#file: storm writes things

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

}{ Warning for implied consensual non-consent.

Part 8 of The Codfather's Court AU

Jimmy groaned when he came out of the council room and saw fWhip waiting for him. "Good, you're done," said fWhip, following the mer as he strode down the hall in an attempt to get away. "What was I asking before your meeting - oh! Right, forging techniques. So, saltwater is obviously the easiest to get, but it won't work for all metals. Are oil quenches more common? What kind of oil? Or do you bring freshwater in from somewhere? Do some of the islands around here have a decent source of freshwater, or are the desalination techniques here sufficient to keep up with forging demands on top of everyday use for drinking water and the like?"

"Like I said earlier, fWhip, I don't know," said Jimmy through gritted teeth. "I'm not a smith!"

"Oh, yeah. That's fair." fWhip paused at a window to appreciate the sun setting over the water, then hurried to catch up as Jimmy descended the stairs. "Are there extra fortifications around the palace and marketplace to prevent erosion and water damage? I've seen the way the water levels in here get all wibbly wobbly when you or Lizzie get angry, and I'm pretty sure you guys are strong enough to even affect tides and stuff. Or at least she is. So does that ever cause problems for - "

fWhip gasped as Jimmy whirled around and slammed him against the wall. He'd planned to step just out of reach whenever Jimmy finally snapped, maybe lead him on a chase like they were in the swamp again. But he was used to a Jimmy who was shorter and slower than he was, and he hadn't yet learned how far back he needed to step to avoid a Jimmy who was significantly bigger and stronger.

Not that he was complaining. Jimmy's weight pressing against him, his breath warm on fWhip's face, was more compelling than he'd expected. He almost didn't hear Jimmy's next words, too busy staring at his lips.

"First of all, you haven't earned the right to call my sister by her name," snarled Jimmy, tail swishing in irritation. "Second, enough with the questions! Stop following me around everywhere! Go look things up in the library or ask Pixlriffs if you're so curious."

"Hmm...nah." fWhip grinned, feeling smug that it had only taken three days of following Jimmy around to make him this angry. "You're the one who made me part of your court. You want me around so badly, then I'm going to be around."

"This is the only warning you get." Jimmy's fistful of fWhip's shirt clenched tighter. "I'm. busy. When I want you, I'll summon you. Stop pestering me, and stop asking me questions."

"Make me."

The words were barely off his tongue before Jimmy's mouth was on his, kissing him savagely until his knees were weak. "Good strategy," he gasped when Jimmy pulled back, "until you need to breathe."

Jimmy rolled his eyes, then hoisted fWhip over his shoulder and set off toward his personal quarters. "Fine. You want my attention, you've got it."

fWhip struggled in Jimmy's grasp, smacking him in the face with one wing and wriggling out of his hold. "Ooh, so close," he teased when Jimmy made a grab for him and missed. "I might be yours now, but that doesn't mean I'm going to just give in and let you have me. Gonna have to work for it, Codboy."

He evaded another lunge and took off down the hall, grinning as he heard Jimmy give chase. Maybe it was just his hunger making him lightheaded, but there was something intoxicating about being pursued, even knowing there was only one way this would end.

Still not entirely familiar with the palace layout, fWhip tried to double back using a smaller passageway off to one side, only to round the corner and slam right into Jimmy's chest. "Got you," Jimmy growled in his ear, and fWhip shivered. "Seems like you have an awful lot of energy to burn off."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?"

fWhip's taunt earned him a sharp tug to his hair and a kiss that turned into a sharper bite on his lip. "That's simple. I'm going to wear you out until you can't even walk to dinner."

Jimmy kept his promise. When he finally got up to clean up and find his pants, fWhip stayed where he was, more interested in catching his breath than trying to stand just yet. Jimmy moved toward the bed again, and fWhip was beginning to wonder if he planned to carry him to the bath when a knock sounded on the door.

He couldn't tell exactly what was being said, but from the urgent murmur he gleaned that Jimmy's attention was needed for something important. "Take as long as you need," Jimmy threw over his shoulder as he pulled on a shirt. "You can head back to your own room whenever you want."

"Gee, thanks," muttered fWhip to an empty room as the door clicked shut, pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, then flopped back down onto the mattress. "I'll just...stay right here for a little bit, actually."

The next thing fWhip was aware of was Pixlriffs coaxing him out of bed and into a tub, and he couldn't help but whimper when even gentle movements felt like too much. "I hate him," fWhip said, scrunching his face. "Why is he so damn good at - "

He snapped his mouth shut, refusing to admit that Jimmy was anything other than insufferable, and Pix laughed. "Here, lean back against me."

fWhip obediently settled into Pix's hold with a sigh, leaning his head back on his shoulder. He should feel more embarrassed about letting someone else wash him, but he was too tired for pride to make an appearance. He shouldn't be this exhausted, even given Jimmy's inhuman stamina, but then, it had been a long time since he'd gone two months without feeding. He needed to find a solution soon, before wearing out easily was the least of his worries.

He turned his head to one side, finding himself with his face mere inches from Pixlriff's neck, and took a deep breath. "Oh...you smell nice," he mumbled, nosing closer. "Really nice."

Pix chuckled. "Why, thank you," he said, and didn't ask questions despite the mild confusion in his voice. "Goodness me, you are tired, aren't you?"

fWhip sighed and forced himself to turn his head away. At least he wasn't embarrassing himself by drooling. "You have no idea."

[schendy]

"There, that should be the last of it." Roral centered a mint leaf on the last chocolate and stepped back to look at his handiwork. "...You don't think using white chocolate will just make it taste like really sweet toothpaste, right?"

Luken smiled, gathering up utensils to put in the dishwasher while Roral put the molds in the fridge. "Nah, it probably tastes like a candy cane. You've seen how fast he drinks those peppermint white mochas."

Roral nodded, but pulled out an earlier tray and looked at it dubiously. "Should we taste one of the test ones? What if it didn't set right? Or maybe I got the ingredient amounts wrong - "

"Or maybe you got everything right. You're not that bad a cook." Luken lifted Roral by the waist and set him on the center island after making sure there was nothing for his wings to knock onto the floor. "Here, see for yourself."

He peeled a chocolate out of the silicone and held it to Roral's lips. The shell gave way under his teeth rather than snapping as it should, but it was nothing a couple more hours in the fridge wouldn't fix. The center was creamy, and the mint was prominent without being overwhelming.

Not that Raine would mind overwhelming. He probably did more to keep the sprawling mint plant in the garden in check than Roral's actual magic did, as often as he pulled leaves from it to chew on the way other people might chew on gum.

"It's good," he said. "Not as good as his, though."

Luken snorted. "Of course it's not. I said you're not that bad a cook, not that you're a miracle worker." Roral slapped his shoulder, and he laughed. "Want to try one of the strawberries?"

Roral perked up at that, eagerly biting into the chocolate-covered fruit and humming in content. "It's so good. Want to taste?"

He reached for the tray, intending to feed one to Luken in turn, but Luken moved the strawberries out of his reach with a grin before kissing Roral. "Hm, you're right. Tastes pretty good."

Roral's wings puffed immediately, his face almost as pink as the strawberries, and Luken laughed. "That's cheating."

"How?" Luken kissed him again and gave black feathers a few gentle pets, and Roral leaned into him happily. "Don't worry so much about it, angel. You know he'll like anything you give him."

"Right. I'm just making chocolates for a man whose mother is a multi-award-winning, world-famous chef, while I can barely boil a pot of water. No big deal."

"You're way too hard on yourself. What happened to trying not to be so much of a perfectionist, huh?" Luken kissed his forehead. "Roral, it's Valentine's Day, and he loves you, and they really do taste good. Relax."

He punctuated his words with a tap on the end of Roral's nose, and Roral squeaked at the small zap that accompanied it. The front door opening pulled their attention away from each other, and as Raine passed the kitchen he raised an eyebrow at where Roral was sitting.

"No sex on my counters, remember?" he said, dropping his keys and wallet in the bowl on the hallway table, then turned his attention back to the phone held to his ear. "What? No, I was just teasing them! They're not actually - oh, ew, I do not need to know the details about what you and Sverre get up to in your own kitchen, thanks. Okay. Yeah, I'll let you go. If I don't talk to you tomorrow, happy birthday."

He put the phone back in his pocket before coming over and kissing both Luken and Roral in turn. "Sorry, Dark called today since he might be busy tomorrow. What were you two up to?"

"Making chocolates. And not-chocolates. Don't worry, it was all under supervision and we stayed away from your good pans," added Luken teasingly. "Though I don't think you're allowed to have any until tomorrow."

"Of course not. They're Valentine's chocolates, and it's not Valentine's yet," said Roral with a huff. "Besides, they need more time to set."

"Fair enough," said Raine with a grin, and his eyes wandered over to the leftover mint leaves still on the counter. "Can I have those?"

"Only if you answer a question." Roral crossed his arms, fixing Raine with that sharp stare that always meant he was analyzing details in his head. "You said Dark called today because he's busy tomorrow, probably with his boyfriend. Understandable. But then you said 'happy birthday.'"

Raine gave him an innocent look as he put a mint leaf in his mouth. "M'hm?"

Roral narrowed his eyes at the elf. "You're twins."

Raine opened the fridge and pulled out a beer, frost creeping up the sides of the bottle right away as he chilled the drink even further. "What do you want for dinner? I was thinking pasta with that wine sauce you like."

"You're avoiding the question. Luken, he's avoiding the question," said Roral, pouting at Luken. "You heard it too, right?"

"I did," said Luken with a grave nod. "He's avoiding the question."

"I'm not avoiding the question!" protested Raine. "You didn't ask a question for me to avoid! Technically!"

Roral hopped down from the counter, wings flaring out for balance. "Don't 'technically' me, mister writer. You were vague about it the last time I asked about your birthday too!"

"It's not a big deal," mumbled Raine into his bottle. "I always thought of it more as Dark's birthday, anyway. I'm just sort of...along for the ride."

Luken and Roral exchanged a look. "I would say that sounds like there's a lot to unpack there," said Luken, "but I've been explicitly forbidden from going all therapist-y on either of you."

"You have," agreed Roral. "But I haven't. Raine, why didn't you tell us tomorrow is your birthday?" He slid his hand into Raine's, tugging him down for a kiss. "You know we'd want to spend it with you."

"And you will," protested Raine. "My birthday is on Valentine's Day. Of course you'll be spending it with me." He made a face, ears pinned low and tinged red with embarrassment. "I'd just rather be the one to spoil the two of you, rather than the other way around. I don't want you to feel like you have to fuss over me for something unimportant."

"It is important!" said Roral and Luken at the same time, and Raine groaned. "We won't make a big deal out of it if you don't want," said Luken. "But you're important to us. You know that, right?"

"I know." Raine put an arm around Roral's shoulders and kissed Luken's cheek when he moved closer to join them. "...So since it's my birthday, I can go ahead and eat some of those chocolates in the fridge that definitely have mint in them, right?"

"Absolutely not," said Roral. "It's your birthday tomorrow. And somebody doesn't want special treatment."

"That sounds fair to me," said Luken with a nod.

Raine clicked his tongue. "Unbelievable. Ganging up on the disabled guy? On the day before his birthday? My leg hurts so much right now, you know."

"Nope, not gonna work," said Roral, smacking Raine with a wing as he turned to finish the last of the cleanup and getting a laugh out of him. "Go take it off if it hurts."

Raine's laugh turned into a squeak as Luken swept him up into a bridal carry. "You probably should take it off for a few minutes at least if you've been on it all day. Come on, I'll help you."

"Noo, don't leave Roral unattended in my kitchen," whined Raine as Luken carried him to the bedroom. "What if he tries to make dinner?"

"Crazy idea here, but maybe try trusting us," teased Luken, setting Raine on the bed before kneeling down and removing the prosthetic. "Besides, you promised pasta. He won't risk missing out on that."

"I promised nothing," said Raine with a huff, watching Luken roll down the liner and slip it off. "You made sure he got some strawberries for himself when you went shopping, right?"

Luken leaned in between Raine's legs and put his arms around his waist, smiling up at him. "I did."

"Good." He brushed back Luken's loose bangs. "I mean it when I say you don't need to make a fuss, by the way. You two are gift enough."

Luken raised his eyebrows. "So what I'm hearing is, what you want for your birthday-slash-Valentine's Day gift is us wrapped in ribbons and nothing else - " He laughed through the hand Raine clapped over his mouth as Raine's ears went red again. "Love you."

Raine smiled, moving his hand to replace it with his lips instead. "Love you too," he murmured. "...Go sneak me a chocolate while he's busy?"

"And be denied my salted caramels tomorrow? Not a chance."

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 16 "colony" thoughts

damn. this was another episode i had to stretch out over TWO DAYS because a storm RUDELY interrupted me, but to say i was at the edge of my seat was an understatement. i was entirely invested. every beat was excellent. and most of my notes were asking the question: what is going on? so join me as i walk you through every single time i was confused (but in a good way)

so i read the synopsis and saw there was a mulder's sister mention........ interesting....

it opens with mulder monologuing about his quest in life to find the truth, and i'm into it, and then we see a helicopter... but it's HIM in the helicopter being medevaced?? so this monologue must be taking place at a later date? or is a sort of cosmic narration of his coma thoughts??

he is beat to hell and back and they are putting him in a TUB

scully bursts onto the scene and they try to be like "who are you" and she is NOT playing around, she's all "there's no time for this, a man is dying" queen.......

so he's still going on- either cosmically or in a sort of post-event narration- about "what happened on the ice" justifying his every belief. and also that he thinks that aliens are HERE and they are COLONIZING? which i feel is a bit of a jump. like aliens being a thing, okay, possible. colonizing earth? i mean, also possible, but like... don't they have better things to do?

they have him in the tub to prevent hypothermia but scully is yelling that THE COLD IS KEEPING HIM ALIVE and i'm wondering if she knows that because 1. it's obvious medical knowledge and she is simply out-doctoring these other doctors or 2. they're doing what you would normally do for a patient in these circumstances, but she knows there has been some sort of alien fuckery that needs to be addressed in a different manner

then, right as we hear that HIS HEART STOPPED, we get the little spooky song and the intro. my notes consisted of: HUH?? WHAT IS GOING ON??????

okay. jump back in time. two weeks earlier. yeah let's figure out what led up to this.

(i do get hooked when we jump right into the heart of the matter though. as a plot device i will be Sat for this convention sorry)

but my notes were still lingering on what i had just seen. first, that his face was broken as hell, and that makeup must have been unpleasant, and i can't imagine that being filmed being placed in a tub was much fun either

BUT, on the other hand, i think it's good that we're evening out the scales of each character almost dying. while he did get kidnapped in the s1 finale and almost die in the s2 premiere, scully's coma arc was a lot more dramatic, so it is good that it was his turn. we need to see them worried about each other in equal measure.

okay okay. back to the start of the episode. for real. two weeks before this whole ice bathing event, a ufo sort of thing crashed above a ship in the arctic. and the news is saying that a russian agent was rescued from a ship crash. because you can't just say it was a ufo.

cutscene to a women's health center in scranton. and my first thought was, please do not say we are gonna see some character come in with an alien pregnancy. and thankfully that is not where that went. because s2 is too early for that. work up to it a little bit, you know?

the doctor at the health center is watching the news, and he clearly recognizes the man they are shown being lifted from the crash. and he goes to run out the room.

oh? as soon as he escapes from the room.... he is being BEATEN by the dude he just saw on the tv. OH??? BIG NEEDLES???? foaming with green liquid??? the place is set on fire after that?? we have seen these needles with liquid used on aliens before....

dude, what's going on, i wrote in my notes... the girls are scared

okay, so here's what we have so far: three doctors who perform abortions have had their clinics set on fire, and their obituaries forwarded to mulder

(at this point, we see the credits which i'm used to ignoring, but this one has more names on it.... because DAVID wrote the story with MR. CARTER???? okayyyyy putting that yale degree to WORK!!!!!)

wait. we get visuals on the three newly deceased doctors. and they. all have the same face??? and no records on them at all.

they go to visit a suspect, who had a "have you seen this man" ad in his pocket for a local newspaper, so they go to that city and try to investigate

she thinks it's a setup because they have been given weirdly little information, and he thinks there are more doctors out there with the same face that need rescuing... lowkey agreeing with her but i know how these plot devices play out. so.

she's calling the number they gave her and serving looks on the phone, work, but a tip has been made that the next guy is in syracuse, so they're off on a new york road trip

an fbi agent is sent off to the scene, and we see the next same-faced doctor in syracuse, where he is talking with someone about "sharing the planet"... but. well. here's what my notes had to say:

"NOOOO MORE GOO... THE DOCTOR DISSOLVED AND THE BULLETS AREN'T DOING ANYTHING TO THE KILLER? BUT THE GAS IS KILLING THE AGENT... LIKE WE SAW IN THAT EPISODE WITH THE GUY WHO COULD GO UNDERWATER!!"

so we see the fbi agent is very dead, but then he comes right back on screen, and we are dealing with a shapeshifter!!!!! the dead guy has been placed in the trunk of a car with some funky markings on his face. using the likeness of the dead fbi agent, he tells our duo that there was nothing to see at the address they located. and the killer shapeshifts again, leaving me thinking about how cool being a shapeshifter would be.

cut to skinner cam, who has become something like a strange cousin to me. he is PISSED that mulder went on a side quest without his permission because an agent DIED but mulder is very confused because he talked to the agent and he was very much alive? (but it was actually the shapeshifter, of course) and for once mulder is too stunned to speak

scully is at hooooome checking her compuuuuter and she is wearing a flannel!!!!! yes casual wear let's hear it for comfortably scully!!! make some noise!!!

despite looking very comfortable she is not pleased because someone sent her a disturbing email, and she wants to know if mulder got one, too- it's another of the same faced doctors, and this one is in washington. right in their area!

on his way over to her apartment, we run into.... A NEW CHARACTER???? his name is ambrose chapel, and he is allegedly from the CIA... do we trust him? what was he doing outside her place.

they go into scully's apartment and i'm like, dude, we couldn't have done this in a place that wasn't her apartment? but well. why not welcome a strange man in there?

he's going on about the soviet union and the genetic anomalies from twins being studied and turned into clones, who will be used to sabotage the medical system. and all the clones- who are called gregors- are being systematically eliminated in exchange for the knowledge that created them.

pause. no i actually don't want to analyze the alleged soviet gregors who will somehow poison the medical system. i'm looking at scully's apartment. she must have moved back into DC after being reassigned from the academy. so is this the same apartment as her first one? i can't tell. this gregor stuff is complicated and i'm admiring the art on her walls- it looks like little watercolors or postcards of beach scenes. that's so sweet.

so it turns out that this ambrose chapel is the one that placed the ad they had called earlier, and he says the gregors are trying to reach mulder, and they need to work together to protect them, i guess. weird cross department alliance. i don't buy it.

scully is sitting on her couch looked confused as hell. me too girl i'm just trying to figure out if this is the same apartment from s1. sorry to the gregors.

we next see someone in a room full of green liquid that looks like those big tanks of lemonade at the mall. it appears to be a gregor. i imagine that this is NOT lemonade and is instead sustaining some sort of alien creature....

but now we're back with our agents and ambrose chapel visiting a new gregor in a hotel. when gregor opens the door, he is really scared of ambrose. and there's also another lady in the room with him who is hiding. things were going real rapid fire at this point. my notes were just a series of questions, or statements followed by question marks to express disbelief:

"gregor JUMPS OUT of the window but somehow GETS BACK UP? and now he's running away??? so we get a chase scene. WHO IS THIS AMBROSE FELLOW??? and why is there a lady in the room hiding behind a curtain???"

mulder is going after gregor on foot when he gets HIT BY A CAR????

but he says he's fine and tells scully to keep going. ambrose is stalking this gregor like a cat, and gregor has no choice but to climb something to escape.

but noooo!!! the shapeshifter is back!!! the shapeshifter WAS ambrose?? the gregors must be able to sense who the shapeshifter is.

