly comforting nostalgic.

He’s in the middle of examining some scattered papers on the ground when he hears the jingling of keys outside the door. Along with your whistling.

Five blinks behind a window curtain in no time at all, blood pumping fast. You must have gotten off early.

Your humming becomes more prominent as you enter your living space. The sound of keys being thrown on the kitchen counter makes Five jolt, but he still goes unnoticed.

You make no move to turn on the lights, so Five risks a glance at you.

Your head is blocked by the freezer door, but he notices your disheveled work attire. Some black slacks and an untucked white button down shirt. Your apron hangs on a hook by the door.

When the freezer door is closed, he notices your face. It's the same as when he last saw you, but with sadder eyes and dark eye-bags. His heart sinks, he starts feeling uncharacteristically torn.

He watches you crack open a frozen dinner meal and place it in the microwave. You roll your sleeves up to your elbows while you wait for the food to heat up. Five always thought you had nice, toned forearms. He stares at them, at you.

His eyes are intense, observing as you lean against the counter, stretching and running your fingers through your hair. He feels his stomach knot.

Five was definitely the wrong person for this job. He readys his gun quietly.

You freeze at the almost imperceptible sound of a gun clicking, slowly turning your head in Five's direction. He doesn't see the way your eyebrows furrow because he's fully behind the curtain again.

The microwave beeps quietly, but you make no move to retrieve your dinner.

The sound of footsteps approaching Five's hiding spot makes sweat bead on his forehead. He debates letting himself be caught, but decides against it. Five blinks behind you, aiming his gun.

But you've already kicked the thing out of his hands, fully expecting his maneuver. You tackle him to the ground, gripping his wrists and pinning his legs with yours. Not before kicking the gun far away, under the couch.

"God, of course they sent you, Five." You breathe, glaring down at him in dismay. "The Handler's such a sadistic- I mean, sending my own partner to kill me? Is she kidding?" You ramble is distress, cursing your ex-employer.

Five gazes up at you, swallowing thickly. He fights thoughtlessly against your grasp, but tries nothing else to get loose. He does not want to kill you.

"Let go of me." He warns, feeling fuzzy and not knowing what else to say. His eyes never leave yours.

"Why don't you just blink away? You're fully capable of getting out of this." You accuse, getting close to his face. Your breath tickles his nose. It's minty.

Five hesitates, his eyes fluttering for a moment as he fails to regain his train of thought.

He remains quiet.

"You don't really want to kill me." Your grip on his wrists falters slightly when he doesn't object.

He softly pulls his wrists free, and you let him sit up. But you keep his legs pinned just in case. There is a strangely comfortable silence as you wait for Five to find the words.

"You should have just told me you were going to leave." Five whispers finally. His tone is unreadable. "Or at least left a note."

You look at him with a pained expression. "You're right. I should have." It's something you regretted for months after abandoning him. There is an intake of breath right before you add: "I missed uh- I miss you." You redden, not looking at him.

He exhales with a hidden smile. "Me too."

[superstar-nan]

Execute Command

Night 2

Summary: You fix Springtrap's voicebox.

Words: 5,691

Fun stuff: Trigger warnings for obsessive behavior, trauma and psyche related dissociation, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of harm to animals (never shown but implied), and Springtrap being a dick. I wrote his voice like how Pit Bonnie sounds in Into the Pit :p

First ♡ Next

───── (\ /) ─────

You screamed when you saw me, and pleasure shivered through me. You grasped your heart as you caught your breath, your eyes shaking with fear. It made me feel alive again. I wanted to hold your vitality in my hands. I wanted to choose whether you lived or died. Like coming down from a high, you closed your eyes and your breathing slowed, heavy as it was. 

“How did you...” You looked at the broken door knob discarded on your floor. You swallowed. I could see your mind race beyond your eyes, and it was everything I wanted. How? When, why—how? You must’ve been asking yourself. It must’ve been so... discomforting not to know. That I was quiet enough to not wake you. That there was no noise to draw me to you. How long I watched your chest rise and fall with your sleeping breath. 

Strange. I enjoyed watching you sleep, beyond needing your presence to keep the static from decomposing my mind. Your rhythmic and steady breathing was... leisurely captivating. I didn’t want to stop watching you. Whether it was compulsion or envy, I didn’t know.

Your brow furrowed. You moved off of the bed, still clutching the blanket to your chest. “Hey, Bonnie...” You drew out the syllables as if I were a wild animal in need of lulling. At the very least, you were talking to me instead of to yourself. It was delightful you shivered when my eyes followed you. “Was I making too much noise?” Your voice wavered. 

You slowly, tentatively approached my side. What I wouldn’t have given to jump at you, even if just to startle you. Even more to hurt you. 

When I didn’t lunge at you, you held out your hand to me. “Come on. Let’s go.”

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

Dumbass.

Your brow furrowed lightly, and then relief washed over you in a way that enraged me. “The storage protocol...” You said in a thankful exhale. I swore that would be your last thankful breath. “Must’ve been pretty boring stuck with me, huh?” 

I would strangle the laugh from your throat.

“Well, uh...” You looked at me, unsure. You were sizing me up, debating on dragging me out of your room. You were too easy to read. “...You can just stay in here. In my room. I guess.”

You grabbed the thin device that was your phone and tapped on its surface. You swore under your breath, distractedly tapping at it while hurrying to your closet. You set the phone down on your desk, but it was ringing loud enough that I could hear it.

Someone picked up, “Where are you? I’ve been calling all morning!” I knew that voice. The night guard, the one that called help too soon—the one that got away. Maybe they didn’t have to be the one that got away, if I was patient enough.   

“I know, I know!” You were swiping through clothes in your closet, “I slept in!”

“I thought that thing killed you!” How sweet it was when they trembled trying to find me on the cameras, when they squeaked seeing me peek behind the door frame, when they nearly fainted at the sight of me beyond the glass. I would’ve played with them the whole week if they let me.

You laughed, pulling something out of your closet. Your laughter would’ve enraged me, if I didn’t catch the subtle tremor behind it. 

“I’m being serious!” The voice on the phone said, cracking in a delectable stammer, “Something’s not right about that thing! When it was here, it was like it- it was chasing me or... or something.”

“Really?” You said, and you were in the middle of taking off your clothes when you looked back at me. Your eyes trained on me, calculating and thoughtful, “It does seem to follow me. It’s much more advanced than I first thought. I wonder if it has some kind of hide and seek protocol, maybe something to play with the kids?”

> execute([H+S])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

It was only slightly satisfying that Bonnie was just as bound as I was.

“It’s more than that.” The voice on the phone said, becoming quieter—more timid. “It’s like it’s... aware. Did anything happen last night? Anything weird or did it do anything unusual?”

You paused for only a beat as you grabbed your new set of clothes, “No, nothing happened.”

Oh. You were a liar, carrot.

“...Nothing?”

My eyes traveled your bare body. Shoulders. Chest. Stomach. Thighs. I’m sure if I touched you, you’d shiver against my cold, metal fingertips. Your blood would rush in response, warming your skin that I loved to feel. I would enjoy carving lacerations into your warm body, a lovely heated canvas.

You slipped on your new clothes as you talked, “Nothing out of the ordinary. Hey listen, I’m gonna swing by to pick you up for breakfast, okay? Then, I can tell you everything I found. Like I said, this guy is way more advanced than I thought was even possible.”

“...Alright,” The voice was hesitant.

“See you soon!” You tapped your phone before they could respond. You shoved the device in your pocket along with your keys. You winked at me in a way that was both charming and annoying, “Hold down the fort, will you Bonnie?”

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

If only I could kill myself a second time. 

You left me with a loud slam of the front door. I resented you for it—leaving me. Sunlight peeked through your windows. It was too bright. A neighbor's dog barked down the street. It was too loud. Nobody was here. It was too cold. 

You returned when it was still light outside. You had a plastic bag filled with wires and tools. You set the bag on your bed, but you didn’t do anything other than nosily inspect my body. You spent most of your day on your computer, and it didn’t take me long to figure out you were working. Your computer, strangely enough, was thin like your phone; the keyboard built in. It was shaped more like a children’s book than a computer, opening up like a suitcase would.

Your desk was in your room, which meant I could watch you all day. I didn’t mind it. I itched for more, obviously. However, like watching you sleep, it was leisurely captivating. The gentle tapping of your flat keyboard, your small and subtle movements, the silence that was comfortable; not suffocating—it was just enough to clear the white noise without hurting me with intensity.

Every so often, you would take a quick glance at me. When you did, you would make a face, shiver, and then return to your work. After the fourth time, you closed your computer, grabbed your things, and left your room, closing the door behind you. I resented you for that, too. I could still hear your clicks and taps from beyond the door, but it wasn’t enough. 

How selfish, carrot.

The sun had set by the time I heard you moving around in your living room. I heard pots and pans at one point, the TV playing at another. At another, you came back into your room to fix your broken doorknob, and you cringed as I watched you the entire time. 

It wasn’t long after that when you decided to give me attention.

You came into your room, but you left the door open behind you. Did you feel more safe with an exit? If you ran, I would catch you. “Hi, Bonnie.”

I tried to move. The storage protocol stopped me. It wasn’t midnight yet.