"ambrose chapel" tells scully that the gregor got away, but she steps in some familiar green goo that indicates things are not looking great for our gregor, and he is likely gone. too soon.

"how are you feeling?", scully asks mulder. "like i should have taken the crosswalk", he says LMAOOOOOO

scully is pointing out the obvious: this ambrose fellow is sus as hell. "what happened to trust no one?" "oh, i changed it to trust everyone, i didn't tell you?" LMAOOOO this man cannot stop running his damn mouth

he's all, i ran a background check on ambrose, and he is totally clear, he's been working at the CIA for 17 years! and she asks so WHY, if he has been working here for 17 years, does he need OUR HELP? and also the gregor was CLEARLY running from him, and not us!

he accuses her of being paranoid which 1. kettle calling pot black and 2. rude as hell??? she is speaking total sense here

OHHHH THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING!!! and again she is NOT wrong.

"you'll pursue a case at the expense of everything, to the point of insanity, and expect me to follow you. there has to be somewhere to draw the line" and is she wrong??? she does not get paid enough to deal with all of this, and he's endangering them... and he seems to just assume that she will do anything he asks of her.........

"if the pursuit of this case seems like insanity to you, feel free to step away from it" he says, in a way that is very judgemental and accusatory and not at all understanding of how wild this whole thing sounds. and i'm taken back to his opening monologue, how he was going on about the pursuit of the truth interfering with his relationships... exhibit a!!

she points out that SOMEONE DIED and he deflects by saying "those are the risks you take! you either accept them or you don't"

(now, when signing up for the fbi, i do not actually think "murder by alien" was on the risk of disclaimers signed so.)

((ugh he's pissing me off here. i get it, the bloodhound need to sniff out the truth without regard for anything else, let alone something as simple as safety. but could we maybe LISTEN to our partner???? just once????? GRRRR))

(also they keep calling ambrose chapel by his last name and its making me think of chappell roan, my beloved above all else. this is not very h-o-t t-o g-o of mulder to be ignoring scully's concerns)

despite the high levels of tension and voices being raised, she pulls out her shoe that had stepped in the alien gunk and shows him how it has been burned through. his eyes light up in fascination and he says we need to go get this tested now and also can you prepare an autopsy bay? we can't figure out how the agent in the syracuse situation died. and then HER EYES expand with childlike wonder and everything is momentarily right with the world again.

he comes down to the autopsy- perhaps as a form of apology for his earlier rudeness- and watches while she goes over the stuff. and everything looks normal except his blood was clotted somehow??

"skinner's gonna wanna know why you didn't file your report... what are you gonna say?" "just the truth. i got hit by a car!" LMAOOOO okay honesty king

(it was at this point i lost power and had to spend the rest of the night wondering what the hell was going to happen next until i could finish it the next day.... i truly deserve compensation for this happening twice in one week. what sick and twisted force is out there trying to keep me from running this blog, huh?!?!?)

okay we're back. mulder is going into skinner's office.

he must have came up with a report real fast, because he goes to give it to skinner, and he says he didn't call him to talk about that:

"your father has been trying to reach you. there's been a family emergency"

(proving once again that skinner is serving the same functions as a high school prinicpal)

he calls his dad, and his mom picks up... and he asks why she was at "dad's place".... MULDER CHILD OF DIVORCE CONFIRMED?!?!?

scully stops by his office with an address she found to go on, and he says you go there, and walks out. she asks where he's going and he said "home" and did not elaborate. and said nothing else.

(this pissed me off because RIGHT before scully was kidnapped, he had similarly made an abrupt exit on here and i thought that he would stop doing that and start saying a proper goodbye but no. he has not learned. ALWAYS say goodbye and tell your friends you love them when you leave- it is NOT negotiable!!!!!!)

she drives to the address and it is... very creepy... it's the room full of tanks that aren't lemonade but they look like it!!!!! and ambrose chapel (NOT to be confused with chappell roan!) is pushing the tanks over and stepping on the chunks of stuff that comes out of them... very gross...

scully calls mulder and asks him to please call back because she thinks she is in danger, and someone is following her, sitting outside her apartment, BUT HE IS BUSY!!! WITH FAMILY EMERGENCY!!! which she does not KNOW ABOUT because he DID NOT TELL HER!!!!

he arrives at his dad's place and i am not shocked that man is either from or has spent a significant amount of time in massachusetts, specifically martha's vineyard. like yeah. this isn't shocking to me. it just makes sense.

(although if that were the case, he'd be MUCH more obnoxious about the patriots and the red sox, and before he mentioned going to dodger's stadium and having a shirt from the new york knicks.... so what's the truth?!)

his dad is on the porch and is being kinda weird- do BOTH our agents have a strained relationship with their fathers? and his dad shakes his hand and it's Weird. but he sees his mom is talking to someone inside.

SISTER REVEAL??? it was the girl who was inside the house when the agents and ambrose showed up to find the gregor! AND i think it's the same girl that gave them the map back in binghamton... but i could be wrong?

in the morning he gives his mom a kiss and tucks her into bed. aww.

then he walks outside and it looks like he is either gonna start hyperventilating or crying, but his "sister" is on the porch and he goes over to talk to her- what do you say after 22 years?

she says she was returned around age 8 or 9, and placed with a family, and that she couldn't remember anything until doing some hypnotherapy a few years back, and the memories of her family and all of the horrific testing returned.

(and sorry i'm not buying it. idk it just doesn't seem to add up!!!!!)

but he's hugging her so it's probably best he can't hear me say that. my guess is someone is trying to distract him from the truth.

but, she already knows what is going on... she says a bounty hunter is after her "father" (which confuses mulder because... same dad?) but she corrects herself and says the man who adopted her is one of the gregors- and he is an alien- and they'll be after her soon, i guess for maybe knowing the truth?

at this point in the episode we begin a series of phone calls in which both parties repeatedly miss each other's calls and i was like whyyyyy. whyyyyy.

anyway scully is leaving. she's in a jacket and she's taking the bus and i love her so bad. she says where she is going on the phone but i assumed she was lying because it was in public.

and mulder's "sister" is saying that the hit man can disguise himself as anyone. so he's trying to reach scully, who is back at the site of the lemonade-looking alien tanks.

she pulls a lock picker out of her fanny pack because that is my baby.

and when she goes in all the alien stuff is smashed. she's looking at the alien meat on the floor. and she picks something up and. OH FUCK, i yelled at my screen. i hit pause SO FAST. she was holding a PULSATING ALIEN EMBRYO. but some guy is in the back!!!!!

she tries to get him to stop whatever it is he's doing but he says "you cannot hurt us" and then all of the remaining gregors with the same face are in the room!!!!!!

so she puts them in maximum security but the windows on the cars weren't blacked out and i feel that they should have been. and just as i make note of this we see the shapeshifter hit man... NO!!!

scully ACTUALLY goes to the motel she said she would, and they miss calls 2 MORE TIMES... i will start biting!!!!!

and back where the gregors are being watched, the guards switch, and a new fellow walks in... and i guessed it was the shapeshifter, and yes indeed it was, he busts out his needle that turns the gregors to acid....

there's a knock at scully's door at like 11:30 at night and she goes and gets it and it's mulder!!! where were you, she asks, when her phone starts ringing...

and who is on the other end but... mulder.........

no.... shapeshifter......

TO BE CONTINUED?????

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

this is so unfair because had the power NOT been knocked off i could have seen this episode yesterday and then part 2 tonight. but now i shall be forced to wait until TOMORROW to see what happens. soooooo evil.

i should have known we were gonna get another two-parter when we were halfway through the episode and still no mention was made of any ice. you know, the ice we began with?

anyway. i really really liked this episode. the pacing was great, as much as i complained about their argument i thought it was excellent conflict, we learn more about mulder, but i do not believe that is really his sister. sorry. and if it IS her i'll be forced to issue a formal apology but until then i remain doubtful. has anyone considered doing a blood test. this predates 23 and me.

aughhh i need to know how he ends up an ice cube!!!!!! and i will have to wait until tomorrow. and while i technically COULD watch part 2 tonight i want to have a real good bit of time dedicated to breaking it down

(i saw the episode after the next one is about zoo animals and i was like hell yeah this is what i love about this show. we get some heartbreaking alien infiltration content and then some possessed elephants)

((WAIT. ARE THEY REALLY GONNA GET TO GO TO THE ZOO??? LIKE I'VE ALWAYS DREAMED OF?? but it's a zoo of ANGRY animals so it's not even going to be relaxing??? this is SOOOOO unfair...))

[earlgreytea68]

Okay. It's time for an AI rant.

My nephew is 13 years old. Whenever he writes a paper for school, I check it over and fix all of his mistakes for him. He said to me, "Maybe I'll proofread your paper for you in exchange," meaning one of the scholarly articles I write for work. I said, "Cool," and gave him the file. And he said, "Well, this is full of errors! See, you always say you have a lot to correct on my stuff, and look at all the stuff you got wrong!" And I said, surprised, "What? Where?" Because I'm sure there are typos in the draft I sent him, but not, like, that many.

And then he pointed to the screen and said, "Look at all the blue and red lines you have."

And I said, "Yeah, but those are wrong. Like, those are blue and red lines I'm ignoring because the computer is wrong." And then I paused and added, "You know you can't proofread a paper by just looking at the red and blue lines, right?" And he gave me the blankest look, because that clearly is EXACTLY what he thinks. And it became even clearer suddenly why, whenever I correct something on his paper, his immediate reaction is, "It didn't have a blue or red line."

There's a very good reason for that: THAT'S BECAUSE THE COMPUTER ISN'T SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT IT WAS WRONG.

I am so tired of being sold the idea that computers are better than humans and so we should just outsource everything to them, which is clearly the lesson my nephew is absorbing in U.S. middle school. COMPUTERS ARE NOT BETTER THAN HUMANS. Like, maybe they are better at humans at crawling through rubble to find people trapped inside. They are also better at preserving things in a searchable format. Things like that. Very limited circumstances.

I don't want to sound alarmist but everything I hear about people using generative AI freaks me out. It's not just that I'm freaked out by people being like, "I use it to write novels!" (Although I don't see how they do, I have tried to have it write fiction for me and the output was truly terrible.) But I recognize my bias around creative writing and so no one needs to credit my views on artificial writing. But! Other things are alarming, too! "I use it to brainstorm x, y, or z." But...why? Why not just...use your own brain...to...brain...storm? The computer doesn't even have a brain to brainstorm with! And you might be like, "But it comes up with things that my brain would never think of!" So would other people! You could also brainstorm with other people! Or even through Google to see what other people have thought before you (not AI). Please don't belittle the wonder of thinking.

I just feel like the marketing around generative AI boils down to "Wouldn't it be easier not to use your own brain to think about things?" Everyone. No. It would not be. Please just trust me on this. I'm not just an old person who is out of touch with technology or something. I promise. USE YOUR BRAINS. IT WILL BE OKAY.

[purinfelix]

you're no good for me, but baby i want you - n. riki ✶⋆.˚

summary: after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ──── delinquent Niki x class president reader || sfw but a little suggestive, kissing/making out, so much tension like so much, enemies to lovers sorta? || w/c: 2.7k

a/n: okay i'm trying to get better at writing longer fics/ones that actually have closure bc looking back i realise i kinda always leave u guys on cliffhangers LOLL - also i rlly tried to avoid making this too cliche given the trope i hope it worked !!! actually really like this one so i hope it doesn't flop rip

‘Bad boy’ felt too cliche - at least for your liking. You preferred to refer to Niki as what he was, a delinquent, a troublemaker, someone who skipped most of his classes and spent the rest dosing off or arguing with the teacher. But no matter what you called him you were sure of one thing, he pissed you off.

To be honest, you had absolutely no interest in the sorts of things a student like him got up to in his own time, but it was the fact that he insisted on dragging you into his business that irritated you the most. You weren’t sure why exactly he kept targeting you, maybe it was because he just wanted to mess with the class president or because you seemed like an easy target to him - whatever reason he had didn’t make it any less tiring though.

Skipping classes was one thing, but his constant breaches of uniform code meant that you were running out of warning slips - and patience. It didn’t help that whenever you did, he would only look you up and down with an amused smirk, brows raised as if daring you to continue telling him off - which only worked to make you stumble over your words.

That’s why you had made the decision to stop giving him anymore of your attention, and the most recent time you had seen him sporting his signature look - no blazer, dress shirt half unbuttoned and several silver earrings, you chose to ignore him. You simply walked past him in the hallway without so much as a passing glance, hoping it would tell him to stop wasting your time and causing trouble.

Little did you know, he would misinterpret your signs to mean the exact opposite.

The next morning when you were waiting at your desk you heard a wave of hushed murmurs coming from down the hall, and couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. A loud thud sent the classroom door flying open and a couple of his friends filed in with amused grins - and it was only when Niki followed them in did you see why. Not only had he gone and messily bleached parts of his jet black hair, but he now donned a piercing straight through his right eyebrow which, judging from the pink tinge surrounding it, was both brand new and self-made.

You were unable to stop your neck from craning as your eyes followed his figure, watching as he sauntered over to his desk in the back corner of the classroom, threw his books onto it and sat down. The expression on his face showed that he couldn’t care less about being there, but his eyes trained on you as if waiting for you to make a move.

You hated that he knew you so well, because before you knew it you were out of your seat and at the head of his desk, arms folded with a stern expression on your face. You can’t remember exactly what you said but it must’ve been harsh, and loud enough to summon the attention of almost the entire class, and your teacher who stormed into the classroom shortly after to tell the two of you off. It must’ve also been harsh enough to earn the two of you an after-school detention, which was your very first - though it clearly wasn’t Niki’s.

So that’s how the two of you had ended up alone, in an empty, hot classroom - waiting as the minutes of your detention ticked by agonisingly slowly. Irritated was an understatement. It was taking every ounce of self-control you had not to turn around and punch Niki right there and then. You kept your fuming to yourself, at least for now though, while you worked silently on an assignment, determined to at least make good use of being stuck here for the next hour or so - even if it meant spending it in a tense silence.

Niki didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, having sat himself in the chair right beside yours and kicked his feet up on the desk, twirling a pen in one hand as he hummed softly to himself. You were trying your best to ignore him, and he was trying his best to make that very difficult.

“What are you working on?” he asked curiously as he leaned in over your shoulder.

“Just an assignment,” you shot back curtly.

“Ah of course, what a goody-two shoes,” he scoffed as he sat back.

“Rather a goody-two shoes than a good-for-nothing delinquent,” you mumbled under your breath, though not quiet enough to escape his ears.

“A delinquent? Is that really what you think of me?” he asked in faux-offence, “I’m hurt.” You turned slightly, just enough to see the dramatic pout he had formed across his lips, his brows curving upwards and his piercing going with it.

“Whatever,” you huff, feeling both irritation and exhaustion rise in you, “it’s your fault we’re here in the first place anyways.”

“Oh yeah, my fault that you started a petty argument.”