“Feeling lonely here all by yourself?” You said, offhandedly. Distractedly. You didn’t mean it, but it still annoyed me. 

Lonely. What a pathetic word to describe my dependance on your presence. Neurosis felt more accurate.

You were staring intently at my chest. You bit your lip. “Wow,” You said, nervously. “It’s really in there isn’t it? Behind all the...” You waved your gloved hand over my chest, grimacing.

My whole body, metal and flesh, tensed. You were going to take out my voicebox. You were smart enough to do it while my storage protocol was in effect, but that didn’t stop the dreadful sensation that spread through my body like spiders. You were going to pick and prod at my innards like a mortician would a cadaver. I would’ve broken your fingers if I could move. I was violent at the thought.

You held your breath—as if you had anything to worry about, as if you were the one having someone dig their fingers into your chest. 

Then, you gently probed past my outer casing. 

It burned. You were saying something but I couldn’t listen because it burned. Pain and rage gripped me, searing hot. I wanted to rip off your hand. I wanted to rip off your head. I wanted to make you feel this pain. I wanted to dig my fingers into your chest. I would kill you I would kill you I would kill you I would-

There was a click. All at once, you ripped something out of me, and I saw white.

You gasped, sharp and quick. The pain cooled to a dim, throbbing ache. I wasn’t standing by your bed. I was on it. You were pinned under me, my voicebox in your hand and connected to my chest by wires. My claws were on your chest, digging into your skin, drawing blood where you drew mine. 

I moved. I moved. I could’ve laughed. And your horror was my delight.

Your eyes were wide in terror, and how that fed me. Your free hand instinctively came to my wrist, and you winced at the blood I drew. 

It wasn’t enough. I needed to feel your ribs crack. I needed you to scream. I needed to push and push, slower and slower, until my hand seeped deep into your lungs. I needed to feel your viscera in between my fingers.

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Satisfaction slipped from my fingers and I would’ve screamed. You were right there. You were right under me! 

I wanted to tear apart Bonnie more than I wanted to tear apart you.

You... You were terrified underneath me, shaking and breath quick, but that only made me want to hurt you more. You dug your nails into my wrist, trying to move me. It wouldn’t work. I couldn’t even move me. My rage elevated as your horror declined; the fear leaving your eyes as you realized I wasn’t moving.

You swallowed, letting go of my wrist. You tried to wriggle out underneath me, but I couldn’t budge. I had you pinned, my claws against your chest. You were just as much a prisoner as I was, and that brought me paltry satisfaction.

You let out a huff as you gave up on trying to slip out from under me, “Well. Shit.” You winced at my claws in your chest. I hadn’t dug deep, unfortunately, only scratching the surface.  “I’m gonna have to get a tetanus shot after this...” You said with a sigh.

You looked around the room, as if anything on the bed could help you escape from under me. Your eyes fell to my voicebox in your hand, then to your bag of tools you left here. You bit your lower lip. 

I could read it on your face. While I’m here... Might as well... You must’ve been thinking. How endearingly stupid.

You blindly palmed for the bag of tools behind you, feeling for which one you needed, while turning my voicebox in your hand. Your eyes were trained on it as you worked, wholly focused on the clockwork that was my machinery. 

Watching you so closely cooled my rage. I liked to watch. I hadn’t always, but I did now. Was it me or was it him? Did it matter? 

This close to you, I could memorize every detail of your features; the texture of your lashes, the hue of your eyes, the color in your lips as you bit them in your fixation. If I concentrated, I could feel your heartbeat through your chest, and I really liked that. I didn’t know if I wanted to slow it until it stopped or speed it up until it burst. 

You used your thumb to brush away calcified rust, replacing the wires of the voicebox, and I could feel it like it was flesh. You were quick. You were smart. A familiar, nasty feeling crept through me. Envy. I wanted the dexterity your fingers had, to move with delicate deftness. I wanted your mind that was so like Henry’s, quick to solve problems. I wanted your autonomy, free from the programming that chained me. I wanted your beauty, to not be some giant rotting thing. I wanted your breath, your blood, your life. I wanted to be you. I wanted you. I wanted to be you. I wanted you. I wanted to be you. I wanted you.

You let out a breathless laugh, one that sounded both nervous and droll. I didn’t notice through my jealous haze, but you were looking at me. “You’re going to burn a hole in me if you keep staring like that.”

I didn’t ease my stare.

You stared back, cursing lightly under your breath as your brow furrowed, “... Sometimes it feels like you’re...” 

Like I what, carrot? Like I’m watching you? Truly watching you? Thinking? Feeling? Like I’m alive? I assure you, I am.

You shook your head, “I need more sleep.” You snapped the voicebox into place in your hands, and I could feel it—I could feel it through him. It was working. Not that I could use it yet. I hated how easy of a task that was for you. “There. That should work,” You said, before flashing me a charming smile. “You’re not going to kill me if I put this back in you, are you?”

I might.

You shuffled through your pockets before holding your phone to your face, the glow of its screen reflecting on your skin, “Only a few minutes until midnight. We can test it out first, and then...” You grimaced, shifting under the weight of my claws, “Maybe there’s a command to get you to put this back in your chest? Something in that code of yours wants me out of your wires...”

Not the code, carrot. The corpse.

You exhaled slowly, setting my voicebox beside your head. Your eyes, still anxious at my visage, traveled down my face and neck to my chest. Your brow twitched. Your hand came to my chest, and my mind hummed sweetly at the soft touch. Gentle fingertips caressed my casing, your thumb rubbing delicately along its rim leaving a heavenly tingle in its wake. If I had breath, it would’ve hitched.

“Your bowtie is missing...” You said (was it? I hadn’t noticed), and your voice was somber. That should’ve enraged me, but I was too entranced by the feeling of your fingers. The sweetest of treats you could be...

You pulled your hand away from me, and I was cold again. 

> execute command [HOLD_HANDS]

My hand ripped from your chest and grabbed your wrist, mechanical in nature. You startled at the sudden movement, your breath gone from you. As much as I would’ve done the same thing, I couldn’t stand when he took control. I hated when he made me do things, controlled my body when I should’ve been controlling his. I squeezed your wrist tighter.

You hissed at the pain, but endured it. How exciting. How much would you bear? You checked the clock on your phone. It was midnight. “H-hi, Bonnie.”

You stared at me, intently, anticipation oozing from you. You wanted to hear me speak.

“H̴e̷l̵l̶o̵,” It hurt to speak. It was difficult to speak. My vocal chords moved with the voicebox in your hand. They were littered with holes, and it was rubbing sandpaper together using them. I’d dealt with worse pains, however, “C̶a̷r̶r̷o̸t̵.̶”

You reared away from my voicebox, grabbing onto my arm as if it was my voicebox that were haunted, “Good lord, is that your voice?” You said, your face twisted in a disgusted horror that I found humorous. “It sounds like you’re gargling live wires! Is that..?” You held the voice box to your ear, raising your eyebrows, before shaking your head in disbelief. You held it closer to you as if you doubted yourself, “Is that breathing? No.... no, that’s... Hell, I did not fix this thing.”

I think you did. Perfectly.

“Try...?” You swallowed, “Try saying something else, Bonnie.”

You held the box closely to your ear to listen. I was tempted to scream at the top of my ruined lungs to terrorize you—a strangely childish impulse. Did it come from Bonnie?

You furrowed your brow when I didn’t speak. “Hi, Bonnie?” You attempted, but I wouldn’t respond. You exhaled, exhaustion mixed with a touch of exasperation, as you swiped your fingers across your chest. You winced when you saw blood on your fingertips, eyes flitting to mine. You began to scoot out from under me. 

I grabbed your ankle and dragged you back.

Your head hit the bed with a soft thump. Your eyes were wide with the same look you gave me this morning—the one I relished. Fear of uncertainty. A slow build of dreadful ambiguity when I wasn’t hurting you, but unnerving you. Oh, how I loved to see you scared.

“Bonnie...” You said softly, like you were speaking to a wild creature again. You gently probed at my fingers, trying to peel me from your ankle without making any sudden movement. “Let me go.”

> execute command ([RELEASE]) = Yes/No?

> No.

> Execute([SQUEEZE])

I squeezed tighter and you sucked your breath in through your teeth. I could crush your ankle. I could squeeze until it pops and you're screaming. I could snap your foot in half with my grip, and you would never walk again. 

“Bonnie-!”

> Execute([RELEASE])

Which also, unfortunately, meant you would never run again.

You gasped when I let you go. I thought you would scramble away from me like a wounded animal. Instead, you trained your eyes on me. You were as captivated as you were afraid, your eyes scanning me as if staring at me long enough would answer your questions. Then, you rolled your shoulders, your hand still wet with your blood while you slowed your breath. You looked at your bloody hand.

“...Stay here, Bonnie.” You said, and your voice wavered. Pathetic. Surely you didn’t think I’d obey your demands? Regardless, you left, ignoring the way my eyes followed you as you went into your bathroom and locked the door.

I could already feel Bonnie urging me to follow you the moment you closed the door. I knew to wait.

Muffled beyond the bathroom door, the shower started. 

I took the voicebox you fixed in my hand. It was clean. All at once, I shoved it into my chest, suspending it in viscera and wires. It hurt less when I did it... but it still hurt like a bitch.

My ragged, strangled breath seeped from the voicebox like poisonous ichor. It really did sound like I was gargling live wires.

Just like the night before, I silently snapped your doorknob off. Steam billowed out of the bathroom, warm and wet. It was too bright in your bathroom; fluorescent whites burning me. You were beyond a shower curtain, probably trying to scrub the rust from your chest. 

I didn’t like the humidity. It reminded me of rainy nights. Abandoned buildings. Moist suits meant to stay dry. It reminded me of drowning in my own blood.

Metal bolts pierced through my skin and flesh; cracked through my bone. Fragments of my own bones scattered into my veins—I felt every tiny splinter puncturing my nerves. When did I stop twitching in pain, five weeks? Five years? 

I grabbed one of the fluorescent bulbs and snapped it in my hand.

You cursed, dropping something that loudly bounced in your tub. The shower was turned off with a heavy metal thunk. You swiped back the curtain, wide eyes looking at the door, to me, then to the shattered bulb. “Bonnie?!” 

My attention turned to you, my head twitching under the humidity. My voicebox wheezed with that strained breath, undead in nature. I couldn’t bleed, but glass shards jutted from my palm like knives.

You withered under my attention, before steeling yourself anyway. You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your wet body as you stepped out of the shower. “Was,” You lifted up your arms before clapping them against your thighs, “Fifteen minutes too much to ask?”

My head twitched to the side.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You took my hand and started pulling out shards of glass. I could hardly feel it. You gagged realizing the shards were embedded in flesh.

“Y̵o̵u̷ ̵w̸i̶l̶l̴.̷” You shuddered when I spoke. I enjoyed that, “P̶u̸t̶ ̵m̶e̶ ̴b̴a̴c̸k̴ ̵t̸o̴g̵e̴t̸h̴e̶r̵.̷”

You had to stare at me when I spoke, your mouth opening and closing, as if you didn’t know what to say. As if you were choosing your next words carefully. Your brow furrowed lightly as you pulled another glass shard out of my palm. “I am.”

“N̷o̵.̵” I closed my fist around the glass and you cringed as if you felt the pain yourself, “F̸i̵x̶ ̷m̴y̵ ̸s̵t̷o̶r̵a̸g̷e̷ ̶p̶r̵o̴t̶o̵c̵o̸l̷.̶”

“I-” You swallowed, “I will. We have all week-”

I slammed my fist against your countertop, and you jumped, “N̷o̴w̷.”

“Now?” You said, shocked.

I didn’t respond, searing my gaze into yours.

You tried to step around me, but I moved in front of you. Through your dread, you somehow still had the spirit to look annoyed, “Well, can I at least get dressed first?”

My eyes dropped to your body. It was living flesh, warm and wet, shivering against the cold. Your chest had five uneven pinpricks from where I ripped out of you. Watered-down blood smeared your chest and stained the top of your towel a light red. Your towel hugged your drenched body, your soft skin. I imagined my hands—my hands, not Bonnie’s—hugging your curves, just as warm and alive as your skin. I wanted you. I wanted to be you. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to have you. I wanted you I wanted you I wanted you I wanted you-

You grabbed my jaw with one hand and pulled it up so my eyes met yours. Your face, your neck, your chest was warm. You were flushed, “Who made you?” You spat the words like an insult. 

You didn’t wait for me to respond, ducking under my arm and slipping out the door. I didn’t silence my steps as I followed you, letting you hear the weight of my body as you flipped through your clothes. You purposefully positioned yourself away from me as you changed. I was transfixed with how your spine and shoulder blades moved under your skin—your own endoskeleton.

You turned around when you were done changing, “Are you done staring? You...” You waved your hands in my general direction, “Freaky thing.”

I wasn’t done staring. I liked watching you. I liked that it unnerved you. 

“I didn’t think so,” You motioned for me to follow you. “Come on. Let me see what I can do tonight.”

I didn’t move.

You sighed, before coming to my side. You held out your hand and I took it. Your hand was still wet. You lead me to your desk, appraising my body with analytical interest. You took a small flashlight to my chest.

“Yeah, it’s in there,” You said, circling behind me. “I can see it better from the back... Can you...?” You sounded unsure. You didn’t know if your words were getting through to me, “Sit?”

My head snapped to the side to look at you, and you flinched.

“Or kneel?” I liked that command even less, “You’re too tall.”

My head twitched to the side. I grabbed your desk chair and slowly dragged it to me, scraping against the desk with a metallic screech. I sat where you had access to my back.

I couldn’t see you, which agitated me, but I could hear you. You were filtering through your tools. “The fact that you can follow verbal commands is... brilliant.” My metal bones reverberated with delight over your condescending praise. Bonnie was too easy to please. “When were you built?”

> output speech(“[YEAR_EST]”) = Yes/No?

> No.

You waited for a few moments before you asked, “Who built you?”

> output speech(“Mr. Henry Emily”) = Yes/No?

> No.

You finally picked the tools you wanted and set them on your desk, “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”

My head snapped to you, “D̶o̶n̴'̷t̷ ̵p̷u̷l̶l̷ ̶i̶t̵ ̵o̵u̵t̶.̵” You startled at my voice.

“I’m not- I won’t,” Your brow furrowed as I saw your mind race beyond your eyes. I wanted to know how fast your heart was beating. You swallowed and it was thick. “Your suit is rotten enough that I can...” You shook your head. “I’m going to access your PLC from the outside, alright?”

You were speaking clearly and plainly—purposefully, as if to ensure I processed what you said. I didn’t respond, but I did turn my head forward.

I felt your hesitant hands on my back, peeling past my rotted casing and flesh. You took your time inspecting my insides, and I could feel your thumb prodding into me. You weren’t ripping a piece of me out, but your intrusion was still grating; inflamed and abrasive.

I couldn’t see what you were doing, but then you connected something to me. An electrical shock jolted my core, stopping my mechanical and biological functions with a violent brake. For a moment, I was in a hellish suspension. Then, like a dull computer slowly humming to life, I came back to awareness.

“Huh?” You were looking at your thin computer. There were wires connecting me to it. I imagined wrapping them around your neck—pulling them tight, cords digging into your flesh. I could make you feel that damned suspension, no electricity required. “Strange...”

You turned back to me, but stuttered when you saw how I looked at you. You swallowed your visceral panic and began tinkering with the wires in my back.

“...Something is wrong with you.” You said, returning to your computer. “You should be dead... But you're not.”

My eyes made subtle mechanical movements as I stared into your carpet.

“...What’s powering you?” You whispered, before scoffing to yourself, “Translating this is going to be a beast.” I felt the tapping of your keyboard beyond the wires. They itched like bugs crawling on my skin. I wanted them off of me, but I knew to be patient. I could be patient.

Patience was easier when I could watch you.

As I stared at the monotonous carpet floor, I became hyper aware of every sound. Your taps and clicks (obviously), the quiet humming of the air conditioning, the rumbling of your dishwasher beyond the door, the rustling of leaves in the wind outside—a dog suddenly barking in a way that stalled your fingers before you resumed your tapping. The more I focused on these sounds, the more I heard a heartbeat. A low, weak drum that frenzied my mind like wasps. It had to have been yours. It had to be yours. It was yours. It was yours.

You hummed, and it snapped me out of my trance. I couldn’t hear a heartbeat anymore, and my hands twitched at the urge to dig my fingers into your chest just so I could hear it again. “I would kill to talk to whoever made you...” So would I. “The way they programmed you is... unusual. Genius, but seriously unusual. I bet I could knock out half of it tonight-”

My head jerked to the side, “F̷i̶n̵i̸s̴h̴ ̶i̴t̶.̶” 

You flinched, “I-I am!”

“T̶o̵n̸i̶g̵h̶t̸.̶”

“Tonight?” You laughed nervously, “There’s no way-”

“T̶o̵n̸i̶g̵h̶t̸.̶” I repeated, my strangled breath being squeezed from my voicebox.

“I’m telling you, it’s not-”

“T̶o̵n̸i̶g̵h̶t̸.̶”

You scoffed, and you had the gall to sound annoyed. “Alright, if it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”

. . .

Someone forgot to be afraid.

I stood up. I grabbed the wires and ripped them out of my back. I dropped them to the floor. You stumbled away from me, remembering yourself. 

Too late.

“I mean, I could try-?”

My head twitched. My voicebox popped and fizzled with strangled wheezing, “L̵e̷t̶'̶s̷ ̶p̸l̵a̷y̷.̵” My voice reverberated with Bonnie’s.

“N-no, let’s not play!” Your voice cracked trying to appeal to my circuitry.

> [PLAY MODE] = active

> enter [GAME]: . . .

You squeaked, and fever rushed through my veins and wires.

> Execute([H+S])

“H̷i̵d̵e̴ ̶a̶n̵d̶ ̷s̵e̵e̸k̷.”

You choked on your gasp as you caught yourself on the wall behind you. Just look at you. Your eyes shook with horror, darting between me and the exit you left open for yourself. I drank your fear like wine. It was so sweet to me. I deserved this. I had been patient. I waited all day. You abandoned me behind the door. I let you dig around in my viscera. It was only fair that I got to have my fun.