“Your fault for dyeing your hair that stupid colour and getting that piece of metal jammed in your face!” You cry out, fully facing him now as you felt your face burning hot, “I mean seriously, all I did was ignore you once, and you go ahead and did something ridiculous like that?” Gesturing to his piercing and new hair, you can’t help but feel even more infuriated at the sight of his smirk which only grew as he watched you from half-lidded eyes.

“What makes you think I did it for you?” He asks teasingly, and you suddenly feel your bravado begin to crumble - he’s right, who are you to assume that?

“Well, I-” you stutter, but he interrupts you.

“Well maybe I did,” he laughs softly, “that depends on whether you like it or not.”

“That is so besides the point, Niki,” you whine, “it’s against uniform policy.”

“Oh c’mon, you think it’s a little cool,” he taunts, and you turn back around in your seat, chewing your bottom lip as you’re determined not to give him a response which you’re sure will only fuel his ego.

You sit in silence for a bit, and you can tell he’s watching you carefully in the way he leans in, keen eyes trained on your expression - almost as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking. But that’s a challenge even you’re struggling with right now.

He’s the one to break the silence again. “I am sorry about getting you a detention though, that wasn’t what I meant to do.” You blink in disbelief because for the very first time, he sounds almost as if he really means what he’s saying.

“Is that an apology?” you say, gasping to show your surprise, though this quickly dissolved into a soft laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head,” he sighs, “I just couldn’t sit here and watch you sulk for the next hour.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself, feeling the tension between the two of you melt away at his apology, just enough for you to want to keep talking to him - even if it means neglecting your homework, for now. Your eyes move over his face, his sharp jaw, his eyebrow piercing glinting under the warm classroom light.

“Did it hurt?”

It’s a stupid question, you know, but it’s the only thing you can think to ask as you fiddle nervously in your seat. If you’re being completely honest, you do think it’s cool, you’ve always thought his piercing were cool - and right now you want nothing more than to reach out and feel them for yourself. But your common sense stops you.

“Well, duh,” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat as his eyes fix on yours, “figured a smart-ass like you would’ve been able to guess that.”

“Just asking,” you grumble defensively, though your curiosity urges you to keep talking. “If it hurt, why’d you do it?”

“Well, you like it, don’t you?” He asks, “that’s all the reason I need.”

You’re tempted to tell him off again, but something about his tone catches you off guard - it’s oddly earnest, and he says it with such a simplicity that makes you really believe that maybe he’s telling the truth and you’re unable to find the resolve to spoil this moment

“Can I feel it?”

He’s almost as shocked by your request as you are, and even as it leaves your mouth you’re unsure entirely why you’re asking it. His eyes widen in a way that you can’t help but find a little cute, even as you’re struggling to process your own thoughts.

“Sure,” he replies, a little too quickly, almost as if he had been waiting for you to ask him that, but can’t believe you actually did. You turn in your chair to face him, your arms coming up awkwardly to bridge the distance between you both but it’s clear you’re still too far.

You’re about to lean forward more in your seat to reach him, until you notice his hand coming down to grip the leg of your chair and it isn’t until you feel yourself moving and hear the faint screech of the legs against the floor that you realise that he’s pulling it - pulling you closer to him.

Once you’re close enough he stops, though his hand doesn’t leave the back of your chair, instead resting there as if trapping you in with him as he leans down as that his face is level with yours. You try not to overthink the way your knees are touching, or how this is your first time seeing him this close and how he’s even better looking up close. Carefully, you bring your hand and pray that he doesn’t notice the way it trembles, as your thumb grazes his thick brow gently. Even though you wish he didn’t, he keeps his eyes open and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as your fingers close around the small metal ball.

“It’s cold,” you mumble, not sure what else to say to fill the air between you two.

“It’s metal,” he says matter-of-factly, letting out a small laugh at your fascination with it.

“You didn’t need to to do this just to get my attention, you know,” your eyes focus on the piercing as you speak, unable to look him in the eyes when admitting something that feels like a confession.

“I had to get you to look at me somehow.” You’re again amazed at how he can say such earnest things with such a serious face, and even as you look away you know his eyes are on you.

“Most people would’ve just said hi or something, not put a brand new hole in their face,” you sigh, fingers moving to tuck a stray strand of bleached hair behind his ear.

“Well most people wouldn’t be here now with you touching their face, so by my standards my plan worked better.”

“Did that plan have to include getting me my first-ever detention?” You ask in annoyance, though you can’t help but laugh softly at his simplicity.

“Well, not at first,” he admits, “but at least we’re alone, hm?”

“Because you need me alone to talk to me?”

“No, because I need you alone to do this.”

You’re pretty sure if you weren’t already leaning towards him you would’ve fallen backwards from the forceful way his lips crash into yours - and if not from that then the sheer shock of just that. Luckily for you though, he already has an arm snaked around your waist, keeping a hold of you and pulling you closer.

It shocks you though that, despite the initial force, Niki’s kiss is gentle, almost as if he’s easing you into something he knows you’re struggling to accept. He’s experienced, that’s for sure, but you can tell in his movements that he’s holding back from pushing you any further.

You don’t even realise it but your hands are cupping his face, caressing his strong jawline and pulling him closer to you. You open your mouth to talk but the only noise that comes out is a breathy gasp and if you weren’t so caught up in the feeling of his hands in your hair you might’ve stopped to feel embarrassed about how desperate you sound for him right now.

“Niki,” you mumble against his lips, unsure of what to do as you feel your mind struggle to comprehend what’s happening.

“Want me to stop?” he says in between heavy breaths, and even though it sounds like a taunt you know him well enough to know he’s being serious.

You shake your head in response, but decide to have a little fun of your own while you can. “When have you ever cared what I want?”

“Oh, you have no clue,” he hums in a low whisper as he leans back in.

“And when have you ever listened to what I’ve told you to do?”

“You’re right about that,” he smirks, pressing his lips to yours again, this time with the reckless abandon you’ve come to expect from him - almost as if he was waiting for your permission to let go. You thought you would’ve felt a little predictable, pathetic even, for having fallen so easily into his trap and giving him much more than just your attention at this point. But from the way his hands roam your body, grasping for more of you as he whines against your lips you smile to yourself at the realisation that really, he’s the one who’s fallen into your trap.

This sense of control is what finally calms your mind, even if it still struggles with just how ‘wrong’ all of this sounds against how right his lips on yours feel. The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway however forces you to tear yourself away from him, though his hands don’t leave your body as you strain to figure out who it might be.

“Shit, it’s the teacher,” you say under your breath, pulling away from him to smooth down your skirt. Niki clearly doesn’t care, but still lets out a soft sigh as he hangs his head, leaning back in his chair.

“Tomorrow,” you continue suddenly, “I want the eyebrow piercing and the bleached hair gone.” You know you’re being harsh, but you also know that, given what just happened, you can’t afford to be nice.

“Wh-” he says suddenly, looking at you in disbelief, “I thought you liked them though.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly, “they’re still breaking like ten different uniform rules.”

“Just when I thought I’d finally broken your guard down,” he groans.

“Well, they’ve served their purpose already, haven’t they?” you taunt lightly, bringing a hand up to swipe at your bottom lip which you can feel is a little plump from him biting it. His eyes watch attentively as you do, and he lets out a soft laugh followed by a nod in agreement.

“You’re right,” he exhales, “but now I’m thinking if I keep them in I might keep getting lucky.”

“Niki,” you sigh.

“I mean, maybe if I had a reward for following rules I might feel more motivated,” he hums, looking away as he feigns innocence.

You pause, thinking to yourself for just long enough. “I’ll be studying in the library after school, maybe if you do as I say I’ll let you join me.”

“Studying? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll be there,” he laughs, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile - one that you can’t help but share even as the same teacher who gave you both this detention comes in to tell you you’re free to go.

You watch as he swings his bag over one shoulder coolly, tossing you his signature smirk - only this time, it doesn’t just annoy you, it lingers, sticking to your thoughts in a way you don’t want to admit. Because you know you should be mad, you should roll your eyes and remind yourself that he’s still the same infuriating troublemaker. But as he walks away the only thing you find yourself wondering is if he’ll actually show up tomorrow, and worse, if a part of you wants him to.

[theskywithin]

🌙 Astro Notes on Moon Signs

Aries Moon Woke up mid-breakdown, didn’t cancel plans. Cried at 1:03, took over the world by 1:15. Honestly doing fine but you looked at them weird so now they have to burn down your village.

Taurus Moon Will die on a hill just to keep the same coffee mug they’ve used since 2016. Knows exactly what they feel but won’t admit it unless you bring snacks. Has never once gotten over something quietly.

Gemini Moon Sends a paragraph about their emotions, then immediately regrets sending it, then sends 8 more. Their inner monologue has subtitles. In five languages. Half breakdown, half podcast episode.

Cancer Moon Acts like they don’t need anyone. Will die if they’re not gently asked what’s wrong every 7 minutes. Memory like a hard drive with no delete button. Might be soft, but they know your weakness and will use it. Lovingly.

Leo Moon Emotionally bulletproof until someone forgets to clap. Wants to be held like royalty but also told they’re the most misunderstood creature alive. Feels everything in high-def opera-level sound.

Virgo Moon Emotionally prepared for the apocalypse but not for someone texting “k.” Has 147 feelings a day and labels them all. Would rather die than cry in front of someone who isn’t legally married to them.

Libra Moon Hasn't felt a true emotion in 3 months but still wrote a poem about it. Just wants everyone to get along but also wants to disappear for 4-6 business days. Will flirt through an emotional breakdown and thank you for understanding.

Scorpio Moon Says “I’m fine,” and now you’re haunted for life. Forgave you on the outside. On the inside, you’re still being judged by candlelight. Once they open up, it’s the realest thing you’ll ever experience and you’ll never forget it.

Sagittarius Moon Will run away from feelings but leave you a handwritten note and a playlist. Wants freedom and someone who texts back in 3 seconds. Their emotional range is “philosophy professor having a midlife crisis in a hammock.”

Capricorn Moon Can survive anything except being emotionally perceived. Will repress a feeling so hard it reincarnates in their children. Feels more than they admit, but would rather file it under “To Be Dealt With Never.”

Aquarius Moon Can write a 40-page thesis on why they’re fine. Processes emotions like a robot who learned to cry from reading poetry in exile. Emotionally detached until you leave, then suddenly invents romance.

Pisces Moon Remembers your dream from 2011 but forgot to respond to your last 9 texts. Their feelings are weather patterns and you're just a bird caught in the storm. Can cry over a leaf but also summon divine wisdom in the middle of a meltdown.

[nhmkhnh]

SLEEPY HEAD.

PAIRINGS: CAITLYN X SLEEPY!FEM!READER X VI

AUTHOR'S NOTE: it's been a while since i last write fluff, so yeah here we go! reader is a chess girl in this post btw!

WARNING(S): lowercase.

navigation.

1. you’re a strategic genius with the soul of a nap-loving cat.

you’ll be in the middle of analyzing a high-stakes board game, murmuring, “if i move here, they’ll go there… checkmate in five,” and then—nothing. silence. caitlyn peeks in expecting a brilliant play and finds you fast asleep, head resting on the board, a black bishop pressed into your cheek.

2. vi absolutely lives for carrying you around.

it started as a joke. “sleepy again, huh?” she scooped you up bridal-style—and then just… never stopped. she refuses to let you walk home if you’re yawning even a little. “why walk when you’ve got a six-pack uber, babe?”

3. caitlyn is the quiet protector during your naps.

she adjusts pillows. places a warm cup of tea by your hand for when you wake. uses her jacket to shield your eyes from the sun. she reads quietly beside you, one hand protectively on your thigh, always alert for anything that might disturb her favorite sleepyhead.

4. you have a habit of sleep-mumbling chess moves.

at first, caitlyn thought you were dreaming of arguments. then she realized: you were calculating strategies in your sleep. vi thinks it’s hot. caitlyn thinks it’s worrying. you, when told? “oh. i guess i was… trying to beat myself.”

5. vi and caitlyn develop a habit of lowkey competing to be your human pillow.

one evening it’s vi’s biceps. the next it’s caitlyn’s lap. neither of them admits they’re keeping score… but they are. vi: “you fell asleep on me yesterday. just saying.” caitlyn, cool as ever: “yes, and you moved once. i remained still for four hours.”

6. you sleep in weird, curled-up positions like a little shrimp.

vi takes photos. caitlyn adjusts your limbs with surgical precision. both are obsessed. “they look like a cinnamon roll,” vi coos. “that snores,” caitlyn corrects gently. they both kiss your forehead at the same time.

7. despite your laziness, you always win at strategy.

vi: “they sleep through the whole mission brief and still outsmart the enemy.” caitlyn: “it’s infuriatingly hot.” you: yawns “i just… think better horizontal.”

8. caitlyn once built a custom travel chess set just for you.

it’s tiny, magnetic, and folds neatly into a pocket. you were so touched, you immediately fell asleep while thanking her. caitlyn just smiled, picked you up, and carried you to bed.

9. vi has a secret stash of photos of you napping in adorable places.

you curled up on a windowsill. you snoring with a book on your face. you spooning a giant stuffed kiramman mascot from caitlyn’s childhood. vi shares them with caitlyn when they’re both feeling soft—and horny, because sleepy you is apparently their shared weakness.

10. caitlyn talks to you when you’re asleep.

it started when she couldn’t sleep one night. she whispered things like, “i love the way your hair gets messy when you nap,” or “you terrify me with how brilliant you are.” you never respond—but once, you smiled in your sleep. caitlyn blushed for days.

11. you have a “sleepy voice” that kills both vi and caitlyn instantly.

it’s raspy, low, barely-there—like dragging velvet across skin. when you sleepily say, “five more minutes,” vi nearly drops her protein shake. caitlyn has to pretend she’s not flustered, even as she fans herself with a case file.

12. despite your sleepy nature, you always wake up when vi or caitlyn have nightmares.

even in your deepest nap, if vi’s breathing gets sharp or caitlyn tenses beside you, you stir and pull them close. no words. just soft, sleepy presence and your thumb rubbing slow circles on their spine.

13. you call caitlyn and vi “sun” and “storm” depending on nap placement.

if you’re dozing with caitlyn: “mmm… warm like sun…” with vi: “mm, stormy and safe…” the names stick. caitlyn melts every time. vi pretends not to love it but will correct people: “i’m her storm, get it right.”

14. sometimes you pretend to be asleep just to get cuddles.

vi catches on first, of course. “you’re fake-snoring again, huh?” she teases. you open one eye with zero shame: “and yet you’re still petting my hair, officer punchy.” vi grins. “guilty as charged.”

15. caitlyn and vi don’t mind that you’re always sleepy—because you’re always you when sleepy.

no masks. no pressure. just a soft, brilliant, drowsy girl who trusts them enough to fall asleep mid-sentence, knowing they’ll always be there to catch your head before it falls. they don’t just love you when you’re awake—they love you especially when you sleep.

[orellazalonia]

Always There, Never Seen

Summary: You're the quiet presence who keeps everything running, always helping but never truly seen or included. You sit on the edges of conversations, offer silent support, and watch others be chosen and loved while you remain in the background. Despite being essential, you're basically invisible and it hurts more than anyone realizes.

Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: According to the poll, y’all really like angst (and hurt/comfort). So I deliver to you, angst. Also, does it count as Bucky x reader if they’re not pining for each other? Hmmm… Also Disclaimer: Not much dialogue, more descriptive writing than anything. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

You weren’t anyone special. Not in the way the world was used to noticing. You didn’t carry a weapon with confidence, didn’t have a degree that earned you any kind of awe, and you certainly didn’t have a face or charm that pulled people in.

You worked in admin at the Tower. Basically paperwork, scheduling, and making sure the chaos of superhero life ran just a bit smoother. You were the one who emailed team briefings, filed mission reports, and organized therapy appointments like they were just blocks on a calendar, not battles for someone's mind.

And Bucky Barnes… well, Bucky was the kind of person people did notice.

You’d liked him for a while. Quietly. Patiently. In the way someone watches a storm from behind a window. Close enough to feel the pull of it, but far enough not to be noticed.

You liked the way his voice got low when he was trying not to wake anyone in the early mornings. The way he peeled oranges with military precision and always left one for someone else. The way he laughed when Sam or Steve dragged him into something dumb, like water balloon fights or bad TV marathons. You liked him. Not the myth, not the metal arm, not the past filled with ghosts. Just Bucky.

But you were no Natasha. No Sharon. No enhanced warrior woman who could flip a man twice her size or disarm a room with a wink. You weren’t brilliant like Shuri or effortlessly magnetic like Darcy. You were just… the person who knew which printer was working and which one wasn’t. You were the one who remembered who liked what in their coffee. You were the background hum, not the spotlight.

And Bucky liked someone else.

You didn’t blame him. She was kind. Bright. The kind of person who glowed when she smiled. She moved like she’d always belonged on a battlefield, and yet, she somehow made everyone around her feel safe. She was witty, beautiful, strong, and all the things people fell in love with.

You tried not to let it show. You weren’t close enough to him for it to be a betrayal but you were far enough that even your absence would go unnoticed. You smiled when you passed him in the halls, nodded when he grunted a hello, even handed him reports when they were meant for Steve, just for a brief second of acknowledgment. He always said thank you. Always polite. Always… kind.

But never more.

Sometimes you imagined saying something. A small, “Hey, do you wanna grab a coffee sometime?” Nothing big, nothing cinematic. But your voice always caught in your throat before the words could make it to daylight. Because what would be the point? What could you possibly offer him that he didn’t already have?

So you kept your head down. You typed, sorted files, watched him laugh in the kitchen over takeout containers with her. And you reminded yourself that this was enough. And maybe, maybe one day it wouldn’t ache so much. Maybe one day, you’d stop comparing yourself to all the people who stood in the sun while you stayed in the shade. Maybe.

But not today. Today, you’d file mission debriefs, pretend not to glance at him too long, and keep being the kind of person who’s easy to forget. The kind of person no one falls for.

However, even with that reminder in your head, it didn’t make it any more easier to live by. Because you didn’t need super-hearing to know when a room grew quieter once you entered.

It wasn’t tension. No one disliked you. It was more like… when you walked into a space, conversation naturally shifted. Not because anyone was guarding secrets, just because you weren’t the kind of person people thought to include.

You were background.

You were the click of the elevator. The shuffle of papers being filed. The voice that said, “He’s in briefing room three” without ever being asked your name in return.

You sat in meetings and never got asked for your opinion. You brought backup cables, extra notepads, bandages for knuckles bruised in training and when someone needed something, you always had it. You noticed when Natasha’s shoulder was bothering her and quietly adjusted the gym reservation to avoid that day’s sparring. You reminded Steve about appointments he forgot. You updated Sam’s reports so they’d match his fieldwork without making him look careless.

No one noticed.

You weren’t angry about it. Not really. You weren’t owed gratitude. That’s not why you did it. You just… wanted to be part of something. And if you couldn’t be the center of it, you thought maybe you could be its foundation.

But even foundations crack under enough silence.

When they gathered in the common room, you stayed near the doorway, not because you preferred it but because there was never really a space for you on the couch. Not in the way people sat. Not in the way conversations flowed. Sometimes someone would offer a smile in your direction, a wave, a half-hearted “Hey, you’re still here.” But the spotlight never lingered.

Even the interns forgot you were in the room. More than once, you’d heard them gossiping about the others. About Steve’s diet, or Wanda’s mood, or what Bucky might be like behind closed doors. You were there the whole time, filing reports just a few feet away. Not one of them noticed.

Once, someone forgot to list you on a team-wide email thread. You only found out when the others started referencing a meeting you hadn’t heard of. When you brought it up, the sender laughed nervously with a light “Oh, I thought you weren’t on the main team.” You weren’t sure what hurt more: the comment or the fact that no one corrected them.

You ate lunch at your desk. You kept your voice quiet in shared spaces. You never spoke unless there was something directly requiring your words. People liked you best that way.

And Bucky… Bucky was no different.

He was polite, sure. Nodded if you passed him in the hall. Sometimes gave you a distracted “Thanks” if you handed him a revised schedule or a mission detail packet. But it was never more than that. He had others to talk to. Ones who smiled brighter, laughed louder, leaned easily into his space like they belonged there.

But God, some days you just wanted someone to ask you how you were doing. Someone to say your name like they meant it.

You knew what you were. You were safe. Predictable. The person who remembered extra passwords and booked flights without needing thanks. You weren’t charming or brilliant or needed the way others were.

And maybe that was why, even when you were in the same room, you felt so crushingly alone. You were there. You always were. But no one seemed to see it. And worst of all, you weren’t sure anyone ever would. Because you’d grown used to being the person who knew the team without really being part of it.

You knew Bucky’s schedule. When he trained, when he left early to avoid team briefings, which mornings he preferred to drink his coffee in silence. You knew the brand of painkillers Bruce trusted, the way Wanda liked her tea, how Tony hated the buzzing lights in the lower hallway. You knew all these things without anyone ever having told you. Because you watched. You listened.

That was your talent. Not fighting. Not hacking into alien tech or performing heart surgery with a spoon. You were just good at being there. Good at remembering. Good at caring in the background.

Of course, the person you liked had never really noticed. It wasn’t in a cruel way. Not in an “I think I’m better than you” way. Just in the way someone doesn’t notice the soft hum of a computer fan or the way a hallway light always flickers. You were part of the environment. Static. Expected. Invisible.

Because you knew Bucky had eyes only for her.

Honestly, you didn’t know her well. She was new-ish. Sharp and warm, always dressed like she’d stepped out of some other, better life. She smiled with her whole face. She wasn’t arrogant, but she walked like someone who knew she mattered. It was easy to like her, even if it hurt.

She made him softer. You saw it in the way his shoulders relaxed when she walked in the room, in the way his sarcasm eased into gentleness when she was around. He even smiled more, really smiled.

Sometimes you caught yourself watching them. Bucky, leaning on a countertop, looking at her like she was something rare. Her tossing her head back as she laughed at something he said. It was a kind of closeness you knew you’d never be part of. Not just with him, but with anyone. You weren’t made of magnetism or spark.

You were the pause between other people’s sentences.

One afternoon, you found yourself in the hallway outside the training room, flipping through a stack of revised schedules. You were trying to figure out if you could shift Rhodey’s physical therapy without messing up the team’s briefing timeline, and not watching where you were going when you turned a corner right into the one Bucky chose.

“Oh!” She said, catching your arm. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

You stepped back quickly. “No, my fault.”

She smiled kindly, open, not patronizing. “You’re the one who keeps everything running, right? You’re the one who fixed the mess with my mission debrief last week.”

You blinked. “That was… yeah. That was me.”

“Thank you,” She said genuinely. “Seriously. No one tells you that enough, but I noticed. You’re really good at what you do.”

It stung, how warm those words felt. Like you hadn’t realized how cold you’d been until someone brought a match close.

You gave a small smile. “Thanks.”

She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “You work here all the time. Do you ever get a break?”

You laughed once under your breath. “Not really. I think that’s kind of the point of me.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t talk much.”

You shrugged. “Not a lot of people want to hear it.”

She watched you for a beat too long, like she wanted to ask something else. But then Bucky’s voice called from down the hall, her name, not yours. Her face lit up.

“That’s me. Thanks again,” She said, and jogged off without waiting for a response.

You stood there a little too long after she left, the fluorescent light buzzing faintly above you. You imagined what it might be like to have someone call your name like that. To be the reason someone’s expression softened. You wondered what it would feel like to matter that easily.

Bucky passed by you without a glance as he walked with her. You didn't expect otherwise.

You held your papers a little tighter and turned back the way you came.

Some people were made to shine. You’d never been one of them. You weren’t bitter. You weren’t even that jealous, really. You just knew your place. You were the one who knew how to quiet a printer jam in seconds. Who carried extra pens. Who remembered birthdays but never had her own celebrated.

Bucky Barnes didn’t know your favorite coffee order. Didn’t know you stayed late so others could leave early. Didn’t know how often you looked at the closed doors of conversations you’d never be invited into.

But you were okay. You had your quiet. You had your rhythm. You had the small comfort of being needed, even if not wanted. And that would be enough. Eventually.

[bangchangbinnie]

The Door That Shouldn’t Have Closed c.b

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Chan’s anger drives y/n out into the cold

(I love writing angst and worn out plots YIPPEEE)

The apartment was warm with the scent of home—his home, which over time had become their home. The overhead light cast a soft glow on the wooden floors, reflecting against the large window that framed the city skyline in the distance. The gentle hum of the heater filled the quiet air, a comfort against the cold that lingered outside.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop open in front of her as she absentmindedly sipped on a cup of tea. The ceramic mug was warm in her hands, the steam curling into the air as she scrolled through pages of job listings. Living in Korea had been a whirlwind, a mix of excitement and challenges, but with Chan beside her, it felt worth it. He had reassured her time and time again that she didn’t have to worry, that she didn’t need to rush into finding work, but she wanted to—needed to. She wanted to feel like she belonged, like she wasn’t just lingering in his world without purpose.

Her gaze flickered over to the sleek black laptop resting on the edge of the coffee table, its screen glowing with an unfinished project. Chan had been working tirelessly on a track, pouring every ounce of his energy into fine-tuning the smallest details. It was his everything—the beating heart of his career, of his passion, of him. She knew how much it meant to him.

Maybe that’s why, when she reached for her phone and accidentally nudged the edge of the coffee table, her heart stopped as the laptop teetered, wobbled, and in the slowest, most horrifying second of her life—

—crashed to the floor.

The impact was deafening in the silence. The sharp crack of metal and plastic colliding against hardwood rang in her ears, freezing her in place. Her breath hitched as she scrambled forward, hands trembling as she turned the device over. The screen was black, unresponsive, the keyboard slightly misaligned from the fall. Her stomach twisted into a sickening knot.

No, no, no, no—

“Y/N?”

His voice came from the hallway, muffled but laced with exhaustion. Heavy footsteps echoed as he approached, and before she could even attempt to explain, he was there—standing in the doorway, his tired eyes locking onto the sight before him.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, in an instant, the exhaustion in his face was replaced by something else entirely. His features hardened, lips parting as if trying to process what he was seeing.

“What—” His voice caught, eyes flicking between her and the laptop. “What the hell did you do?”

“I—I didn’t mean to,” she stammered, panic lacing her words as she held the laptop up like an offering. “It was an accident, I swear! I barely touched the table, and it—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice rose, sharp and cutting. He stormed forward, snatching the laptop from her hands. His fingers ghosted over the edges, flipping it open, pressing the power button over and over again. Nothing. “Do you have any idea how much was on here?”

“I know, I—”

“No, you don’t know.” His words came fast, heated, filled with frustration. “That was weeks—months of work! Gone. Just like that.” His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the broken laptop as if willing it to come back to life. His breaths were ragged, uneven, his head shaking as he let out a bitter laugh. “God, Y/N, do you even think before you do things?”

The words hit like a slap. She flinched, hands curling into fists in her lap. “I said I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, voice small, fragile. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix this!” His voice cracked, raw and unrestrained. “You don’t get it, do you? Fuck! This isn’t just some random thing you broke—this was everything I’ve been working on. Every file, every project, every unfinished song—it’s all gone now because you couldn’t be careful.”

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She knew he was upset, knew that this was important to him, but the way he was speaking to her—like she was careless, like she didn’t care—it stung in ways she couldn’t describe.

She swallowed, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “I’ll help you fix it,” she tried, reaching out. “There are data recovery places, we can—”

“Just stop.” His tone was sharp enough to cut. “Just… stop.” He ran a hand through his curls, his shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, something dark and stormy. Then, before she could say anything else, he did something she never expected.

“Get out.”

The words were low, clipped, but they sent dread washing over her.

She blinked. “W-What?”

“You heard me.” His gaze was unwavering, lips pressing into a thin line. “I can’t deal with this right now. Just… go.”

The air in the room turned suffocating.

Go.

Leave.

He was kicking her out.

Her chest tightened, heart hammering against her ribs as she slowly stood. “Chan… I—I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

For a split second, something flickered in his expression—regret, hesitation—but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

“I don’t care.”

The words settled like lead in her stomach. Her hands trembled as she grabbed her coat, slipping it on with numb fingers. The apartment that once felt like a sanctuary now felt cold, foreign, unwelcoming. She didn’t beg, didn’t plead—if this was what he wanted, then she wouldn’t fight.

She turned towards the door, fingers hesitating on the handle. One last time, she glanced over her shoulder. He was standing there, back to her, running a hand through his hair as he stared blankly at the broken laptop on the table.

She bit her lip, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Then, she stepped out into the night.

The cold hit her instantly, biting through her thin coat as she wrapped her arms around herself. The streets were quiet, the distant hum of traffic the only sound accompanying her as she stood there, frozen, unsure of where to go.

She had nowhere. Nowhere but him, and now… not even that.

The apartment was eerily silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock hanging above the kitchen. Each second that passed felt like a taunt, like it was counting down to something he didn’t quite understand but could feel settling into the pit of his stomach like a weight.

Chan sat hunched over on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tangled in his curls. The broken laptop sat on the coffee table in front of him, its cracked frame a haunting reminder of everything that had transpired just hours ago. His jaw was tight, his breath shallow as his mind replayed the argument on an endless loop.

The way her voice had wavered. The way her hands had trembled. The way she had looked at him—like he had gutted her.

And then she was gone.

At first, he had told himself he didn’t care. That he needed the space. That she needed to understand how much she had screwed up. The frustration had still been burning too hot in his veins for him to feel anything else.

But now?

Now, the embers had long since cooled, leaving only the empty ache of realization.

It had been hours.

And she still hadn’t come back.

His knee bounced anxiously as he pulled out his phone, unlocking it with swift fingers. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Where the hell was she? She had said it herself—she had nowhere else to go.

His mind reeled with possibilities, none of them good. Was she wandering around aimlessly? Sitting on some freezing bench in the middle of the city? God, what if something happened to her? Korea wasn’t dangerous, but that didn’t mean she was safe. She wasn’t fluent in the language, she didn’t have family here—hell, she barely had friends. She had him.

And he had thrown her out.

A sharp breath shuddered from his lips as he ran a hand over his face. His body was buzzing with nerves now, his earlier anger replaced by something far worse—guilt.

How could he have been so stupid?

Yeah, she had broken his laptop. Yeah, it hurt knowing all that work was lost. But was it really worth the way he had spoken to her? The way he had made her feel so disposable, so unwanted?

His chest tightened as he remembered the way she had looked at him when she had whispered those last words—I’m sorry.

He had told her he didn’t care, but that was a lie.

He cared too much.

And now he had no idea where she was.

Chan shot up from the couch, grabbing his coat and shoving his feet into his sneakers with hurried, frantic movements. He didn’t bother turning off the lights or locking the door—none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was finding her.

The second he stepped outside, the cold slammed into him like a brick wall. The temperature had dropped significantly since earlier, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, merciless and unrelenting.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

Panic clawed at his throat as he moved down the dimly lit streets, scanning every alleyway, every bench, every corner. Where the hell was she?

He pulled out his phone, dialing her number with shaking fingers. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Voicemail.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, shoving the phone back into his pocket. His heart pounded wildly, each beat a deafening reminder of how badly he had messed up.

Then, just as he was about to turn another corner, he saw it—

A small figure curled up on a bench just beneath a flickering streetlamp, her head tucked against her knees, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

His breath caught in his throat.

Y/N.

He rushed forward, kneeling down in front of her, his hands hovering over her shaking form. She was trembling violently, her coat barely doing anything to shield her from the brutal cold. Strands of hair stuck to her damp cheeks—had she been crying?

Guilt slammed into him like a freight train.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice tight. She flinched, her shoulders tensing at the sound of his voice, but she didn’t look up.

Chan’s heart cracked wide open.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, finally reaching out to touch her, his hands carefully settling on her arms. She was freezing. Ice-cold. His stomach churned. “Baby, what are you doing out here? Why didn’t you go somewhere warmer?”

A bitter, shaky laugh slipped from her lips, muffled against her knees. “Where?” she croaked, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You told me to leave, remember?”

Chan felt physically sick.

“Y/N, I—” He swallowed, his throat tightening. “I didn’t mean it. I was angry, I—I wasn’t thinking. But I never wanted this. I never wanted you out here like this.” His voice broke, raw with regret.

She sniffled, finally lifting her head just enough for him to see her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy from the cold and her tears. The sight of her like this—because of him—made his chest constrict painfully.

“You didn’t stop me,” she whispered. “You just let me go.” Chan’s breath hitched. There was no excuse for that. None.

He exhaled sharply, his hands gently cupping her face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears still clinging to her skin. His fingers were warm—too warm against her freezing face.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt. “I was an idiot. I was cruel. I should’ve never let you leave, I should’ve never—” His voice cracked, his forehead pressing against hers as his hands cradled her gently. “Please, baby, please come home.”

Y/N swallowed, her lips quivering. “Are you still mad?”

Chan shook his head instantly. “No. God, no. The only thing I’m mad at is myself.” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his own gaze brimming with emotion. “I don’t care about the laptop. I don’t care about the files. I care about you. And I swear, I will never, ever make you feel like that again.”

A shaky breath escaped her lips. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, just stared at him with that same exhausted, heartbroken expression that made his insides twist painfully.

Then, finally, her body slumped against his, her face burying into his chest.

Chan let out a breath of pure relief, his arms wrapping around her tightly, securely, as if he was trying to shield her from the cold, from the night, from everything.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into her hair, pressing desperate, lingering kisses against her temple. “I love you, I love you, I love you—please don’t ever think for a second that I don’t.”

Her fingers clutched onto his coat weakly, and after a long pause, she whispered, “Take me home.”

Chan swallowed past the lump in his throat, standing and pulling her up with him, his arms never leaving her as he guided her back toward the place she should have never had to leave in the first place.

And as they stepped into the warm embrace of their apartment, Chan vowed to himself—

He would never let his anger cost him her again.

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

It had all been Sausage's idea in the first place. Or at least that's what fWhip planned to tell Gem, if word of this got back to her and she gave him that Look. He'd only tagged along to keep their friend from getting himself into too much trouble with the head of the Codlands anyway! How was he to know the day would take such an unexpected turn?

In fact, Sausage's whole reason for visiting had been to apologize to Jimmy for his last prank. The colorful dyes dropped into random pools around the swamp were non-toxic - fWhip had made sure of that, had offered Sausage the dyes as an alternative to the glitter he'd originally planned to use - but that hadn't stopped Jimmy from being absolutely furious when he saw the state of his waters. As cute as the mer was when he was angry, fWhip felt a little guilty that he seemed genuinely upset instead of his usual over-the-top but lighthearted reaction, and spent the whole evening convincing Sausage to go back and say he was sorry.