> executing command = [H+S]

Exhilaration raced over my metal bones like lightning. I couldn’t tell who wanted to play more, me or Bonnie. It didn’t matter. I still felt twice the delight.

“T̵e̷n̷.̸” 

Your already frightened eyes widened. What an exciting little thing you were.

“N̵i̸n̸e̸.”

You bolted out of the room, your legs barely stumbling to keep up with your own pace. It took everything in me to keep from chasing you down now—hearing the screams you’d make when I’d grab you and slam your head into the floor.

“E̶i̶g̵h̶t̵.̸”

But it was more fun to play, and I didn’t know if I could stop myself from killing you if I caught you now. 

“S̵e̵v̵e̸n̷.̷”

...Could I stop myself even if I did play by the rules?

“S̴i̵x̵.̷”

I heard a loud crash and the sound of furniture moving. My head twitched to the side, mechanical and annoyed. You’d better not make it easy for me, or I’d rip out your intestines the moment I laid eyes on you.

"F̶i̸v̴e̸.̴"

My eyes jerked at the sound of wood scraping against the tile, then strained creaking. At least you weren't stupid enough to run out the door.

"F̴o̷u̵r̸.̸"

Anticipation itched at my fingertips as your frantic wooden creaking rang in my head.

"T̷h̵r̶e̶e̸.̶"

I imagined your trembling body when I'd catch you, the begging that would spill from your lips like sugar, how your skin would break under my grip, painting my fingers a lovely red. My shattered bones shuddered, intoxicated at the thought.

"T̴w̷o̸.̶"

Metal scraped against wood once more, and then there was a loud slamming.

"O̸n̷e̸.̷"

Pressure released from my metal joints in a hiss of air. I took heavy steps. I let my strangled breath echo against your walls. I wanted you to know where I was. I scratched the doorframe to your living room with the loud screech of metal on metal. My eyes mechanically processed your living room. Every inch of the room was scanned for variations. Bonnie was made for this.

What made that creaking noise? I stepped closer to the center of the living room, eyes darting from furniture to cabinets to doors. Even in silence, I couldn't hear your muffled breaths. They should’ve been quickened with your fear, a delightful hushed series of pants and puffs. Were you holding your breath? That thrilled me.

Taking steps past your kitchen, my eyes jerked upward. A single string swayed back and forth from the ceiling: the entrance to the attic. I felt the edges of my petrified grin widened.

I quieted. I loved giving them false hope. It made their horror more raw; their screams louder. I quietly took the string in my hand, soft enough to be gentle. 

I yanked down the ladder in one loud wooden SLAM. It struck the floor in a terrible crash. I would've given anything to see your expression. Were you crying?

I took one loud step up.

CRACK!

...

I snapped the first step.

I carefully stepped on the second step.

CRACK!

Rage and desperation washed over me like a sheet of icy rain. Your damned ladder was too weak to hold me. I tried to be even more gentle on the third step, but it didn't matter. It too snapped under my weight.

It wasn't fair... I had you! I had you! You were cheating.

In a fit of wrath, I ripped the ladder from your ceiling and shattered it against your floor.

As if to taunt me, you peaked past the entrance to the attic. Your expression was everything I wanted: eyes wide in terror, face paled with horror, body shaking as you looked at me—but it didn't matter. I could not have you.

"C̵͓̑Ḧ̵̟́E̵̖͋Ä̵̡́T̵͈̕Ę̶̆R̶̹̃!̷̗́" My voicebox popped and fried in a short-circuiting monstrous screech. You flinched away from me, ducking back into the attic.

It wasn't fair. I deserved this. I deserved this! You were mine! You were mine! And now, I couldn't even watch you sleep. I grabbed the shattered remnants of the ladder and flung it against the ceiling, fragmenting it in a screaming CRASH!

I twitched. My whole body itched. White noise was swallowing me. You were being quiet. I was alone. Again. This was your fault. This was your fault. I hated you. I needed to kill you. I needed to kill something. I needed blood.

Your neighbor's dog started to bark again. I stilled.

It wouldn't be my finest kill, but it wouldn't be the first time either.

> [PLAY MODE] = Active

> enter [GAME]: . . .

> Execute[FETCH]

[lelengerine]

wonbin + in my dreams — red velvet + hii lua! im sooo excited for ur event, ur works never fail to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside 🥹

͙͘͡★ lucid dreaming

song prompt. “i wrote a short story for my creative writing class about someone i saw in a dream—except now you’re sitting across from me in the campus café, and you look exactly like them”

pairing. stranger!wonbin x reader

tags. college au, strangers to ???, lots of teasing and a bit of slow burn (crazy work for a drabble), no specific pronouns used, not sure if i missed anything else...

wc. 1.5k words

notes. so i may have gotten a little carried away, and this might’ve been longer than intended but thank u for requesting xu <333 i’d absolutely love to know what u think of it after hehe ALSO quick thank you to my lovely @suzayaaa for proofreading this for me 😌😌 and as always... likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome

꒰ m.list | event m.list ꒱

the campus café was always busy, bustling with the usual clatter of coffee orders and murmured conversations. today was the same, and you’d usually start grumbling to yourself over the fact a random group of students were being too loud in the farthest corner, but you couldn’t care less this time because it wasn’t possible. 

no, it couldn’t be possible.

you sat frozen at your usual spot, gripping your iced latte so hard the condensation dripped onto your fingers as you watched the man you once dreamt of now in the flesh, breathing and all. he was reading something on his phone, one elbow lazily propped on the table, head tilted the same way you imagined. his sharp, cat-like eyes were focused, framed by messy black hair that was so perfectly imperfect it had to have been styled on purpose.

what made everything worse was the fact he was merely a table away, utterly oblivious to the way your entire sense of reality had just been derailed.

you slammed your laptop shut in attempt to scare your thoughts from plaguing you any further, but the sound came out sharper than intended. in fact, it was loud—well, loud enough to earn you a glance from the person you least wanted attention from.

you watch as his lips curve into a faint smirk, and you knew—you knew—he’d seen it all and before you could look away or bury yourself in your drink, he stood.

panic began to bubble in your chest, the feeling slowly rising up to your throat. no. no, no, no. he wasn’t actually—

he was.

in a matter of seconds, he was standing over your table, coffee in one hand and a casual confidence in the other. a shadow fell across your table, and you dared to look up. “mind if i sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the chair across from you with the tilt of his head. his voice was smooth and you could’ve swore right then and there that he was teasing you.

“uh… sure?”

the word barely made it out before he slid into the seat, setting his coffee down with an ease that made you wonder if this was a regular occurrence to him. “you seemed like you wanted to say something earlier,” he casually said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze pinning you in place. “but then you just… stared.”

you felt your cheeks heat up instantaneously from his comment. “i wasn’t staring,” the lie escaped far too easily—but even you couldn’t convince yourself it was true.

“no?” he raised an eyebrow, the playful disbelief in his tone impossible to miss. “you sure about that?” before you could snap back, he smirked, tapping the edge of his coffee cup as if he’d just thought of something. “by the way, i’m wonbin. figured you’d want to know, since you seem so fascinated.”

the sheer audacity of his remark made your jaw drop. “i wasn’t—”

“staring?” he finished for you, his grin widening as he leaned back. “right. you mentioned that. but now that we’re here, it’d only be fair for you to tell me your name too, wouldn’t it?”

you pursed your lips as you debated whether to play along or simply walk out of this conversation altogether, but there was something about the way he looked at you—so completely unbothered yet intrigued—that made you answer without thinking.

he repeated your name like he was testing it on his tongue before the expression on his face changes into one of satisfaction. “nice. i’ll remember that.”

you glanced at him with silent judgement, trying to regain some semblance of control in this strange interaction. “you make a habit of throwing strangers off like this?”

“only the interesting ones,” he shot back, gaze sharp but amused. “so, now that we’re acquainted, what’s this you’re hiding from me?”

right. that.

you let out a nervous laugh, fingers tightening around your iced latte as if it would save you. “okay, maybe i was staring. but it’s not what you think.”

“oh?” he asked, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “then what is it?”

your mouth opens for a brief moment before it closes back shut from the lack of words coming out. how could you even begin to explain this? that he looked like someone who lived in your dreams and that you may have potentially written about him for an assignment of yours? 

“it’s… complicated,” you finally answer, the words falling flat.

“complicated’s fine.” he said easily, resting his chin in his hand, watching you like he just found the most fascinating thing in the room. “i’ve got time.”

“fine,” you muttered, slumping back in your chair as you crossed your arms. “i wrote about a dream for class.”

his eyes widen just a little, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face. he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “and how does this relate to me exactly?”

you hesitated, now fidgeting with the straw of your iced latte. avoiding his gaze only made the confession harder. finally, you huffed and met his curious stare head-on. “cause… you were in that dream.”

that seemed to catch him off guard for a split second before his lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. he leaned back, his hand lazily swirling his own coffee cup. “now this is getting interesting. keep going.”

your face burned and you shook your head, shooting him an incredulous glare. “no, i’m not telling you anything else.”