Sausage really had intended to apologize properly when they returned the following week, fWhip was sure of that. But Jimmy had his back to them as they approached, and Sausage still had some of fWhip's popping firecrackers in his pocket, and the temptation was just too great. They exchanged a grin, snuck up behind Jimmy, and threw several of the little paper bundles against a rock at his feet. Jimmy jumped out of his skin, then spun around and swore at them in what fWhip was fairly certain was at least three different languages. Sausage and fWhip laughed until they couldn't breathe, and Sausage was still giggling when he snapped open his glider and took off to avoid Jimmy's swinging fist.

"Sorry - I'm sorry!" gasped fWhip through his glee. "But you should have seen your face! Er, or your body language, I guess? Either way, it was great - hey!" He jumped back with a grin as Jimmy lunged for him. "Aw, don't be mad, codboy, it was just a little joke."

"I've had it with your jokes," Jimmy snarled, trying and failing to tackle fWhip again. "Do you know how long it took to clean up your last stupid mess?? What if one of the kids had seen it first and tried to swim in it?"

"Oh, please, it was all high quality, food safe - ow!" fWhip wasn't fast enough to avoid Jimmy's next swing entirely, and it clipped his shoulder.

"Yeah? Try breathing it instead of eating it, you idiot!" Jimmy got him in a headlock, but it wasn't hard to wriggle out of it. "I have had it with you two and your nonsense!"

fWhip laughed and swept Jimmy's legs out from under him, giving himself a head start as Jimmy scrambled after him and chased him across the swamp. "I'd say you seem a little upset, but I wouldn't know," he teased over his shoulder. "Hard to tell through that stupid mask."

Jimmy's growl might have been intimidating coming from anyone else, but in the years since he'd been appointed to lead the Codlands, fWhip hadn't found him to be anything other than a pushover who was fun to toy with. His fingers brushed the edge of fWhip's wing as he reached for him, but fWhip danced just out of his reach before spinning around to face him and grabbing the mask.

"Gotcha," he grinned, the sudden about-face catching Jimmy off guard and letting fWhip slip the mask off his face with ease.

They both froze in place, for entirely different reasons. fWhip stared at a freckled face that was far more handsome than he'd expected, mesmerized by shocked hazel eyes that gleamed golden brown and ocean green in the sun, until it was all hidden behind the hands Jimmy clapped over his face.

"Give it back," he said, words muffled behind his palms.

"Wow. You're..." Breathtaking. Stunning. "...not a bad-looking guy. Why hide behind this thing?" fWhip looked at the mask in his hands, tracing intricately carved scales with his fingertips.

"fWhip! Give it back!" Desperation tinged Jimmy's voice. "No one's supposed to see. No one. Not even my - my lover has seen my face."

It was kind of cute the way Jimmy's voice turned bashful over the word lover. fWhip swallowed the strange feeling that absolutely wasn't jealousy, spinning the mask absently.

"You have a lover? Now I've heard everything." He took a step back, watching Jimmy peek through his fingers as he held up the mask. "Put your hands down."

"What? No!"

fWhip smirked. "Why not? I've already gotten a good look at you. Let me get a second one, then I'll give it back."

Jimmy ground his teeth. "This is blasphemy."

fWhip rolled his eyes, but watched the marshy ground around their feet warily as the water heaved in a way that felt unnatural this far away from the shore. "What, worried some god's going to strike you down just because someone got a glimpse of that pretty face? That's stupid."

"Please."

The quietness of Jimmy's voice and the slump of his shoulders made something twist uncomfortably in fWhip's gut. "Fine. Here." He held the mask out, looking away as Jimmy snatched it away from him and put it back on. "Kind of dumb to make that big a deal out of just seeing someone."

"It's not your place to comment on our customs, thanks," snapped Jimmy. "Now get the fuck out."

"Gladly," huffed fWhip, unfurling his wings and taking off.

It wasn't as if he'd wanted to come to the Codlands today anyway, he grumbled to himself. It had, after all, been Sausage's stupid idea in the first place.

Part 2 of The Codfather's Court AU

[schendy]

Precautionary measures, Faolin mused as he closed his eyes against a final sprinkle of soil falling from the hole above him, were not the same as preventative measures.

He groaned, wiping the dirt away from his face before opening his eyes with a sigh. The walking stick he'd been testing the ground with before each step lay next to him, unharmed - unlike himself. He'd been so focused on forcing air back into his lungs and the soreness in his back that he wasn't aware of the pain in his leg until he tried to stand. The walking stick might not have prevented his unexpected fall through rain-softened ground, but at least it helped him now as he pulled himself upright with it. It was almost fascinating how quickly it had happened. One moment he was navigating a rolling field, and the next he was flat on his back watching dust motes drifting through the beam of sunlight that pierced the darkness from well above his head.

Faolin tied back his black hair to keep it out of his face and moved slowly, but standing up still sent a jolt through his leg that wrenched a noise from his throat that he had not planned on letting out. He took a deep breath and exhaled through his mouth, waiting for the worst of it to subside and trying to convince his nerve endings that it wasn't actually all that serious. Nothing else seemed to be seriously injured, though he was uncomfortably aware of the sting of scraped skin and the soon-to-form bruises that would no doubt cover him in a matter of hours.

Faolin looked up at the hole he had fallen through. Even had he been uninjured, there was no chance he would be able to get back out the way he came; the depth of the cavern was too great, and there weren't any roots or vines or jutting rocks within reach. He looked around him, but the sunlight that penetrated the darkness only illuminated a patch of dirt immediately next to him. All other directions were solid darkness. He didn't know what might lay in wait for him, but any direction was better than none, so Faolin leaned heavily on his walking stick, put his other hand against the wall to guide himself, and began the painfully slow exploration of the cavern.

For once, he was grateful for his father's insistence that he not give up on magic lessons until he was able to produce a rudimentary flame. It was unfortunate that both hands were occupied, but knowing that he at least had a source of light and warmth at his disposal was a comfort. Faolin continued in the dark until the hand he held carefully against the wall slipped around a corner, and he stopped to consider his next move. Leaning his back carefully against the wall to take the weight off his leg - he didn't want to risk sitting down and not be able to get back up again - he held out his now free hand before himself palm up. It took longer than it should for the dull glow that arose over his palm to swell into a flickering ball of orange flame, especially for an elf of his age, but once it did, it held steady. Holding the small fireball aloft, Faolin looked around the room he found himself in, trying to make out what he could. His flame wasn't strong enough to penetrate to the other side, but not too far off to one side he could see old sconces, and he thought he could make out a table towards the center of the room.

As he debated whether he should make his way to the table and hope for a chair, or try to light the torch first, he felt something move across the top of his boots. He looked down and saw nothing, but then something scurried up the back of his forearm to be near the fireball, and Faolin went very still. It didn't feel like an insect of any kind (which was fortunate, he thought, considering the weight of it) but he wasn't keen on the only other possibility he could think of: in a dark cavern under the ground, it had to be some sort of rodent. Before he could process the best way to remove the creature from his arm without getting bitten, something else slipped under the hem of his robe and scurried up his leg, eliciting a panicked hey!

While the second creature tried to make its way up his torso to the neck of his robes, a third creature jumped onto his shoulder, and when he turned his head and found himself nose to nose with it, he also found himself speechless. He had been right in his assumption that the creatures were not insects, but his supposition that it was a rodent was also very, very wrong.

The creature was dragon-like and small, but instead of a solid body it was made of flames that shifted and flickered without burning Faolin's clothing or skin. It turned its head and looked at him curiously, then joined its brethren in curling up in Faolin's palm, heaving a sigh of content to be near the fireball.

"Sprites," breathed Faolin in wonder. "Why are fire sprites in an empty cavern?"

The small creatures nestled in the warmth of his palm like a litter of kittens, naturally, had no answer for him. They weren't something he had ever expected to see in his lifetime except in the most fortuitous of circumstances; sprites were said to only be attracted to places that were beloved, where the energy in a well-tended area was soothing and they found joy in helping to keep a location maintained. And even then, they rarely showed themselves to people. For any sprite at all, let alone three, to be lingering in an empty cavern…

"What did this place used to be?" Faolin mused aloud, looking around again. It must have held powerful energies at one time in history, magic so strong that even the remnants of it were enough to keep the sprites lingering.

One of the fire sprites stood and stretched out with a tiny yawn before hopping onto Faolin's shoulder, then onto the sconce on the wall behind him, setting the torch alight. The other two stirred and followed suit, scurrying across the wall to two other torches that were similarly set ablaze within seconds. With the extra light, Faolin could now see the entirety of the room. It could have been a study of some sort at one point, he guessed. A few empty, decaying bookshelves dotted the walls, along with terracotta pots that might have held plants long ago. A sturdy table and well-carved chair with the remains of a cushion on its seat were in the center of the room, with ancient scraps of parchment and a brittle quill on the table next to a large, dusty book.

Despite the chill in the air, he could feel sweat beading on his brow from the effort of staying upright. Leaning heavily on the branch, he hobbled to the chair and pushed what was left of the rotted cushion off onto the floor before taking a seat. With the immediate goals of light and a place to sit out of the way, Faolin relaxed enough for unease to set in properly. He was weeks away from home, in a nearly uninhabited territory, and no one had any idea of where he had been traveling to. He still had some rations with him, but only enough water for two or three days - not nearly enough to wait until his injuries were healed enough to try to find some way out of the cavern. He had learned basic healing magic, and taken to it far easier than the elemental magics wielded by other elves, but nothing that would work for anything more serious than a nasty scrape. Mending a broken bone or severe sprain was out of the question. A lump formed in Faolin's throat and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to fight it. He was only as good as dead if he gave up; he just needed a little rest and some time to think. At least he had plenty of that.

He wasn't certain how long he dozed, but he woke with a start and looked around, feeling a twinge of disappointment that he hadn't woken up in his own bedroom, or at the very least in his bedroll in front of a campfire. He was still exhausted, but was no longer tired enough to sleep, his mind and body on high alert from being injured and in a strange place.

Desperate for something to do other than spiral, Faolin pulled the heavy tome on the table closer to him and carefully opened the front cover. His expectation of having something to read in order to distract him from the pain was shattered immediately. He hadn't expected it to be in modern Aelfté, given the age of the ruins around him, but he had at least hoped for a recognizable language. Instead, the book appeared to be written in not only an unfamiliar language but an unfamiliar writing system; he couldn't even tell if it was phonetic or logographic.

"So much for a distraction," he grumbled, shutting the book. After a moment of frustration, however, he opened it again and began turning the pages carefully. There were illustrations a little further in, and they seemed medical in nature. After taking another look, the writing seemed a little familiar after all. A book on ancient forms of magic he had found in the depths of the palace library had mentioned a writing-based magic system that had fallen out of favor long ago, that had been channeled through use of runes. The runes in the book didn't seem to quite match the faint memory of runes he had retained from the other book - perhaps an even older system? - but the diagrams were clear and his curiosity was piqued. He dug into his pack, pulling out the small writing set he always kept with him before staring down at the book contemplatively.

After a few minutes of turning the symbols over in his mind and considering the diagrams, he carefully began copying some of the shapes onto a bandage he pulled from his medical kit. As he wrote, he focused on infusing magic into each shape and scratch of the pen, as if the nib were carving channels into the fabric that his magic flowed into in place of the ink. He had no way of knowing if that was the proper method, but it felt right, and at least it couldn't hurt...he hoped.

When he finished, he pushed aside the feeling of exhausted satisfaction and picked up the bandage, then paused. He didn't know what sort of spell he had just inscribed, he was making an educated guess from a text he couldn't read. He shouldn't even be thinking about experimenting like this without at least discussing it with other scholars. But if it worked...

Faolin wrapped the bandage around the swelling on his leg, curiosity overriding caution. Uncertain of what to do next, he leaned back in the chair once again and closed his eyes.

When Faolin woke from his doze, he opened his eyes to find two glowing orbs staring at him intently, and only the weight of the chair kept his startled jump from sending him toppling backward. The sprite that watched him snorted at his reaction, jumped off his chest and onto the table, then nosed the medical book shut and picked it up carefully in its jaws before running off with it.

"Hey - wait!" said Faolin indignantly. "I wasn't done with that yet...I think."

The creature paid him no mind, disappearing into the darkness, and Faolin sat up. The little book thief was larger than the fire sprites, and notably, not on fire, though he hadn't been able to get a good enough look to tell what it actually was. If he didn't know any better, Faolin might have mistaken the sprite for an actual dragon.

He put it out of his mind, wincing as he tried to work the kinks out of his shoulders and back. It wasn't until he stretched out both his legs that he realized something was different from earlier. His leg still ached, but the pain was no longer sharp and throbbing. He felt around it tentatively before unwinding the bandage. The runes he had inscribed felt different somehow, empty, like dried-up runoff channels waiting for the next rain. Faolin stared at them for a moment, then folded up the fabric and put it back in his medical kit before carefully standing up.

After testing his weight and determining that his leg was in fact more or less healed, Faolin looked around the room with a renewed vigor. He shouldered his pack and went to the wall, lifting up one of the torches and smiling at the fire sprite that blinked at him sleepily. "Care to go on an adventure, little one?" he murmured and wondered if he imagined the feeling of acknowledgement that seemed to come from the creature.

He set off down the hallway that was opposite the way he had come into the room, keeping a mental map of the layout as he explored. The entire place seemed an engineering marvel, considering how far below the surface it was, but he could feel the ancient magic that added extra support humming underneath the physical supports. The entrances to and from the room he had been in simply opened into hallways, but as he got further in he saw wooden doors set into the walls and other hallways that split off into different directions. He tried one door, pushing it open carefully. The hinges groaned in complaint, but the wood still seemed sturdy.

The first thing he noticed was the scent of stale air and dust. It was a small bedroom, sparsely furnished with a single bed, a simple desk and chair, and a wooden trunk at the end of the bed. The thin blanket on the bed felt fragile to the touch, most of the threads long since rotted. He explored other rooms down the hall and found them similarly furnished, and similarly empty. While he was looking around one of the rooms, the sprite in his torch leaned up to sniff at a torch in the room before sneezing. Faolin laughed, while the sprite huffed in annoyance and curled up in the flame again.

He went back out and chose another hallway, noting that the doors here were further apart, indicative of larger rooms. One door in particular caught his eye, larger and more ornate than the rest. He pushed it open, and at the sight that greeted him, all he could do was stare.

The room was pitch black, but with the minimal light from his torch, he could see the first of several rows of bookshelves. What few spines held titles were in the same runes as the medical book that had been in the study, and all of them, title or no, looked ancient. An eager thrill went through him at the thought of what lost knowledge might be in those tomes, but a wave of disappointment followed. He couldn't read them. He doubted, given how old everything he'd come across so far was, that there was any text in there at all that was recent enough to even puzzle out.

He stepped forward anyway, running a finger reverently over one of the spines. He resisted the urge to pull them off their shelves, and instead stepped back to the wall to see if there were more torches. Most of the sconces at intermittent locations still had, thankfully, a torch that lit up eagerly when he touched his own to it. As he walked the perimeter he noted more tables and chairs scattered throughout the room, several with ink bottles and blank parchment waiting in their centers. Whatever this place had been, it had been meant for study and research. If he were to be trapped anywhere, he thought, at least this wasn't a bad place to die.

That thought gave him pause, and he swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat. I'm not dead yet, he scolded himself. There was still a chance that down one of the many halls lay a way out. He would look again just as soon as he finished noting some more details of the library. No point in wasting an opportunity that most scholars only dreamed of.

Faolin reached the entrance again, then moved to the center of the room and looked around. The torchlight from the sconces didn't quite reach that far, which was odd. But the empty space he was standing in didn't have any tables that might have held lamps or an upright sconce. He looked up on a whim. "That's more like it," he muttered. But how do I...

He looked at the sprite napping in his torch. "I don't suppose you can reach that."

The fire sprite raised its head to look at him upon hearing his voice, and when it met his gaze he looked up to the chandelier then back at the sprite. The little creature did the same, then ran down his arm - giving him quite the startle before he remembered the sprite's flaming body didn't seem to burn anything it didn't want it to - and up the wall, leaping to the chandelier and lighting each of the torches it held.

"Thank you," he called out, and the sprite chirped at him happily before curling up in the center. With the room now well-lit, Faolin turned in place to take it all in. Between the familiarity of a library and the potential of exploring new texts, he couldn't help but feel cheerful despite his predicament. He still needed to find a way out, but he would certainly be returning to this place as soon as he could with proper supplies and a plan.

As Faolin looked around, the feeling of something out of place nagged at the back of his mind. It slowly dawned on him as he went to the nearest shelf to pull out a book. All the other rooms he had been in had been covered with grime and dust and the occasional cobweb. All the other rooms had been full of stale air, undisturbed for gods only knew how long. It made it stand out all the more, then, that the entire library was absolutely pristine.

His first thought was confusion, but as he felt eyes boring into his back, his second thought was fear.

He wasn't alone.

[akutsuir]

Where the silence screams ⸝⸝

(Love and Deepspace)

part 2

⟡ some angst with the lads boys cause i am so fucking tired of these history when they doing their shit and reader just forgive them so quickly without make them beg for forgiveness >⩊<

⟡ Characters: Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne, Caleb

⟡ Synopsis: You try to help them after a tough time, and they end up throwing everything at you, so you give them the punishment of silence in return :)

English is not my native language, please forgive any mistakes

Xavier

The sound of the door unlocking was quiet — barely audible — but you recognized it instantly.

Xavier.

He always moved like he was trying not to disturb the world, even when the chaos clung to him like a second skin.

You were on his couch, just as you promised. You’d wait for him to return from the mission. In the soft hush of the night, the only sounds were the hum of overhead lights and the steady patter of rain against the windows. But when he walked in… something was off.