“what’s it gonna take for you to open up to me, hm?” now you’re the one with an eyebrow raised. his words hung in the air, laced with an almost playful daring that made your heart stutter and race all at once. the curve of his lips was teasing, yet his eyes betrayed something deeper—a glint of genuine curiosity that made it impossible to brush him off entirely.

you tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a resolve you weren’t sure you possessed anymore. “and what makes you think i owe you an explanation?”

his grin widened, leaning back against his chair as if settling in for a game he had every intention of winning. “you don’t owe me anything. but,” he paused, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his coffee cup, “i can tell there’s a story behind all this. and you seem like the type of person who’d rather share it than let it eat you alive.”

the audacity of his confidence made your jaw tighten. yet, as much as you wanted to scoff and wave him off, the glimmer in his eyes, the slight quirk of his lips—it was all too disarming.

it was as though he already knew he’d worn down your defenses, even before you did.

you leaned forward slightly, mirroring his posture. “you know, you’re awfully presumptuous for someone who just walked over uninvited.”

his chuckle was low, a warm rumble that seemed to ripple through the chaos of the café and settle right in your chest. “fair enough. but you let me sit here, didn’t you?”

you blinked, trying to will away the heat creeping up your neck. he had you there.

wonbin takes your silence as a well-earned victory. “so,” he started off proudly, “what was i like in this story of yours? don’t hold back—i’m dying to know.”

you blinked at him, your mind scrambling to piece together a response. the sheer improbability of it all—the person you believed only existed in your imagination now sitting across from you, teasing you like it was the most natural thing in the world—sent your pulse into overdrive.

“i… still don’t think i should tell you.” 

“why not?” a playful pout replaces the smirk that was once resting on his lips, “was i boring? a nobody? or—his smirk widened, and there was a dangerous edge of amusement in his tone—was i the love interest?”

your breath hitched, and the iced latte in your hand felt suddenly too cold, too real. “what? no! it wasn’t like that.”

“hmm.” he hummed in mock contemplation, his eyes never leaving yours. “you say that, but the way you’re turning red right now is kind of telling.”

“because you’re being impossible!” you shot back, the words tumbling out before you could think.

his laugh came easily, warm and unbothered, and somehow it made the heat in your cheeks worse. “relax, i’m just messing with you. but, hey, you’ve got to admit—it’s flattering. i mean, you dreamed me up, wrote about me, and now here i am. feels like fate, don’t you think?”

you narrowed your eyes at him, torn between frustration and the urge to laugh at his nerve. “fate would’ve made you less obnoxious.”

“aw, now you’re just being mean.” he grinned, standing up and grabbing his coffee. “but i’ll take it. dream me up again sometime, yeah?”

before you could muster a response, he was already strolling away, a casual wave tossed over his shoulder. you found yourself watching his retreating figure, but this time, your thoughts lingered on the possibility of meeting him again—preferably not in your dreams, you hope.

[delicateperspective]

Hi

I’ve noticed there’s a lot of debate about Harry’s career, and I wanted to ask what you think about it. Like, do you think he’s actually fully free when it comes to his career?

It seems like he’s gained a lot of creative freedom, and he’s pretty close to the CEO of Sony Music.

I get that at his level, there’s usually more control over artists, but it kind of looks like he’s managed to carve out some real freedom.

hey! oh my gosh anon, thank you for asking this in such a kind and respectful way. seriously. i’ve had this question come in before, but often phrased in ways that are really dismissive or degrading toward harry, and i try to avoid engaging with anything that tears them down for my own peace of mind. so i really appreciate the tone you brought to this ♥

there are definitely some great takes floating around from other blogs, but i’m happy to throw in my two cents too!

so — do i think harry is completely free in his career now?

short answer: no, not completely. but i do think he’s carved out a lot more freedom than he had in the past, especially creatively.

longer answer below if you're up for a read 👇

📄contract stuff 📄

when harry was 16, he was handed the same standard x-factor contract as the other contestants — and likely wasn’t allowed to seek outside opinion before signing. those contracts would’ve included clauses about not revealing anything that happened behind the scenes, letting the show dictate how their image and likeness are used, and (this one’s actually been confirmed by other contestants) never disparaging simon cowell. several former contestants have said they’re still under those NDAs — so at least parts of that original contract are probably still in effect.

and that’s just the beginning.

after x factor, 1d signed a recording contract with syco/sony (december 2010) for five albums and a set number of years. they fulfilled the album count, yes — but we don’t know what other clauses were baked into that deal. i’ve seen theories (and i tend to agree) that if three or more members are seen collaborating or photographed together, it can still trigger the 1D brand — which could reactivate image management clauses. and from what we know, syco/sony may still own their masters, unless that changed when the business entity was sold to universal in 2020 (though that didn’t seem to include the catalog).

they also renewed that contract in 2013, which again — no one outside their teams has seen the terms or end date. and then there's the US contract with columbia/sony (signed in 2011), which would’ve come with its own image rights clauses and restrictions.

now — harry himself has said that the first contract he saw without a “cleanliness clause” (sometimes called a morality clause) was his first solo deal with columbia. that tells us that every previous contract — from x factor to 1d — likely included one. and those clauses are serious. they’re basically designed to let the label (or management) protect their investment by controlling anything that might be seen as “damaging” to the artist’s public image or marketability.

if the artist breaks a clause — even unintentionally — the consequences can be massive: they can lose their deal, be forced to pay back everything that’s been invested in them (studio time, promo, tour costs), and in some cases even be sued for future losses — meaning the label can estimate what they would have made off you and demand that too.

so when people ask “why would they closet him?” — the answer is: because under a cleanliness clause, being openly gay could absolutely be labeled as ‘unsavory’ or ‘damaging’, especially in an industry built on selling a fantasy to teenage girls. back then, harry’s entire commercial value (to them) was tied to how desirable he was to a young, straight female audience. coming out — or even being perceived as queer — could have been framed as a threat to his marketability, and therefore a violation of the contract.

and we’re not talking small stakes — we’re talking about millions of dollars riding on his “image.” at that age, with that kind of power imbalance, it wouldn’t have been framed to him as a choice. it would’ve been: this is what you signed. this is the deal. this is how it works.

and just to expose myself a little — i’m actually really familiar with clauses like that. i’ve written them, i’ve signed them, i’ve seen them broken. they’re not just used in music — they show up in any industry where someone’s public image is monetized. are they outdated and kind of gross? yeah. but from a corporate risk perspective, they’re considered “standard.”

to give a non-music example: if J.K. Rowling had been under contract for five more books when she started making horrific comments about trans people, her publisher could’ve dropped her and sued her for all the money they lost out on because of her public behavior. so — yeah. sometimes those clauses are used to protect people, but they can also be used to control them.

🌟 current day 🌟

based on what little we know, i personally believe that harry fulfilled his first solo contract — which i think was for three albums (HS1, Fine Line, Harry’s House). that deal may have been better than what he had before, but he was still just starting out as a solo artist. he probably didn’t have the leverage (or confidence) yet to push for a deal that was completely in his favor. the label was taking a risk on him — he could’ve flopped. and i think he knew that too. none of the industry people could’ve predicted just how massive he’d become. (okay, we could’ve, but still.)

and here’s where i’ll expose another opinion: i fully believe that part of that solo deal — or jeff’s strategy — was to intentionally distance harry from the 1D brand, and from all the members. not because he doesn’t care about them, but because the narrative around him needed to be “solo star harry styles,” not “harry from one direction.”

that’s why we didn’t see him publicly with any of them for years. remember when he went to louis’ xfactor performance in 2016? there was a photo of him with steve aoki. and then a separate photo of louis, liam, and niall with steve. but no photo of all of them together. no photo of harry with any of them (the closest we got was in AOTV - and everyone says "thank you Louis"). that’s not a coincidence.

even if i didn’t believe in larry (which i do), i’d still believe that the public friendships within the band were intentionally regulated for years. not because they weren’t real, but because they weren’t allowed to be seen.

🌈 freedom, but with limits 🌈

i also have a little (okay, a lot) of suspicion that part of the break harry was on was being used to renegotiate whatever his contract looks like now. but it's too early to see any of the effects of that.

to me, he’s as open as he can be — with the original restrictions still in place.

i don’t believe he can confirm his sexuality. i don’t believe he can say he was closeted. i don’t believe any of them can tell us the full truth about how bad things were — or what really happened behind the scenes.

he has signifigant control over his music. he has some control over his image. and he has more say now than he ever did before. but he’s still walking a very careful line, and i think that’s why he’s known for only doing interviews with pre-approved questions. not because he’s trying to be mysterious and "diva" about it — but because he literally can’t afford to say the wrong thing.

there’s a constant push and pull with his public image. and honestly? i think he’s handling it with a lot of grace.