His steps were stiff. Shoulders tense. He didn’t speak. No “I’m back.” No “I missed you.”

You stood up slowly, cautious.

“Hey… how was the mission?”

He unbuttoned his uniform with more force than necessary and walked right past you. A low, almost inaudible grunt slipped from him.

“Such a pain. As usual.”

You swallowed the unease. He was exhausted, maybe not physically, but emotionally. You could see it. You knew how to read him better than anyone.

“I made you something to eat… and I organized your mission logs. They were all out of order, and—”

“I didn’t ask you to touch my files.”

His voice was sharp, not loud, but cutting.

You blinked, surprised. He rarely raised his voice. And rarer still… did he ever speak to you like that.

“I was just trying to help,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Help?” He let out a heavy sigh. “Sometimes you overwhelm me. Always trying to fix things. Like I’m fragile. I don’t need that right now. I just… want some silence.”

It hit like a cold slap. A final period on a sentence you didn’t write.

You stood there for a moment, stunned. Watching him. The weight in his shoulders, the frustration in his face, the storm he carried inside. You knew this wasn’t about you, not really. But that didn’t make the words hurt any less.

“I see.” Your voice was even, frost-coated. “Silence is what you want?”

He didn’t answer. Maybe already regretting it — but it was too late.

You picked up your things. No fight. No drama. You just walked to the door, opened it, and said over your shoulder:

“Then enjoy it.”

And you left.

»

Two hours later, Xavier was standing on the balcony of his apartment, arms leaning against the railing, eyes fixed on your window below.

Dark.

No lights. No noise.

The regret settled in like gravity. The anger had vanished the moment the door clicked shut behind you. All that remained now was the silence he thought he wanted.

But the apartment was cold. Empty. The food you’d left untouched. The mission data perfectly sorted, something he never could’ve done on his own. You always helped. Always.

And he’d driven away the one person who still anchored him to something real.

He moved.

Barefoot, he took the stairs down, tripping over his own feet, and knocked on your door. Once. Twice. Three times.

Nothing.

“[Name]… please.”

His voice was quiet. Frayed.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was tired. Frustrated. Not at you.”

Silence.

He pressed his forehead to your door, fists clenched by his sides.

“You give me peace… even when everything inside me screams. And I threw that away. I know I deserve your silence right now. But if you’re still listening…”

A pause.

“I’m not good with words. Or feelings. But you’re the only person I want to share the chaos with. And if you let me, I swear… I’ll try to be better.”

He swallowed hard, leaning closer to the door.

“I’ll take it all back if I could. Every word. I’d rewind time just to hold you a second longer before I ruined it.”

His voice cracked:

“Do you remember the first time I told you you made me feel calm? You laughed. You didn’t believe me. But it was true. You silence the noise. And now I’m the one who broke that quiet.”

He hesitated, breath hitching.

“I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll stay right here. I’ll earn your voice back, even if all I get tonight is your silence.”

A whisper, almost broken:

“Please don’t unlove me yet…”

Still nothing.

But he stayed there, waiting.

Even if it took all night, sitting in the cold hallway between your two apartments, Xavier would wait for your light to return.

Rafayel

The sun filtered through the windows of the studio, warm and golden, but inside, the air felt heavy. Thick. Almost unbreathable.

Unfinished canvases leaned against the walls, staring back at him like ghosts. Rafayel sat motionless in front of a blank one, eyes bloodshot, hands twitching. He hadn’t slept properly in days. Maybe weeks.

You were there, sitting on the old armchair across the room, watching him silently. Careful not to interrupt, not to push too hard. But you couldn’t keep holding your breath forever.

You finally stood up and walked toward him, voice soft.

“Rafayel… maybe take a break? Just five minutes. Some tea, clear your head a little.”

He let out a dry, hollow laugh without turning to look at you.

“Tea isn’t going to finish these damn paintings,” he muttered. “Tea won’t save me from the disaster this exhibition is turning into.”

You took a breath, trying to stay calm.

“I’m not saying to give up. I’m saying you can’t keep breaking yourself like this—”

“I don’t need you to play therapist,” he snapped, finally facing you. His tone was sharper than his usual detached calm. “I don’t need you hovering over me, treating me like I’m fragile. You don’t get it.”

That stung. But you still held your ground.

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Then stop.” His voice dropped lower, colder. “If you really want to help, be quiet. Or better yet… just go. Go live your perfect little life and leave me to finish what’s left of mine.”

You stared at him in stunned silence. The words weren’t shouted, but they landed like a slap. He knew it too, you saw it in the flicker of regret that crossed his face right after.

But he didn’t apologize. He just turned back to the canvas, like he hadn’t just burned the room down.

You stood there a moment longer, then calmly picked up your bag.

“Fine,” you said, voice steady. “Have it your way.”

You left without slamming the door. Without yelling.

No drama.

Just silence.

And that silence said everything.

»

The moment you were gone, the studio changed.

It wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was hollow. Echoing.

Rafayel told himself you’d come back. Maybe in an hour. Maybe by nightfall. He waited. He painted — or tried to. But the canvas stayed blank. Like him.

You didn’t call. You didn’t answer his messages. You didn’t listen to the audio he sent at 2:17 AM:

“I said the wrong things. I know that. I pushed you away. I was scared and cornered and angry, and I aimed it at you. You didn’t deserve it. Please… please talk to me. Don’t leave me alone in this, cutie.”

At 2:43 AM, another voice message came through:

“I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face the moment you walked out. I didn’t mean it, any of it. I just— I need you. Please, I’m sorry.”

At 3:12 AM, he typed, deleted, retyped, and finally sent:

“Come home. I’ll do anything. I’ll fix it. I swear.”

By 4:06 AM, his voice cracked in another audio:

“Do you hate me now? Is that it? I hate me too. I’d rather you scream at me, throw something, anything, just… don’t stay quiet. Don’t disappear like this.”

Still, your silence stayed.

It was the only thing louder than his guilt.

»

That night, he finally painted again. Not for the exhibition. Not for critics. Just because he needed to breathe.

He painted you.

Standing in front of a half-open door, light flooding in from behind you, your face turned away.

Unreachable.

Gone.

In the corner of the canvas, he scrawled the title in a fit of pain and honesty:

“Forgive me…”

Sylus

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, sealing away the noise from the base. You approach with a clean cloth and a small box of medicine, careful not to disturb him more than necessary.

He’s on the couch, head down, silver hair falling over his eyes. He doesn’t move. But you can feel the tension in the air like a live wire.

“I brought something to help…” you say gently.

Sylus lets out a dry laugh, still not looking at you.

“Of course you did. Like always.” He waves a hand with a lazy flick. “Because clearly, you know exactly what someone like me needs, right?”

You swallow hard. His words aren’t sharp, not outright, but the coldness cuts deeper than a blade.

“I just thought… maybe you could use a break. With me.” You kneel beside the couch, opening the box.

He finally looks at you, and his gaze is like shattered glass.

“A break? With everything I’m dealing with?” He laughs again, bitter. “Cute. You think this all goes away with a damp cloth and emotional proximity?”

You pause.

“I’m not trying to fix anything. Just… be here. Help, a little.”

He leans forward, takes the cloth from your hand — a gesture that looks soft, but feels forced.

“And I’m telling you I didn’t ask for it. You’re here because you want to feel useful, not because I need you. Let’s not pretend otherwise, yeah?”

His words sink deeper than they should, not loud, not cruel, but laced with just enough contempt to make your chest tighten.

You freeze in place, absorbing the words you just heard. And then, you stand up and slowly step away.

“Alright.”

You reply, coldly. No hurt, no anger. Heading toward the door.

“Good night, Sylus.”

No door slammed. No looking back.

And then you’re gone.

»

He hasn’t moved since you left. Silence isn’t rare in this place, but tonight, it sinks in deep. Suffocating. He tells himself it’s fine. That you’ll come back. That this was necessary. But there’s no message. No knock. Not even a sarcastic “still alive?”

Just emptiness.

That itch under his skin starts small.

Then turns into irritation.

Then worse: uncertainty.

He stares at the wall for what feels like hours. The hum of the base fades into nothing — all that’s left is the weight of your absence pressing on his chest like a steel plate.

His fingers twitch.

Eventually, he grabs his phone from the table with a sharp motion, as if it somehow offended him just by existing.

The screen lights up. No new messages.

He scoffs quietly, jaw tightening.

He opens your chat. His thumb hovers over the keyboard. Closes the app. Opens it again. Types. Deletes. Types again.

This is stupid.

He exhales through his nose. And finally starts to type.

[Message — 2:21 AM]

“How long is this little tantrum supposed to last?”

[Message — 2:44 AM]

“If you’re gonna keep playing the silent game, at least let me know you’re breathing.”

[Message — 3:12 AM]

“…Fine. Ignore me. You’re good at that.”

[Message — 3:38 AM]

“I didn’t mean it. Alright? That crap I said earlier. You know I didn’t mean it.”

[Message — 3:54 AM]

“You can be mad. Just… don’t disappear like that.”

[Message — 4:00 AM]

“Please.”

[Message — 4:07 AM]

“I’m sorry.”

He stares at the screen for a long time after that last message.

No reply. No read receipt. Nothing.

The silence isn’t just quiet anymore, it’s loud. Echoing. Gnawing at the corners of his mind.

And for once, there’s no battle, no mission, no distraction strong enough to pull him out of it. Just the memory of your eyes right before you walked out.

Not angry.

Not hurt.

Just… done.

He replays every word he said. How cold he sounded. How easy it was to push you away when all you did was care.

And now?

Now the silence is a mirror.

And he hates what he sees in it.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Sylus isn’t sure if he’s strong enough to fix what he broke.

Or if you’ll even let him try.

Zayne

The house was quiet when he arrived, his shoulders stiff, the lab coat still loosely folded under his arm. Zayne dropped his keys on the table with a short sigh, not even glancing at you.

You approached cautiously, your voice gentle:

“Zayne… you look exhausted. Do you want me to run you a hot bath? Or—”

“I’m fine.” He replied curtly, his eyes fixed on nothing.

You hesitated but moved a little closer.

“Love, you don’t have to carry everything alone. Let me take care of you, just a little?”

That’s when he finally turned, but his gaze was sharp and cutting.

“I don’t need you hovering over me.” His words came out harsh. “It’s already hard enough without someone trying to ‘help’ when all I want is silence.”

You froze. Your eyes burned, but you said nothing. You just nodded silently, turned around, and left the room.

He heard the bedroom door close softly.

And the silence he asked for fell like a sentence.

»

Minutes turned into hours. He finished a cold shower. Tried to work. Tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. But the house was too quiet. No message from you. No light touch calling him.

Zayne stepped slowly to the bedroom door, hesitating before entering. You were lying on your side, your eyes closed, your body tense as if trying to hide from the world.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, guilt squeezing his chest.

“Hey…” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was… just too stressed. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Silence.

He took a step closer to the bed, but you didn’t move.

“Please, you don’t even have to look at me, just… don’t stay like this...” His fingers reached for yours but stopped in midair, afraid to touch.

Another heavy silence.

Zayne took a deep breath, looking away for a moment, trying to control the storm inside him.

“I know you don’t want to see me right now, and I understand that. I just… want you to know I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.” His voice was firmer now, full of sincerity and pain. “I regret it.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, still, feeling the emptiness of your absence.

After a few minutes, he stood up slowly, casting one last glance your way before leaving the room.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.” He whispered, closing the door gently.

In the quiet place, he was left alone with his guilt and the desperate wish to fix what he broke — even if, for now, all he could do was wait patiently.

Caleb

The soft lights of the fleet’s central control room did little to hide the tension weighing down Caleb’s shoulders. He stood silently in front of a glowing holographic screen, eyes scanning battle data and encrypted communications without blinking.

You stepped inside the room quietly, and the sound of the door sliding shut was the only thing that made him glance in your direction.

“You should be resting,” he said, voice low, attempting a gentle smile. “It’s late.”

“I know… but so should you.” You walked closer, concern etched across your features. “I can see it in your face, Caleb. You’re not okay.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, clearly fighting against the part of himself that wanted to stay vulnerable.

“I’m handling it, pipsqueak.” he muttered, softer than usual. “Everything’s under control. I just need more time.”

You stopped next to him, trying to meet his eyes. “Then let me help. I can look at the data with you, help process the mission details or the crew assessments. Anything to take some of the weight off.”

He didn’t respond right away. The silence grew heavier between you.

“I’m not a burden, Caleb,” you continued, more firmly now. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone. The Fleet is important, but I’m here too. And I see you tearing yourself apart.”

That was when something in him cracked.

“Enough.” he snapped, the edge in his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He turned toward you fully now, expression cold and tired. “This isn’t about you. Don’t get involved in Fleet affairs. I don’t need you meddling and making things harder than they already are.”

You took a step back, stunned. But he didn’t stop there.

“You don’t get it. This isn’t some childish puzzle you can fix just because you’re worried. You’re not part of this. You’re just… in the way right now.”

The air was sharp with silence.

Your throat tightened, but you said nothing. Not a word.

Just a quiet nod, not of agreement, but acknowledgment, and then you turned around and walked out, leaving him alone in the cold blue light of the command room.

You returned to his home, the same one you’d been staying at since you arrived in Skyhaven. You entered without turning on the lights, moving through the familiar rooms with heavy steps.

Instead of the shared bedroom, you went to the guest room. The one farthest down the hall. You didn’t bother changing or turning on the lights. You lay down on the bed, back facing the door, and let silence wrap around you.

Then, finally, you closed your eyes and felt the sting of unshed tears begin to burn.

»

Caleb arrived home two hours later. The door shut behind him with a faint hiss, but the silence that followed was suffocating.

“Pipsqueak?” he called gently.

Nothing.

He checked the main bedroom. Untouched. Made. Empty.

A tight, hollow ache formed in his chest. He moved quickly down the hall to the guest room. The door was shut.

He knocked softly. “Can I come in?”

No reply.

He pushed the door open slowly. The room was dark, and you lay still on the bed, turned away. Awake. Breathing. Quiet.

He lingered in the doorway, unsure, then took a hesitant step inside.

“I was out of line,” he began, voice rough. “I know you were just trying to help. I saw that in your eyes, and I still… I still lashed out at you.”

You didn’t move. Not a word. Not a breath out of place.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness right now,” he added, approaching the bed slowly. “I just… please, don’t shut me out. Be angry. Yell at me. Just… don’t go quiet on me.”

No reaction.

And that silence, that unbearable, absolute silence, shattered what little was left of his control.

“I brought you here because I needed you, pipsqueak,” he whispered, kneeling down beside the bed. “Because you’re the only thing that keeps me grounded. I can face any enemy, command any fleet… but this? This silence? It’s killing me.”

He rested his head against the mattress edge, his hands clasped together as if praying for a second chance. Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

You stayed still.

Eventually, he let out a slow, broken breath.

“I’ll give you space,” he said quietly, barely audible. “Even if you never forgive me, I’ll keep trying to be someone who deserves you.”

He stood up slowly, like someone carrying far more weight than just guilt. Before leaving, he paused, looking at you one last time. Still, you didn’t turn. Didn’t speak.

He left the door slightly ajar, a small, fragile gesture of hope.

And then he walked away.

The house fell silent again.

But now, it was a silence thick with everything he should have said sooner, and everything he feared might already be too late to fix.

··························· ➜

[alsofoundinpeas]

The View from Here

Summary: After a few chance encounters, Spencer finds himself developing a crush on Y/N. When he discovers she lives across from him, he spends countless hours admiring her from a distance, too nervous to make the first move. But when her package is mistakenly delivered to his door, it sparks the beginning of something more than just a crush and stolen glances through the window. (Part Two)

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. This could be considered dubcon (Spencer watches reader through her window but doesn't realize that she actually wants him to) so please be aware of that! Masturbation (both m and f). Use of a sex toy/penetrative use of a sex toy (f!receiving). Perv!Spencer (he means well truly, but alas he is a man) but also a hint of Perv!Reader (since she's intentionally doing things to grab his attention?? I'm not quite sure how to label that I'm sorry!!) Themes of voyeurism/exhibitionism (they both watch each other get off). Sub!Spencer (gotta squint for it now but it'll be more prevalent in part two). Both fluffy and smutty

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This was started to fill a request for sub!Spencer but I got carried away forgive me LMAO but part two is almost complete and will be out soon :') I wrote this with season two Reid in mind before the writers (further) traumatized the absolute fuck out of him. This is a bit different from my usual writing, so I truly hope you guys enjoy it! As always, please let me know what you guys think and if you do enjoy it then please like, reblog, and share it with your friends. <3 I truly do appreciate each and every single one of you and the feedback I get from you guys, I promise :') <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

The door slammed behind him as Spencer stormed into his apartment, tossing his satchel onto the couch with an angry groan. The stress of work had been wearing him down for weeks, but today had pushed him over the edge.

He’d just wrapped up the reports for their latest case and was on his way to deliver them to Hotch when an oblivious agent from the sex crimes unit collided with him. The force sent the cup of scalding coffee in her hands flying, drenching him and his case files. Instead of responding to her blubbered apologies, he had just stomped off to the bathroom to clean himself and calm down. Not only was it painful and humiliating, but it also destroyed all of his hard work. Work he'd now have to redo tomorrow.

Spencer exhaled sharply, fingers raking through his hair as he trudged toward the bedroom. All he wanted was to strip off his coffee-stained clothes and lose himself in the pages of his new book, anything to escape the tension of the day. Once inside, he moved to close the curtains but stopped short, his eyes landing on something unexpected just before he pulled them shut. His body went rigid, his heart racing as an unfamiliar warmth spread through him. He blinked, barely able to believe what he was seeing.