💬 final thoughts 💬

i really, really hope that someday he (and the others) can be more open. and i think he hopes that too, based on the way he changes lyrics live (golden, 2022, coachella. "i'm hoping someday i can be open") and the quiet ways he pushes boundaries.

but for now? no — i don’t think harry is as free as people assume he is. he has more freedom than he used to, but he’s still navigating a system that was built to control him.

and while i’m here — neither is jade (even if she’s running a simon hate campaign in her music - the illusion of freedom is there for her without actually confirming anything), and definitely not louis (who has signed even more contracts with syco/simon even after the band). or the rest of them, really. they’re all still carrying the weight of the contracts they signed when they were teens, and the machine that came with it.

there are people trying to fix that — former contestants, people who were mistreated by simon, by itv, by x factor. but so far, no real structural change seems to have happened.

thanks again for the thoughtful ask, anon 🫶

[almondx1ao]

Late nights {XYX fluff}

_________________

Cw: nothing just fluff <3

Fanart by: DesLune

_________________

You had insisted on staying up with him, you wanted to spend time with him. He had late night paperwork to finish for his job and despite how much he'd insisted you laid in bed and had teased you to do so, you were stubborn. You had sat on his lap and played games on a handheld console instead of listening to him. It was like he had two cats instead of one. You were facing the back of the chair while he faced his computer working on the paperwork, knowing full well you weren't leaving. You played your game with a low volume to be quiet so he could work, the only sound that filled the room were the clicks from his keyboard as he had typed and the soft 8-bit music from your switch. 

The soft light of the fairy lights glowed on your soft and delicate skin Xyx couldn't help but admire you, even when tired he found you captivating. The blue light of his screen radiated off of his darker skin. Your head rested on his shoulder, your tired eyes trained to your console, looking at him every so often. He smiled a little when he caught you looking at him, but also just enjoying that you were there. 

He wouldn't admit that he was actually grateful for your stubbornness at least for now or at least he'd deny it if he did. The hours passed by as he worked, you could almost hear the clock tick as he worked. He had started at 10 and was now nearing 12, he lost track of time in his mundane work. Xyx could feel the tiredness ache in his body, but that was a normal for him, since it was a common occurrence with his job. Though, a meow from Cat broke his concentrative state. 

His green eyes looked to where cat had normally perched on his bookshelf to look over him and you, expecting the animal to beg him for a luxurious meal. He was going to be playful and tell cat that he wasn't going to get it luxury dinners because of the distraction, keeping to his promises to take them away if they bothered him at work...maybe. But the big floofball was not in its normal spot. Instead at your side, nudging your limp hand. It swayed a small bit as cat had nudged it. 

Your gaming console was barely able to be held onto anymore and nearly falling to the floor. His eyes traced up your frame from your hand to your face, his lips pulling into a slight smile. You were asleep on him, it's almost as if he had known that would happen. Your face snuggled into the arm closest to you and also on his shoulder. 

Your cheek was squished from cuddling into him, your eyes closed and your mouth hung open slightly. Xyx saw your chest rise and fall in small shallow breaths. A small bit of drool hung off of your lip. He was definitely going to tease you about it later. He chuckled softly, grabbing your game and resting it on the desk,

"I told you doll."

He said softly, as to not wake you, but to also tease your sleeping form. He carefully pushed his chair away from his desk and wrapped your arms and legs around him carefully,

"The paperwork can wait until tomorrow."

He said. Xyx debated on waking you up to tease you for falling asleep on him, but you were just too cute when you slept, so he opted against it.

He wrapped his arms around you to support your weight. He stood and made his way back to your shared room, gently laying you down on your side of the bed. He quietly changed into something more comfortable and then crawled into bed next to you. You had turned in your sleep to face him. He chuckled again and pulled you close. Xyx ran his fingers over your back and buried his nose in your hair, smiling like a fool. You were just too adorable when you were asleep like this. More importantly, he was just lucky to have you and see you like this.

[section-chief-prentiss]

pretty isn't pretty

Summary: Your BAU coworkers throw you a surprise birthday party, but it triggers eating problems from your past. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader

Word Count: 1889

TWs: disordered eating, body shaming, panic attacks 

Ao3

Your surprise 30th birthday party was scheduled the day before your birthday.

You’d never particularly enjoyed celebrating your birthday, for no other reason than you were less than comfortable being the center of attention. Having all eyes on you brought pressure and self-consciousness rather than joy. But when your girlfriend Emily asked for permission to plan something special for your 30th, you couldn’t exactly say no.

Ultimately, Emily made the mistake of asking Penelope for help with planning, and that’s when she came clean with you about the surprise party.

You were grateful for the heads-up—you’d never had a surprise party before and weren’t sure how you would’ve reacted under that pressure. But when you stood in front of the mirror, appraising your appearance, you debated making up an excuse to get out of going.

You’d decided on a short black dress that hugged your frame and simple black heels. The dress made you feel confident when you purchased it, but you hadn’t worn it out yet. Now, it felt like it was suffocating you and highlighting your every flaw. Your eyes ran over every imperfection, each appearing more glaring than the last.

“Ready, love?” Emily asked, stepping out of the bathroom and into the bedroom you shared.

Your heart stopped at the sight of your girlfriend. Her raven hair was curled, and she was wearing a tight red dress that took your breath away. You couldn’t help yourself—you found yourself envying her seemingly effortless confidence.

Even more so, when you saw the hopeful smile on her face, you knew you couldn’t back out.

“I’m not sure,” you said, squirming. “That this outfit is right. Do we have time if I change?”

Emily frowned. “We can be as late as you want; nothing starts without you. But are you sure? You look beautiful.”

You turned to the mirror again, as though her words were enough to make you change what you saw. Your heart sank when you realized they weren’t, but you also didn’t want to have to explain to your friends why you were late.

Forcing a smile, you turned back to Emily. “You’re right; let’s go.”

*** The ruse behind the surprise party was that you were dropping something off at Rossi’s that he’d left at the office, and you were supposed to be on your way to dinner with Emily. But even though you were prepared for what was waiting for you on the other side of the door, you couldn’t help yourself from clinging to Emily’s side.

You braced yourself as you approached the front door, hand in hand with Emily, and rang the bell.

“Come on in!” Rossi called from the other side of the door.

“Ready?” Emily whispered.

Not trusting your voice, you nodded.

Emily opened the door to reveal complete darkness. When she hit the light switch, the entire BAU jumped out and yelled, “Surprise!”

Despite knowing this was coming, you still jumped.

“Happy birthday, love,” Emily planted a kiss on your cheek.

“It’s not even my birthday yet,” you said, hoping you sounded surprised enough to fool a room full of profilers.

“That’s part of the surprise,” Penelope sang. “When Peaches told me we were planning a party for your birthday, I knew we had to go all out.”

You turned to Emily, who whispered, “Sorry.”

Well, that explained the extravagance, at least. You were grateful your girlfriend knew you well enough to warn you ahead of time.

Rossi’s house was almost unrecognizable. A fact that, based on the scowl Rossi couldn’t keep off his face for long, he wasn’t thrilled with. You threw an apologetic smile his way, and he winked in reply.

Streamers and balloons hung from the light fixtures and along the ceiling. You followed them into the kitchen, where a full bar and spread was waiting.

“Guys, this is too much,” you flushed.

Spencer stepped forward. “You know, by the time you’re 30—”

“Drink, Y/N?” Morgan interrupted.

You chuckled. “Please. Wine would be great.”

Hotch, JJ, and Rossi wished you a happy birthday on their way to the food. Emily, knowing what you needed, wasn’t far away.

Morgan handed you a Moscato and Emily a cabernet, which you took gratefully, before he made his way to the food as well.

“Can I get you a plate?” Emily asked, resting a hand on your lower back.

“Maybe in a bit,” you said, your appetite dissipating. You’d been unable to eat anything all day due to the nerves, which had caught up with you on the drive over. But now that you were here, the sight of food was enough to make you nauseous. “But you go ahead.”

Despite your insistence, Emily stayed by your side. Gradually, the group made their way out to the backyard, where string lights cascaded like rain.

“Penelope,” you breathed. “This is beautiful.”

Your friend blushed. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you argued.

“No, it wasn’t,” she agreed immediately with a giggle. “But it was worth it to see that look on your face.”

“Speaking of…” Emily said, sliding over to your side and nodding toward something behind you.

You turned to find Morgan and Hotch delicately balancing a three-tiered cake, lavishly decorated in pastel frosting and delicately placed flowers, with what you assumed were thirty candles lit at the top. All around you, your friends burst into a slightly off-tune rendition of “Happy birthday,” but all you could focus on was the pile of sugar beelining in your direction.

Hotch and Morgan set the cake down on the table nearest you, and you felt the blood drain from your face as you fought to keep a smile on it.

“Happy birthday to you…” The group sang, holding out the last note.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you closed your eyes to fight the tears that were brimming in them, as you pretended to ponder your wish. When you felt composed enough, you opened them just enough to get a peek of where you were aiming and blew out the candles in one fell swoop.

Your friends erupted in cheers, and Hotch started plucking the candles out and placing them on a plate. Morgan picked up the knife and began cutting out slices for everyone, and you couldn’t take your eyes off the large slices he prepared.

Despite your best efforts, past comments from your mom rattled around your brain.

Are you going to eat all that?

You need to watch your figure.

No one will love you if you keep eating like that.

As if knowing your doubts and wanting to combat them, Emily reached out to hand you a piece of cake. “First piece for the birthday girl,” she sang, leaning over to kiss you on the cheek.

You glanced from the dessert to your girlfriend’s eyes, which were filled with love. But your heart hammered in your chest—what if it was just for show? What if your mom had been right all those years ago?

“Are you okay, love?” Emily lowered her voice so only you could hear.

No one will love you if you keep eating like that.

“I’m just not hungry,” you said, cursing your voice for shaking. “I had a late lunch today.”