There, in the apartment directly across from his bedroom window, was Y/N.

Spencer had bumped into her a handful of times—their first meeting happening at the library just down the street when they'd both reached for the same book, then a few chance encounters after that at his favorite coffee shop, and the most recent interaction being one of the most mortifying moments of his life.

He’d stumbled over the sidewalk on his way to work, and he’d never wanted to disappear into the ground more than in that moment. But she had been there, her smile warm and gracious as she helped him gather the scattered books and case files that had spilled from his satchel, her kindness leaving him flustered and breathless. He’d been captivated by her the first time they met, but it was that moment that truly cemented his fascination with her.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat when he realized how wrong it was to be watching her through her bedroom window. But despite the guilt creeping in, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. It was as if he were under some kind of spell, captivated by the sight of her spinning around her room, carefree and radiant.

She wore a loose t-shirt that slipped off one shoulder and the tiniest pair of shorts he’d ever seen, completely at ease in her own space. She held something in her hand, singing into it like a microphone, completely lost in the music. Spencer didn’t realize when it happened, but a smile tugged at his lips, the stress of the day forgotten as he watched her. Her joy was so genuine and infectious that it pulled at him in ways he hadn’t expected, leaving him momentarily breathless.

His thoughts were interrupted when Y/N twirled around, singing as she faced her window. Spencer released a startled yelp, frantically yanking the curtains shut before she could catch him staring. His heart raced in his chest as he dared a quick peek through the fabric, anxious to see if she had noticed. Thankfully, she seemed oblivious, still happily dancing around her room, unaware of his presence.

"Oh my God," Spencer muttered, a wave of relief washing over him as he realized he hadn’t been caught staring like a complete weirdo at the woman he’d developed a crush on, despite having barely exchanged five sentences with her.

He was sure she didn't even remember his name. Why would she? All he'd managed to do during their brief interactions (besides busting his ass on the concrete the one time) was stutter out barely audible attempts at conversation before hastily retreating, his face scarlet and slacks uncomfortably tight.

Spencer had assumed Y/N lived nearby, but he hadn’t realized she was this close.

The day's weight melted away as Spencer peeled off his work clothes and slipped into his pajamas. He grabbed his book from the nightstand and sank back into his pillows, propping himself up against the headboard. But as he tried to focus on the pages, the image of Y/N dancing in her room kept invading his thoughts. His mind refused to settle, consumed with ideas of how he might run into her again now that he knew that not only was she just a building away—she was right across from him.

As the weeks passed, Spencer’s routine began to mirror Y/N’s more and more as he grew increasingly familiar with her schedule.

He began waking up earlier, noticing that she typically left her apartment an hour before he needed to head to work. With the extra time, Spencer found himself watching her with quiet awe each morning while she got ready, fascinated by how the soft light from the window seemed to illuminate her features as she did her hair and makeup. He also started visiting his favorite coffee shop daily instead of just once a week, hoping for a chance encounter before his workday began.

Night after night Spencer found his gaze inevitably drawn to her window, the soft glow of her bedroom lighting luring him in like a moth to a flame. He would trace her movements, pretending to read his book as it shielded his face, should he need to feign innocence. Something was alluring about her, even in the simplest moments—whether she was folding laundry or typing away on her computer, she was impossible to look away from.

Spencer couldn’t shake his curiosity about Y/N’s habit of leaving her curtains open.

Did she know he could see her? Was it intentional? Their apartments, situated at the ends of the buildings on the top floors, offered a level of privacy that made him feel certain (or at least, he desperately hoped) that no one else could be watching. Perhaps she’d noticed his frequent absences and simply stopped caring about keeping them shut.

The first case away from D.C. after Spencer learned Y/N was so close was more difficult than he expected. As he lay awake in his hotel room, his thoughts kept drifting to her, and the longing grew with each passing hour. He missed her. The only thing driving him was the need to finish the case quickly so he could return to the familiar comfort of his bed, where he could silently admire her from a distance.

The longer he thought about her, the tighter his boxers got. Spencer huffed out a pitiful whine, his hands clenching and unclenching beside himself as he tried to fight his shameful thoughts. This wasn't the first time he'd had these thoughts about her since meeting her, no. But it is the first time he's had the mental image of her undressing to go along with his fantasies.

The first time it happened, Spencer had all but thrown himself off his bed in his haste to close his curtains. His heart had pounded so hard his chest ached as he'd squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sight of her raising her shirt over her head and tossing it carelessly to the ground out of his mind. The second time, he took a little more time to slink over to his window and draw his curtains, his pulse racing at the sight of her bare back and the smallest glimpse of lacy panties as she began to shimmy out of her pants. The third time, he had crouched by his window, peeking out despite having pulled his curtains closed, and watched as she stripped completely before heading into her conjoined bathroom.

That was the first and (so far) only time he'd touched himself to what he'd seen.

The moment her bathroom door had clicked shut, Spencer sprang to his feet and hurried into his own bathroom, tearing his clothes off before stepping underneath the stream of hot water. One of his palms smacked the wall while his other hand frantically pumped his aching cock, whimpers and groans flowing freely from his lips as he imagined Y/N's hand around him instead of his own. It didn't take long for him to spill into his hand, and unfortunately, it took even less time for the guilt to slam into him at the realization of what he'd done.

After that night, Spencer had vowed to himself that he wouldn't let it happen again, knowing just how inherently wrong it was to jerk off to the sight of his neighbor (the woman he secretly admired) getting undressed when she had no idea she had even been watched.

But tonight, alone and frustrated in his hotel room, he was struggling to stick to that vow.

After another hour of tossing and turning in bed, Spencer released a resigned sigh. "Just this once," he murmured to himself, swallowing hard. He let his hand slip underneath the waistband of his boxers to push them down his thighs before spitting in his palm, hissing at the contact as his hand wrapped around his arousal. His eyes fluttered shut as his imagination began to take over, his hand slowly increasing its pace as images of Y/N and her lacy panties raced through his mind.

Spencer's mouth hung open as his thumb swiped over the swollen tip of his cock, a bead of precum oozing out and aiding his movements. He pictured her hovering above him, her gaze teasing as she stroked him faster and faster. He imagined how she'd sound as she talked him through it, her sweet voice luring him closer and closer to the edge. His hips bucked into his hand as his climax took hold of him, a choked moan of Y/N's name ripping its way from his throat as he painted his heaving chest with his cum.

With shaky hands, he cleaned himself, still dizzy from the aftershocks of his orgasm. After wiping himself off, he collapsed onto the bed, surrendering to the exhaustion that weighed him down. That night, his dreams were filled with Y/N—her radiant smile, her captivating voice, and the tenderness in her eyes whenever they met his. When he woke the next morning, breathless and murmuring her name, he realized he was in deep.

What Spencer didn’t know was that Y/N had known exactly what she was doing all along.

From the moment she reached for the same book as him—an act carefully planned to give her an excuse to talk to him—she’d been captivated by the stuttering genius. New to the neighborhood, she had noticed him a few times before finally gathering the courage to make her move. All it took was his flustered "Oh! I-I’m so sorry, here—" paired with furrowed brows and those wide, innocent eyes, and she was utterly entranced.

When Y/N discovered that Spencer lived right across from her, it felt like she’d hit the jackpot.

After their previous encounters, she’d quickly noticed the effect she had on him, and from that moment, she devised a plan to capture his attention. She began with subtle moves, leaving her curtains open one night so he’d realize she was the one across from him. She chose an outfit she was sure would draw his gaze, and when he nearly ripped his curtain rod off the wall, convinced she’d caught him looking, she knew she’d succeeded.

When Y/N noticed he was waking up earlier, watching her get ready with curious eyes over what he clearly thought was a cleverly placed book (which, in reality, did nothing to hide his attention), she decided it was time to raise the stakes.

The first time she undressed with the curtains open, she sank to her knees cackling at how quickly Spencer had scrambled out of bed to shut his own. The second time, she relished in how he hesitated before shutting his curtains so he could catch a glimpse of her lacy panties (ones she’d chosen with him in mind), but it still wasn't enough. By the third time, she was done teasing. She’d stripped down completely bare in her room, grinning smugly as she turned to walk into her bathroom because she’d seen Spencer not-so-subtly peeking through his curtains.

When Spencer still didn’t make a move after that, Y/N decided she was done waiting.

With him away on a case for the past three days, she saw the perfect opportunity to set her new plan in motion. After work one evening, she made her way to his building, quickly locating his apartment number—a detail that, to her surprise, matched hers. Smiling to herself, she placed her order and waited for him to return, ready for the next phase of her plan to unfold.

After nearly twelve grueling days away, Spencer finally returned late Friday night, aching for the comfort of home—and, more importantly, the sight of Y/N. Exhausted, he stumbled up the stairs to his apartment, eager to collapse into bed and wake up to her face rather than the grim case photos that had dominated his thoughts. His eyes half-lidded with fatigue, he fumbled with the key, unlocking the door before shoving it open.

“Oh! What the-“

Spencer cursed under his breath as he stumbled, his eyes dropping to the package at his feet. Frowning, he bent down slowly to inspect it. He hadn’t ordered anything, and there was no reason to expect anything from his mom. So... what was this?

The package was a light pink, medium-sized bag. Spencer nudged it onto its other side to check the sender, and his breath caught. It was addressed to Y/N, though she’d written the wrong number in the street address, causing it to end up at his door. He instantly recognized the name of the online boutique, having (unfortunately) heard Emily, JJ, and Penelope brazenly talk about ordering sex toys and such from this place.

What could Y/N have possibly ordered from there?

Spencer was wide awake now, his pulse quickening as he grabbed the package, slammed the door shut, and locked it. He carried it into the kitchen, turning on the light as he went. There was no way he’d open it—he knew that would be both illegal and downright creepy. But his curiosity got the best of him, and he couldn’t resist running his hands over the package, trying to guess what was inside.

His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully handled the package, giving it a slight squeeze. He could feel the soft outline of fabric inside a smaller plastic bag, his mind spinning with possibilities about what kind of set Y/N might have ordered. A small, involuntary gasp escaped him as his fingers brushed against something hard, separately wrapped from the lingerie. Was that… a dildo? Vibrator, maybe?

A quick glance at the clock told him it was far too late to return her package now. He swallowed, setting the bag down on the table with a mental note to take it to her first thing in the morning. He had the weekend off, and he knew she didn’t work weekends, so it wouldn't be a problem bringing it over. The only problem was going to be looking her in the eyes without turning into a complete mess.

Spencer rushed to his room, his excitement growing as he headed to bed, knowing he’d finally see Y/N tomorrow—in person, not just through her window.

The morning arrived quicker than he had expected, but for the first time, he was happy to hear his alarm. It was 9:30 a.m., giving him enough time to shower and get dressed before making the short walk to Y/N's apartment. More importantly, it would give her a chance to wake up before he just showed up at her door with her package in hand and rambling like a nervous mess.

Spencer’s nerves began to take over as he finished his shower and started getting dressed, his hands trembling as he pulled on his sweater. The last time they'd spoken was when he'd all but face-planted into concrete in front of her and then practically bolted off once she'd helped him gather his things (after a lengthy, awkward apology of course). What if she thought he was a freak?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Spencer took a deep breath, grabbed the package, summoned the last of his courage, and walked out the door.

A hesitant knock at her front door had Y/N grinning smugly as she rose from the couch and headed toward the door. She’d been waiting for this since she’d seen Spencer’s light come on late the night before. Her package was finally here.

The door opened to reveal a nervous Spencer, his eyes lighting up when they landed on her. He instinctively adjusted his glasses, his nose twitching as a small, shy smile appeared on his face.

"Spencer! Hey! What brings you by?" Y/N beamed, stepping aside to let him in. She had to suppress a giggle at her innocent act—she knew exactly why he was here.

Spencer blinked in surprise, both at her invitation and the fact that she remembered his name, pausing briefly before stepping into her apartment. His gaze wandered around, taking in the cozy surroundings with quiet admiration. When he realized she was waiting for him to speak, he cleared his throat, his face flushing as he held up the package.

"I, uh… I just wanted to return this," Spencer stammered, his words tripping over each other. "You had one number wrong on the street address, and, funny enough, we have the same apartment number, so it ended up at my door. I thought the least I could do was bring it over, especially after you helped me when I… well, fell." He offered a shy smile, his nerves still running rampant.

Y/N accepted the package with a smile, her fingers brushing lightly against his before he quickly pulled his hand back. "I could’ve sworn I got the address right this time," she said with a teasing laugh. "You’d think after a few months here I’d have it down by now, I'm sorry."

Spencer quickly shook his head, trying to ignore the rapid beating of his heart and the lingering sensation of her touch as he waved it off. "You don’t need to apologize, Y/N. It happens," he said sincerely, his fingers nervously twisting the ends of his sleeves now that the package was no longer in his hands. "Honestly, I wouldn’t mind bringing your mail by anytime. I just hate the thought of it sitting at my door or in my mailbox while I’m away," he chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he gave her a warm smile.

"Well, aren't you quite the gentleman?"

Y/N placed the package on her coffee table and then headed toward the kitchen, gesturing for Spencer to follow. He blushed profusely, swallowing hard as he willed away the dirty thoughts that were caused by that simple comment before trailing after her. She turned to look at him over her shoulder as she reached into her cabinet for two mugs, smirking to herself as she noticed him quickly avert his gaze from where it had landed on her ass.

Y/N placed the mugs on the counter, then turned to Spencer with a genuine smile. "Thanks for bringing it to me instead of just sending it back like most people would," she said. "How about a cup of coffee as a small token of my appreciation?"

Spencer nodded, thanking her as she fixed them both a cup. She raised an eyebrow, watching him add enough sugar to send a horse into cardiac arrest, but she kept quiet. Once they’d both prepared their cups to their liking, they headed back to the living room, Y/N sitting close enough that Spencer could feel the warmth of her body radiating toward him.

"So... did you take a peek inside of it?"

Spencer coughed violently, choking on the sip he’d just taken, his face turning a deep shade of scarlet as he frantically shook his head. Y/N’s expression shifted to concern as she patted his back, gently rubbing in soothing circles to help him catch his breath.

"What? N-no, I would never! That's literally illegal and so invasive—" Spencer sputtered, his eyes wide as he stared at her, clearly taken aback.

Y/N's brows furrowed briefly before she erupted into laughter, her head tilting back as she laughed loudly. Leaning in, she rested a hand on his thigh, her tone softening. "Spencer, sweetheart, I was just joking," she said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye.

He relaxed immediately, fighting the urge to lean into her touch as her hand lingered on his leg. "Thanks for that," Spencer said with a playful roll of his eyes. "Just what I needed this morning—choking on my drink and desperately hoping you knew the Heimlich maneuver." His cheeks were still flushed, a mix of embarrassment from her teasing and the aftereffects of his coughing fit.

After a pot of coffee and hours of conversation, Spencer left with a grin so wide his cheeks ached and Y/N’s number saved in his phone "just in case any more of her mail ended up at his door." He silently thanked whatever force had kept him from backing out earlier that day, grateful for the time he’d gotten to spend with her because of it. He’d found himself falling even harder for her, already yearning for her company despite having just left her place.

That night, as Spencer climbed into bed, something caught his eye from his window. He frowned in confusion as he noticed Y/N’s curtains were open even though they’d been closed just an hour ago. He’d assumed she’d already gone to bed, but apparently, he was mistaken.

He craned his neck, searching for her. She wasn’t in her room, as she usually was when the curtains were open. Where could she be? His jaw nearly hit the floor when she finally appeared, his eyes widening in awe at the sight of her.

Y/N walked into her room from the bathroom, wearing the most stunning lingerie set Spencer had ever seen. The lilac fabric complemented her skin in a way that had him almost drooling on himself, and the thin lace left little to the imagination (though he'd already seen what was underneath it once before and knew exactly how incredibly sexy her body was bare). The sight had his cock stiffening in his boxers, and his teeth dug into his lower lip in anticipation as he watched her.

Spencer nearly toppled out of bed as he watched her crouch down to grab her torn-open package, her hand reaching inside to pull out a light-blue rabbit vibrator. He knew he should get up, close the curtains, look away—do something. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Instead, he watched in an almost trance-like state as Y/N crawled onto her bed, swallowing hard as she settled back against her pillows. His hand wandered down his body, palming at his erection over his boxers as a whimper slipped from his lips while he watched her legs spread slowly open, propped up and giving him the perfect view of her clothed pussy. He felt overwhelming guilt, especially after the morning they'd shared, but he was powerless against the pull she had on him.

The close proximity of the buildings had always annoyed Spencer, the narrow space between them so tight he swore he could reach out and touch the other building if he tried. But now, he couldn’t have been more grateful. His bed was on the opposite side of the room that Y/N’s was, leaving her perfectly positioned for him to see her from his spot.

Y/N dragged the tip of the vibrator up and down her inner thigh, teasing herself as the fabric of the lace dampened with her arousal. Her head lolled back against the pillows, and her chest rose and fell with a sigh as she finally placed the vibrator against her clit through her panties. Her back arched at the touch, and her lips opened around a moan he desperately wanted to hear.

Spencer considered himself a sane man (for the most part). But he had never been more tempted in his life to leap through a window than he was right now. If it meant landing in her room so he could at least have the chance to beg for a taste of her, he'd happily do it.