Across the room, Spencer frowned. “Weren’t you guys supposed to be on your way to dinner?”

You clammed up. “Um, yes, but—”

“C’mon, Y/L/N, you can’t pass up at least one bite of your birthday cake,” Morgan teased.

Though you knew it came from a place of love, it felt like mounting pressure weighing on your shoulders. And with each passing moment, another one of your friends looked in your direction, and you couldn’t take the attention.

“I’ll be right back,” you whispered, pushing past Emily and back into the house.

Tears blurred your vision, and your chest felt like it was caving in. You weren’t sure how you were still breathing.

The first door you reached, which you were sure was a guest bathroom, you threw yourself inside it, only to discover a pile of coats waiting on the other side. You wiped your tears away to discover you’d thrown yourself in a closet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You collapsed to your knees, letting your emotions take over. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you enjoy the birthday party your friends threw for you without ruining it?

Why couldn’t you just eat the damn cake?

You cursed your mother, whom you’d stopped talking to the moment you turned 18 and moved out, for still holding such power over you and your inner thoughts. You knew what she said was wrong, but in moments like these, her voice was louder than your own rationale.

When the closet door cracked open, you clamped a hand over your sobbing mouth to muffle the sound. The last thing you needed was for anyone here to see you like this.

But it was Emily’s face that peered down at you. She slipped through the door and closed it behind her, taking the space next to you on the floor.

“What’s wrong, love?”

She offered you her arms and you collapsed in them, letting her embrace you.

“It’s my mom,” you hiccupped through your tears.

“Did she say something?” The instantly fierce, protective tone in your girlfriend’s voice filled your chest with warmth. Emily was no stranger to the issues with your mother, and faced similar issues with her own mom. It was one of the things that bonded you together at the beginning of your relationship.

“No, not recently. It’s just… things she’s said before all came rushing back. And the idea of eating that cake, with everyone staring at me, was just too much,” you whispered.

Emily cursed under her breath. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve thought about that before letting Pen plan this whole thing. Do you want to leave? I can sneak us out of here; you don’t need to see anyone else tonight if you don’t want to.”

You smiled into her shirt, your tears slowing. It was a tempting offer, but you knew what you needed to do.

“No. I can’t let her have that power over me. I just didn’t expect it all to bubble up like this.”

Emily rubbed circles on your back, and you focused on the sensation, letting your breathing return to a normal rhythm.

“Take as long as you need. We’re not in a hurry.”

You wanted to ensure you wouldn’t fall apart in front of your friends again, so you gave yourself a minute to collect yourself. Just as you were about ready, Emily whispered in your ear.

“Who would’ve thought? The two of us, back in the closet together.”

You coughed out a laugh, surprising yourself with it. Emily joined in and the two of you fell against each other, letting the giggles ride out. When you were ready, you kissed your girlfriend gently, and she helped you to your feet. She always knew what to say to make you laugh.

“I love you,” you said.

“I love you, too,” Emily replied, taking your hand. “You ready?”

“Yes. But if Spencer tries to make another comment about being 30, I might kill him.”

Emily squeezed your hand, kissing the back of it. “Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

[humusboii2thereturnoftheking]

Al Jazeera's Arabic documentary about the war in Gaza

I just watched a video by The Easy Way breaking down a brand-new Al Jazeera documentary released only five days ago. I’ll link both the documentary and the analysis below.

This documentary is significant for two reasons. First, it highlights the stark contrast between what Al Jazeera presents to Western audiences versus what it feeds its Arab and Muslim viewers. Second, despite being released just days ago, it has already amassed nearly 6 million views.

Let me first summarize what’s in the documentary (based on The Easy Way, whom I find to be a reliable source). If you’re impatient, feel free to skip down to my main point. If you want to watch the documentary and draw your own conclusions then know it has English subtitles

The so-called “documentary” exclusively pushes the Palestinian narrative, starting from October 7th and ending at the ceasefire. Here are some key takeaways:

Jewish communities are only referred to as “settlements,” despite not being located on disputed land.

The community emergency squads (Kitat Konenut, כיתת כוננות) are falsely depicted as “soldiers in civilian clothing” fighting against uniformed Hamas fighters.

The October 7th attack (Al-Aqsa Flood) is framed as a glorious Hamas victory, while Israel’s response is labeled “genocide.” The ceasefire is then framed, again, as another Hamas triumph.

Hamas fighters are glorified as honorable and moral, with most of the footage showing them attacking Israeli soldiers. When civilians are targeted, the footage is carefully edited to remove any actual harm. In the rare clips of Hamas inside Jewish communities, they claim they were “protecting” civilians while fighting the IDF.

The attack on Israel is spun as a preemptive strike, Hamas supposedly knew Israel was about to “destroy Gaza,” and by taking hostages, they miraculously stopped this imaginary plan.

Hostages are never called hostages, only “prisoners.” The film pushes the idea that every Israeli citizen is a permanent soldier because they once served in the IDF.

Al Jazeera uses Hamas footage but clumsily tries to remove the red triangle markers (which signal targets for execution). The triangles are still visible in parts of the video.

One of the most absurd claims? Hamas rescued Jewish civilians from the battlefield and took them to a “safe place” in Gaza.

The documentary portrays Yahya Sinwar as a fearless warrior who fought above ground against the IDF, even though there’s footage of him scurrying in tunnels.

It argues that Israel’s economic initiatives in Gaza were merely a deception to distract Palestinians while secretly plotting to destroy Al-Aqsa Mosque and rebuild the Third Temple. Ironically, this implies an acknowledgment that Israel actually helped Gaza’s economy.

Now, here’s why this matters:

I’ve spent the last year and a half debating people about this conflict. Most of the time, the people I argue with know shockingly little yet still parrot the Palestinian narrative they’ve been fed in English. But no one ever talks about how vastly different the Arabic narrative is.

Hamas portrayed as heroes who saved Jews? As masterminds who foresaw an “evil Zionist plot”? As victors at both the beginning and end, despite Gaza’s destruction? If Westerners saw even a third of this documentary, they’d be horrified (or at least that's what I hope. Copium, I know).

How can anyone still claim Palestinians are suffering when their own media frames them as triumphant? How can anyone scream “genocide” while Hamas itself boasts about winning?

It’s mind-blowing. I’ve had so many debates where people justify October 7th with “it didn’t happen in a vacuum” and go on about history and the chicken-and-egg argument. Meanwhile, Hamas is openly admitting: “We did this because the evil Zionists were planning to exterminate us.”

How can Westerners keep defending Hamas when Hamas itself tells an entirely different story in Arabic?

I’m honestly stunned.

Here are the links for the videos, let me know what you think

Al Jazeera's New Gaza Documentary Is Crazy - YouTube - "The Easy Way" commentary

ما خفي أعظم.. الطوفان - YouTube - the Al Jazeera documentary

[clairedaring]

Hi! I saw that you've read Euthanasia, and I had a question after watching episode 7 of Spare Me Your Mercy. I'm curious about the framing of Boss' death and what space the novel gives to tease out the complexities of euthanasia and disability? As a disabled watcher, I come to discussions of euthanasia outside terminal illness quite wary. Though I'm certainly coming from a Western context where euthanasia and disability is a very sensitive topic and the conversation might look pretty different in Thailand. The framing in the show felt at the very least rushed in terms of building any nuance into the conversation so far, so I'm curious if and how the novel explores the complexities of this.

Hi Shane 💖

To be honest I think that the series is doing far better in terms of show the complexities than the books in terms of euthanasia (i know, unbelievable but bare with me for a second here friend).

So.... the biggest difference the series has made so far is changing the roles between Somsak and Boss. In the book, Somsak was the main culprit and Boss was his accomplice in the way that Boss/Boze also idolises Kan and his ideals -> Somsak convinced Boss to join him in his quest to euthanise patients.

And if you ask what Doctor Somsak's motivation is? There isn't more to it as much as he believes in the same thing as Kan and Kan coming to the hospital is now a future scapegoat for him.

In the novel, Kan also deliberately euthanised/murdered Dr. Somsak when he was in the hospital after they were both injured in their gun fight (similar to what happened to Boss) (pinging @waitmyturtles who may be interested to know that novel!Kan wasn't just a morally grey ass, he really did fuck up there and genuinely did not deserve to end up with Wasan where they left them in the first novel).

But there wasn't a dramatic conversation between them like how Boss asked Kan to do kill him. No, like novel!Kan straight up murdered Somsak to keep him from telling everyone his secret (granted it was his only murder and he did go to prison for it but yeah still novel!Kan was... something else).

So in this sense I think the series has already done much better with the topic of euthanasia, opening up more sides to the debates whereas the novel only touches upon euthanasia in a very surface level way to move forward with its the murder mystery plot.

It's doing it very clumsily for sure but for instance I like that Boss's background story represented how his mother got caregiver burnout and in a country where public healthcare is not as developed and there aren't much welfare or support schemes for people living in rural areas, it's not uncommon to see this seemingly selfish thinking from people around terminally ill/permanently disabled people. It's selfish and inherently discriminatory but it's a raw representation of the painfully ugly mindset people may harbour but will never say it out loud in public.