His hand halted its movement, instead moving to his waistband so he could wriggle out of the constricting fabric. He kicked his boxers to the floor like they'd scorned him before his hand wrapped around his cock once more. He leaned forward, letting saliva dribble from his lips to coat himself before stroking himself slowly, teasing himself the way Y/N was right across from him in her room.

When Y/N dipped the vibrator into her panties, Spencer's breath hitched in his throat. He watched in rapt fascination as she paused her movements, her free hand shoving the lace down her thighs before she continued. With the fabric now out of the way, Y/N began to run the tip of the vibrator up and down her slit, collecting her arousal and spreading it around before she slowly eased the toy into herself.

An obscene moan ripped its way from Spencer's throat at the sight, and his hand sped up while his eyes struggled to stay open. He watched through hooded lids as she began to fuck herself in earnest now, her hips rocking into the toy and her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as she brought herself to the edge. Spencer whimpered as his body began to writhe against his sheets, sparks of pleasure zinging up and down his spine as he worked himself toward his climax.

All it took to send him over the edge was the sight of Y/N's legs thrashing as she came around the toy, a sight that left him both so aroused he couldn't breathe and so jealous of a toy he debated just how truly sane he considered himself to be after this. With a swipe of his thumb over his flushed head, Spencer came in spurts across his tummy, his hand pumping gently through the aftershocks until he was trembling and gasping Y/N's name like it was a mantra.

Once Spencer could finally open his eyes, he looked over at Y/N's window and saw she was no longer in bed, the soft light spilling from under her bathroom door the only sign of where she was. He rolled out of his bed to indulge in what was now becoming a routine walk of shame to his bathroom to clean himself off, his head spinning from what he'd just seen. He knew the shame of his actions would catch up with him in the morning, but for now, exhaustion and elation kept him from caring.

Spencer stumbled back into his room, half-asleep and ready to crash when his phone buzzed. Crawling into bed, he reached for it, curious about who would be contacting him at this hour. His heart stuttered in his chest, eyes widening in shock as he read the message on the screen.

Glad to see that you enjoyed the show, sweetheart. Next time, just come over. <3

Continued A/N's: AHHH I truly hope you guys enjoyed that! The next part gets FILTHYYYY and I can't wait to finish it hahahaaaa. Please let me know what you think because I'm thinking of doing more in the future that would be similar but of course I want to make content you guys will actually enjoy as well <3

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[callsign-swan]

I’ve never asked before but could you write a fic with Bob Reynolds, where the reader has severe weather anxiety and it’s storming out and he comforts her? I had extremely bad weather anxiety AND it’s storming bad here and neeed more Bob fics to read🥺

Oh bless you love! Of course I'll write it for you! (keep these requests coming, im in love with this man)

The clouds surrounding the watchtower were so damn dark, she knew something was coming.

Maybe being in one of the tallest buildings in the city, with so many big windows, wasn't the best idea. But she was transfixed by the dark clouds.

When said dark clouds started rolling in, everybody else looked at Bob. Made sure he was still their Bob, not the other side of him.

No glowing eyes, he was still Bob.

This wasn't him.

The wind howled around them. She pulled her knees up to her chest and stared at the window, waiting for something more. Snowfall, a flash of lightning, she couldn't tell just yet.

The first flash in the distance, the grumbling of thunder came later. Her heart was racing in her chest as she looked around at everybody else.

They were calm, doing their own things. Not bothered. Yelena was filing her nails, her legs tucked beneath her, John and Bucky were watching some military movie (and arguing about it), and Bob was reading.

Together in some capacity.

As if sensing her stare, Bob turned in his seat. You okay? He mouthed.

There was a moment before she registered what he had said. But, as soon as she nodded her head, Bob was on his feet.

"Hey," he said gently as he sat beside her.

She glanced up at him, made a noise of acknowledgement.

So, Bob kept going. "We used go get storms back home a lot," he said, fiddling with his fingers. "' used to crawl under my bed when I was a kid."

She blinked at him, brows furrowing. "Did it help?" She asked, releasing her grip on her knees just slightly.

Bob furrowed his brows. "I dunno," he answered. But then he stood and offered her his hand. "Wanna find out?"

They couldn't fit under her bed. They tried, Bob attempted to shimmy under the bed. But the frame was too close to the floor. Maybe if he went feet first, but his broad shoulders would have gotten stuck.

Taking hold of her hand again (Bob had nice hands. Large hands that engulfed all of hers. That in itself was comforting enough), Bob led her through the Watchtower. He took her to his room instead.

Bob had nothing. Some clothes in his wardrobe, a few books on his desk, a tv that hadn't been properly set up. But that was it. Nothing more than that. He hadn't yet made the room his own.

She climbed under his bed first. Crawling beneath it, she waited for Bob to climb in beside her.

They were pressed in, shoulder to shoulder. Bob's sweater was warm against her, soft when she accidentally brushed her fingertips against it.

"This is nice," Bob said, facing forward. He nodded, his hair bouncing with it.

She swallowed. But the clap of thunder had her shaking. Bob's arm found its way around her shoulders, pulling her in. "Did you get to meet Thor?" He asked.

"If this is you trying to distract me-" She turned, laid on her side to face him properly. "-it's not gonna work."

Bob shrugged his shoulders. "Worth a try," he mumbled.

There was a moment, another clap of thunder. Her entire body trembled and Bob pulled her closer.

"I did meet Thor," she answered, pressing her face against his chest.

(Bob had stiffened up. But she needed this, and, in a way, Bob needed to help her. So, he continued to hold her).

"Cool guy. Weird guy," she answered.

"Dangerous?" Bob asked and she shook her head.

"Not unless he needs to be."

She got then where he was going with it. Thor, God of thunder, the guy who dealt with storms, wasn't dangerous. By that logic, this storm wasn't dangerous. By that logic, she had nothing to be afraid of.

Lifting her head from his chest, she pressed a kiss to his jaw. "Thank you, Bob," She whispered and settled back against him.

His breath caught in his throat. "Any time," he managed to choke out.

They stayed there until the storm passed, perfectly content in each others company.

[januaryembrs]

I CAN SEE YOU | Spencer Reid x FBI!Reader

Request: Congrats on 2k!!! Could you write something based off of ‘I can see you’ by Taylor Swift with Spencer please?

Description: Spencer may or may not have a little thing for the desk jockey on the floor below, and she may or may not have a thing for their silent elevator rides together.

Length: 1.2k

Warnings: fluff?? Season one Spencer in mind when I wrote this (my sweetest boy)

He passed through the lobby at the exact same time every day. Usually with his head dug in an obnoxiously thick book, or fiddling with the strap on his satchel bag, or flicking his long curls out of his sweet, hazelnut eyes. Sometimes with thick round glasses perched on his slender nose, sometimes nothing but a thoughtful, musing frown. 

Not that she was obsessed with him. 

But it wasn’t hard to acknowledge that whoever the guy on the sixth floor was that seemed to stick to an incredibly tight schedule had the face of a god. 

Though she supposed he could say the same about her schedule seeing as they seemed to enter the elevator at nearly the exact same time every single day, never saying a word, a brief nod of hello was about the extent of their interaction. One time he had pressed the button for her floor, number five, for her, and she hadn’t stopped smiling the rest of the day. 

Of course there were times he and his team would be away on a case, in which she wouldn’t see him for days on end, while she went to her lonely desk in forensics no matter what case had come up.

In the grand scheme of things, she was a desk jockey, inputting numbers and data and figures, organising files and sheets and loading ink into the printer. She was a nobody and he was part of the BAU. 

No one would even notice if she didn’t show up for the day. At least that was what she hoped as she sped walked out of the cab, her hair soaking down her back, her lungs puffing in a crackling wheeze, frantically tucking her tight shirt into her dogtooth pants, limping on her ankle that she’d rolled racing out her apartment building into the raging storm that had overcome Virginia in a matter of hours. 

She felt socks wet through as she squelched her way into the elevator, barely noticing the usual passenger that was tracing a bony finger down the page of Pride and Prejudice, quickly flicking over the page in a matter of five seconds. 

He looked up when she hopped in beside him, squeezing in as a handful of other people followed her. Trying desperately to even her hair out in the large mirror behind them, it was only then she realised her mascara had smudged down her cheeks entirely, making her look like she’d slept in a pile of charcoal. 

“Fuck,” She said loudly, her hand slapping over her mouth when she realise the deadly silent elevator full of federal agents turned to look at her, and she felt her cheeks heat as if her makeup condundrum hadn’t been embarrassing enough, “S-sorry,” She muttered, turning her head to the ground as she frantically wiped beneath her lids with her cardigan sleeve. 

Turning to see if he had noticed, she caught him staring right at her, and she could have sworn the heat on her face blazed even harder when she saw he was smiling into his book in amusement. 

Fuck. She repeated in her head this time, taking a small sigh of relief when the doors opened on the first floor and half the passengers trickled out onto the finance floor. 

She was still fixing her hair by the time they got to the second floor, communications, and even more people got out. By the end of the third floor, it was just the two of them left. 

“Bad morning?” He broke the silence, and it was the first time she’d ever actually heard his voice. He was even dreamier than she’d thought, in a boyish kind of way.

“Car battery died, and the bus was full,” She murmured, fiddling with the hem of her sleeves that were entirely sodden, “And then apparently someone up there hates to see pretty girls get to work looking dry and respectable,” 

He chuckled properly, and she swore it soothed the ache of the cold rain just the smallest bit. 

“Don’t we all,” He mused, though his eyes went back to his book, flicking over the words faster than she figured would be possible. 

She figured he didn’t want to be bothered by the drowned rat looking woman that had all but thrown herself into the lift beside him, interrupting his reading with her curses and pitiful glances. 

It was only when they reached the fourth floor that he quickly rooted around his bag for something, likely a bookmark since he didn’t seem the type to dog-ear a perfectly neat page. It wasn’t until a soft, moss green sweater was thrust in her face she snapped out of her self loathing daze.

Looking at him wide eyed, he nudged it towards her hands, and it was like Spencer only just realised that offering a stranger your clothes was perhaps not normal, but he didn’t feel like they were strangers.

She was the first person he’d ever met in the building besides Gideon. He remembered the two of them stepping into the elevator, the bashful woman already flicking through files, her lanyard hanging low over her chest as she chirped good morning to Gideon and he did the same, wishing her a good day when she stepped out onto floor five. 

He couldn’t help if he was so perceptive he’d clocked her name and position written on her ID, couldn’t help it if he was a huge fan of routine and repetition, that he purposely walked into the lobby at the same time every day knowing she was going to be right behind him just for an excuse to see her. 

No, they certainly weren’t strangers, Spencer tried to reason, yet he wasn’t even sure she knew his name.

“T-take it,” He stuttered, watching the doors close and the lift jolt as it ascended to her floor, “You can just bring it back tomorrow,” 

“That’s- I couldn’t,” She reasoned, her eyes fretful, “It’s yours,”

“I’m not using it, you must be freezing,” Spencer reiterated it with another nudge towards her, and he saw the longing glance she gave at the promise of warmth. 

Number five dinged above them, and the doors slid open. 

“Just take it, please,” He said, and it seemed like that was the magic word as she cautiously took it out of his hand, and melted when she realised it was softer than she’d thought, like it was made to feel like a giant hug. 

“Thankyou…” She said, heading for the doors with slow steps; she didn’t want to leave whatever moment he’d caught her in. 

“Spencer,” He replied, smiling at her with a shy cadence. 

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She said, and gave him her own name back. But he already knew it, and he realised he would sound like a complete creepy stalker if he’d said so. So he just nodded, a small wave off as she headed for her office and the doors closed behind her. 

He loved how she said his name, he thought blissfully, but he loved even more showing up to work day after to see her waiting by the elevator, his sweater washed and ironed, pressed neatly in her hands and still warm from where she’d tumble dried it. 

She handed it back to him with a sheepish smile, and he took it gracefully, catching a whiff of her fabric softener and felt fuzzy inside right there and then. 

“Good morning, Spencer,” She said sweetly, and he swore he wanted to kiss her the minute it left her lips, glossed with something rouge and shiny. 

But he didn’t, he just said it back, loving how her name rolled over his tongue. 

[kxsagi]

haii this is my first time ever requesting so mb if i dont rly make sense😓😔

i was thinking about nagi and his baby face and i was like "omg what if bllk guys (nagi, kurona, bachira, + whoever else looks like (๑>◡<๑)) with baby faces get mad" like they're trying to act intimidating because they're jealous or something but they look too cute to be scary😭💞

sorry if this isnt well put together, im half awake and english isnt my mother's tongue😔 also i love your writing its the only thing keeping me sane during school finals😭 ３９！（＾v＾）

“𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐢 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬”

a/n: noo you're all good and thank you so much!!! i apologize if kurona is ooc, i read the manga, but i feel like he didn't get enough screen time for me to understand his character

ft. nagi seishiro, kurona ranze, bachira meguru, niko ikki, ness alexis

nagi seishiro

nagi is not a fan of effort, but jealousy makes him clock in overtime. 

you were just helping reo adjust his necklace (it was twisted!!), and nagi saw the whole thing from the couch. 

cue the slow-motion zoom-in on his face, narrowed eyes, pout intensifying by the second. 

when you come over to him, he’s glaring at his phone screen like it committed a crime. 

"so... you like touching other people now?" 

he says that while slouched on the couch like a literal mochi. 

his cheeks are slightly puffed, voice is flat, and his hair is very tragically curled into a heart shape. 

you try to hold in your laughter but it’s hard when your boyfriend looks like an angry pompompurin plushie. 

he wants to grab your chin and tilt your face away like he's seen in drama shows, but ends up booping your nose on accident. 

"ugh. whatever. don’t look at other people. that’s annoying." 

you kiss his forehead. he malfunctions. the rage dissolves. now he's sleepy again. 

he falls asleep mid-jealousy and holds your wrist like a baby sloth just to make sure you don't escape again. 

kurona ranze

this man has the softest eyes and the calmest face 99% of the time. but the 1% he gets jealous? 

he looks like an upset cartoon bunny trying to file a complaint. 

you were chatting with isagi (how dare thee), and kurona just slowly glides into frame like a suspicious NPC. 

"wow. long conversation. is it that funny?" 

he blinks rapidly and his mouth does that little twitch like he's trying to stop himself from pouting. 

tries to cross his arms intimidatingly. fails because he forgets he’s holding your water bottle. 

mutters stuff like “tch. stupid. go marry him then.” 

even when he’s trying to glare, his eyelashes are fluttering too much to be menacing. 

you poke his cheek and it jiggles. now he’s even more upset. 

eventually sulks by pretending to be busy on his phone, but he’s just opening the calculator and typing in angry math. 

you kiss his cheek and he looks away dramatically but his ears go RED. 

baby-faced rage: 0, love: 1. 

bachira meguru

oh he gets so dramatic. 

you're talking to a male fan after a match, just thanking them for their support, and bachira is vibrating in place from across the field. 

he’s smiling, but it’s that “i’m about to throw hands with god himself” smile. 

literally starts skipping toward you in a way that should be threatening, but it just looks like a kindergarten musical number. 

“heyyy~ what’re we talking about~? 😁” 

tries to wedge himself between you two like a cat shoving its face between your phone and your face. 

when you scold him for interrupting, his eyes go all glassy like you kicked a baby deer. 

"oh. so now i’m third wheelin’? okay. cool cool cool." 

pulls hood over his head and does this fake pout where his lower lip sticks out like he’s trying to smuggle snacks in it. 

tries to storm off, trips on his own shoelace. now he’s angrier. you catch up to him laughing and he huffs like a gremlin. 

you give him a kiss and he instantly perks up like a little plant that got watered. 

jealousy? cured. but now he wants like 17 more kisses to “make it even.” 

niko ikki

niko is already cursed with a baby face and huge expressive eyes, so when he tries to look mad it’s immediately ineffective. 

you’re talking to someone from another team and niko’s standing behind you, clutching your jacket sleeve like you’re about to get kidnapped. 

his eyes are WIDE open, eyebrows pinched, lips pursed like he’s trying to hold in a scream. 

he's like "so. you’re just gonna ignore your boyfriend like that. okay. no no no it’s fine. i’m fine. i’m gonna go cry in the bathroom." 

he's not. he’s gonna stand there staring at the guy like he’s willing him to combust with baby psychic powers. 

attempts to cross his arms to look tough, but instead he looks like he’s hugging himself after getting scolded by a teacher. 

you kiss his nose and he gasps like he just witnessed a miracle. 

“... okay, but like. next time you can only talk to people with neck braces or something.” 

still kind of mad but now he’s just holding your hand super tight and kicking imaginary rocks around like a sad pokémon trainer. 

ness alexis

ness has that ethereal pretty-boy face but when he’s mad? he looks like a very offended disney side character (a villain’s assistant who’s been snubbed one too many times). 

sees you talking to someone (even if it’s just a waiter) and gets this tight-lipped smile like he’s being forced to watch someone steal his lunch. 

when you walk back, he greets you like: "back from your little affair? 😇" 

he is literally vibrating. fists clenched. lip trembling. looks like he's about to cry and flip a table at the same time. 

his voice goes higher when he’s mad which makes it worse. he says “i’m not mad” in a tone that sounds like he IS and also has marshmallows in his mouth. 

his bangs cover one eye and he flings them dramatically like he’s in a soap opera. 

“nessie bear, are you jealous?” 

"no. i’m just deeply betrayed, emotionally injured, and suffering in silence. there’s a difference." 

gives you the cold shoulder, but keeps turning back to look at you every three seconds. like a cat waiting for you to beg. 

melts the second you offer to feed him a grape. 

still mad, but now he's mad in your lap. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