I'm in no way defending this series by the way, I'm simply saying that if you're looking for more nuances and complexities on the topic of euthanasia in the novels, they're definitely not going to offer that. I would say that the novels offer more complexities in the development of the relationship between Kan and Wasan because it's constructed in a way that's much more believable for reader audience.

The series... I think EP.7 tried a little too much with incorporating assisted suicide into euthanasia which is only going to make it much more controversial.

I hope these little novel spoilers help and answer some of your questions. I really can't offer anything from the novels in terms of disability because it wasn't even mentioned once ಥ_ಥ

[sam-keeper]

Hey Look At This Comic: Spaces

(comic images taken from the preview on Megan Delyani's website )

The back of Megan Delyani's SPACES says:

Is it art? Is it a comic? Is it a load of BS? It's probably all three.

which feels like an unfortunate hedge to me, on a project that doesn't need to apologize for itself. 16 pages of empty frames--a lot of work to go to when you could, if you were doing a load of BS, just take one page and copy it 16 times! why waste time drawing each one?

It's not a defense I'm here for. This kind of conceptual, abstract comic work was in the cards from the moment Jean Arp dropped pieces of paper on a canvas and painted where they fell for his "rectangles arranged by chance", to pick one example. Go back to 1916 and bug him about it--I'm not here to debate whether Delyani's efforts are "art" or just a put-on.

What do we do with a comic of all blank frames though? Actually, I find it hard to write about this work, cause it's so easy to narrativize my own experience, preemptively tell my own impressions to myself in the form of an essay while I'm writing it. It's easy, with a work that's in part conceptual and asks "what is a comic" style questions, to get bogged down intellectually and miss the frames for the signifiers. I tried to beat that back by writing this review stoned; I got as far as: "(I'm so high right now as I compose this post. I'm pumpkin pied)" and didn't write any more. So much for writing high and editing sober.

Ok. what's the experience?

it feels bifurcated to me. Sometimes I read the comic one way, sometimes another. Sometimes I hardly read it at all: the page becomes a whole composition, like a color field painting, just an arrangement of rectangles.

Others, I picture, vaguely, what panel contents could fill up these frames. What action do they suggest? in that mode there's something didactic about SPACES, like it's teaching me to really look at pages I would have ignored before. I always turned towards regularized frame structure, and structure breaking, and saw a quick wiggle back and forth between a long and a short panel as just structurelessness, frames dictated by their contents. stripped of rhetorical purpose, the need to fit to a panel subject, they feel free to stand on their own, with their own irregular rhythm. there's a lot of halves and thirds in this, the old drawing board standard, going all the way back to companies like EC and probably further, boards produced that had divisions for panels already printed on them. they aren't dictated here by the sometimes draconian EC scripts; what could fill them now?

the frames can become a drama themselves, little clusters of interrelations that might shockingly transform or counterpoise. A page with two thin rectangles framing a central square, then the next strip is just two squares, the last strip one big panel. it feels like a pushing towards something, the frames getting more weighty and significant as they go down the page. Then the next page: much more chaotic, no regularity in the vertical divisions of the strips, and one panel even sliced in two horizontally. A response to the rhythmic buildup of the previous page, that increasing weight forcing a collapse of order? it's suggestive, at least.

then there's the thin horizontal strips. narration? it suggests a line of text, because of how english language script is written typically in horizontal scripts. but the language of comics might suggest something else. even narration text isn't typically broken out into its own frames separated by gutters. what illustration might go into something like this? decorative elements? or should we read the frames as just participants in the drama themselves? there's a few pages towards the end where a bunch of these appear, alongside more dramatic and irregular divisions again of each strip. this set of three or so pages feels chaotic, like ideas intruding upon each other in rapid succession. then, four squares and one solid final punctuating panel, a set of definitive statements. it's breathtaking. no, really, I'm not pulling your leg here! I see it and I gasp.

and then the last page is unique among all of them, what I came to think of as a "window" arrangement of frames (short, long, short) at the top, giving way to one massive frame... interrupted by a small inset square at the very end, like a final punctuation. it's a satisfying exhale of an ending for the whole arc of a comic all about the rhythm and play of spaces.

what a cool little art object! I'm so glad I was able to pick up a physical copy at a recent zine fair (at a repurposed grocery store space now taken over by a punk flea market in cap hill, which is awesome). you can also get physical copies in various ways--if you're in Seattle maybe pick one up through local art coop Push/Pull? I'd love to see more work exploring the spaces comics are made of.

this post originally ran on Cohost on Jul 26, 2024. you can read more reviews in the Hey Look At This Comic tag and support me on Patreon.

[suggs444]

Bad For Buisness:

William Afton/Steve Raglan x Reader

Sypnopsis: You find out your boss, Steve, who is also your secret lover, has a false identity. As well as an unknown history. You attempt to be reasonable, to set things right, but your boss .. well, he knows you all too well.

TW: swearing, degrading, manipulating, implied sexual actions.

Authors note: Hi, Suggs here. So this is my first x reader that I’ve written in a long long time. And it’s my first ever William Afton based one too. I literally saw the movie and I was 🙈🙈 whenever peepaw was on screen. Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy and lmk if you want more / a part two. Thanks for reading !! <33

Gif by brotherdusk

..

“I should tell everyone!”

You protest, boldly, standing on the other side of Afton’s desk. Your arms cross in an attempt to assert your dominance in this situation - which is rare. William was usually the one with the upper hand. You were foolish to think otherwise, even now.

There he sat with his sunken frame, slouched in his office chair, hands loosely intertwined in his lap. Brows raised in mocking surprise, almost expecting, as if waiting for you to come to your senses. He stares, and you find yourself stuck for words.

You gulp, hard. Frozen in his icy gaze.

“I mean — you’re lying to our consumers! To your staff - to me! Your names not Steve Raglan ..” Your words drift off, lacking much defence and reason.

“It’s bad for business.”

You continue, proudly, pointing your chin upward. As though that sentence completely justified your debate.

William’s head tilts slightly,

“Since when do you care about business quality, y/n?”

You didn’t care. He knew it, and he knew you all too well. Well enough to know you didn’t give a shit about the business, or anyone else. You were upset about not knowing every little detail about him. You’re obsessed. Needy, he knows. Only the two of you mattered. The secret of your intimacy. The sneaking off, the inappropriate relationship. Now, that? That was bad for business.

“Hm?” He presses, condescendingly, brows raising more while waiting for an answer as he sits forward out of his slouch. His exposed forearms coming to lean against the table.

You’re quiet, already. Defeated.

He sucks on his teeth.

“That’s what I thought.”

He leans back into his chair with an exhale, shaking his head.

“I’ve done some things, y/n.” He confesses, “-bad things.”

You can only stare at him.

He pushes himself out of his chair, eyes remaining pinned to yours. You knew your boss wasn’t a good man, fuck, maybe that’s what drew you to him, but you hadn’t expected this.

“What things?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He cuts you off, stern. Stern enough that you know not to push it any more. You bite your tongue, suddenly feeling small by his towering height. William wasn’t a necessarily attractive man, or at least not for everyone. He was older than you. Much older. But clever, so very clever - and wise. Something about his stability, the way he carried himself. The reassurance he gave you and the praise. You could hardly resist him.

“Had to cover my tracks. Tie up loose ends, do you understand? That’s my business, it’s need to know and you don’t.” His voice, a nasal drawl as he slowly rounded the desk, the pads of his fingers drawing along the old wood as he reached you.

“And I certainly don’t need you,” he pauses, pressing his torso against your back. You can feel the heat of his breath on your neck, his scent, a mix of cheap cologne and tobacco.

“-running your sweet mouth and spilling my secrets.” He continues. You melt against him despite the firmness of his tone. You were a slave to your desires. Only he could make the meanest things sound so indulging.

You hum at the closeness. Trying to remain strong headed despite your vision clouding from the intensity of the lustful haze you had for this man. You weren’t weak, just devoted.

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

You do.

“Do you understand?”

You nod stubbornly. He tuts,

“Use your words, y/n.”

“I understand.”

He shoots you a unsatisfied look.

You sigh, “I understand, sir.”

He smiles then, cockily, knowing he had won this time. His eyes creasing beneath his glasses.

“That’s my girl.” He coos, a warm hand coming to cup your cheek. Your eyes close, savouring the action, leaning into his palm. He was always so busy, so intimacy came slim. A rarity. You learnt to enjoy the small gestures.

The warmth was gone the next second. Opening your eyes to find him returning to his seat. You whined softly, turning to him as he settled back in his chair - instantly going back to his paperwork.

“That’s it?” You plead.

His eyes shot up to you over his glasses. Almost surprised you were still there. He sighs through his nose.

“Tell you what,” he lifts his head to give you his full attention.

“You’ve got the rest of this week to prove you can keep your mouth shut. I wanna trust you, y/n. I can do that, can’t I?”

You nod, “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Mr Afto-“ You stop yourself, realising you’re using his real name, his secret name. He’s glaring.

“-Mr Raglan.” You correct yourself, smiling wearily.

“Much better. Keep that up, and I’ll make up for lost time. I’ll give you what you need.”

You sigh sweetly, nodding. The mere thought of that making your knees weak.

“I won’t let you down, I promise.”

You reassure, shooting him one last smile as you turn and leave.

The week can’t end soon enough.