#filed: office diaries

[saddleups]

𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 4.4k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . series of one shots, ongoing STARS!ALBERT WESKER X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . boss x employee dynamic . slight dom/sub ( nothing too out there ) . use of honorifics ( "sir"/"captain", at the moment reader will not refer to wesker by his name ) spanking . creampie . unprotected . incredibly down bad behavior. ask for triggers man i'm doing my best out here ;-;

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . .  you are a receptionist at s.t.a.r.s headquarters and are quite popular among the employees for your many charms. captain albert wesker , your boss , is not your biggest fan. so one night you decide to stay late to get some extra work done and you find yourself creating a new , unexpected relationship with the man you swear is such a jerk.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . none of this is very christian of me. anyways. this was a series of drabbles i wrote a while ago but never shared until i decided to re-do this account. it's just pure smut. there's a few parts to this so if this is something you're interested in keeping up with just let me know !

The skirt you wore today was short—not scandalous, but toeing that fine line of propriety. You hadn’t planned it, much like those days when the office AC was set just a bit too cold, and your body betrayed you through thin fabric. It just… happened. And apparently, it worked; the men in the office seemed to linger longer by the receptionist desk, asking about your day, chatting about lunch options.

Today, it was Chris Redfield who made his way over, his broad shoulders and strong arms accentuated by the fitted uniform he wore like a second skin. He leaned casually against your desk, biceps flexed just enough to catch the eye, and gave you a friendly smile.

“So, what are you doing later?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his tone.

You smiled back, coy. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“Maybe I could help you decide?”

Before you could respond to his playful offer, the familiar sound of precise, deliberate footsteps filled the room. Captain Albert Wesker approached, his presence like a sudden chill. He stopped a few feet from your desk, and his gaze, sharp as ice, settled on Chris.

“A slow day for you, Officer Redfield?”

Chris straightened immediately, clearing his throat. “No, sir.” He cast you a quick, apologetic glance before retreating down the hallway, his footsteps fading as you rose to stand in front of the captain. You adjusted the hem of your skirt, feeling the weight of his gaze.

“Captain,” you greeted, polite as ever.

Wesker’s voice was low, almost a warning. “I don’t appreciate distractions in my department.”

“It wasn’t my intention, Captain.”

Beneath his calm, unyielding exterior, it was impossible to read his true thoughts. You were used to the effect you had on people; most found your charm and warmth inviting, and it was part of why you’d been hired. Clients and staff alike appreciated your ever-present smile, the soft touch that eased the tension of the office. But Wesker was a fortress, all business, no play.

With two taps on the edge of your desk, he dismissed you. Without another word, he turned, striding through the double doors to his office.

You turned to a nearby coworker, rolling your eyes. “He’s such a jerk.”

“He's your boss,” they teased. “Not everyone can fall for your charms.”

The day wound to a close, and as the office grew quieter, Chris circled back to your desk, his smile as easy as ever. “So, any chance I get to steal you away for a bite tonight?”

You tapped the stack of paperwork on your desk with a rueful smile. “Long night for me. Maybe next time, Chris.”

He chuckled, giving you a wink. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Before long, the office had emptied out, and the eerie quiet of after-hours set in. Only a few dim lights remained, casting long shadows across the empty cubicles. You checked the time and decided to finish the remaining tasks in the morning. Gathering a few scattered papers, you noticed a sealed letter addressed to 'Doctor Albert Wesker' buried in the pile, something you’d overlooked in the day’s shuffle.

Your gaze flicked to the closed double doors of his office. Knowing how he already seemed to regard you with thinly veiled disdain, the idea of interrupting him after hours felt daunting. But you were determined to make a good impression, so you took a steadying breath, stepped to the door, and gave two light knocks.

“Come in,” came his voice, firm and unyielding.

You entered his office, a space you rarely saw, and felt its chill immediately. The room was as stark and impersonal as its occupant: dark stone walls, polished surfaces, no hint of comfort or warmth. He sat at his desk, the dim light casting sharp lines across his face as he worked. Only the sound of your heels clicking against the polished floor could be heard.

“Yes?” he asked, glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose as he pored over some report or another. For a moment, his eyes flickered up to meet yours, you felt like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a predator.

You hesitated a moment. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but…”

“What is it?” he pressed, clipped.

You steadied yourself, lifting the letter. “You received a letter, sir.”

He extended his hand, expression unreadable. “Then give it here.”

You stepped forward, letter in hand, feeling the weight of Wesker’s attention settle briefly on you before his eyes dropped back to his paperwork. His fingers tapped impatiently on the desk.

"Here’s your letter." You placed it in his hand, waiting a beat, hoping he’d say something more than his typical brisk responses.

But his gaze remained fixed on the document in front of him. "Thank you," he replied curtly, not looking up. As he grasped the letter from your possession, his fingers brushed against yours for the briefest of moments. An unexpected strike of electricity shot through you at the contact.

You shifted your weight, trying not to feel foolish for expecting more. "Long night for you as well, I suppose?"

"Yes," he said, dismissively, barely glancing at you. "As you can see, I’m a busy man. Not much time for idle chatter." His tone held a distinct edge, one that made it clear he saw this exchange as a disruption.

You felt a slight flush creep up your cheeks but pushed on, hoping to soften his walls even a little. "I just thought it might be nice to… check in, make sure everything’s in order before I head out."

Wesker’s mouth barely twitched, his voice all business. "Everything is in order. You’re dismissed."

The finality in his tone stung, yet you nodded politely, preparing to leave. But as you turned, your hand brushed over the stack of papers on his desk, causing them to cascade on the floor in a chaotic rain of white.

"Apologies, Captain," you murmured, quickly bending down to pick it up— cursing under your breath while doing so.

Bent over gathering the papers in a haste, you felt your skirt inching up, however you were too focused on your task to notice the slight pause in Wesker’s movements above you. The room fell silent, save for the quiet rustle of your clothes. The short skirt you wore betrayed you, exposing your black lace thong and the garter belt holding your stocks up.

Finding balance on your feet, you shake in your heels. Hair always neatly placed had now become undone, strands hang loosely to frame your face, cheeks flustered in a pinkish hue.

If the skirt hadn't had it's fun already, it was now your blouse, just a half-size too tight. The button had spoke it's last words while you were occupied with gathering the papers on the floor. It revealed the bra matching your thong, black lace with a tiny pink bow at the center. Eager to leave after dropping his papers, you hardly notice.

"Here," you said softly, placing the paper back on his desk. "I am... so sorry."

Wesker’s face was as impassive as ever, though there was a slight tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He stood to tower over you, you could feel his aura— authority. It left you breathless.

He says your surname, low and menacing. "Did you think this little performance would change my opinion of you."

Through the tint of his glasses, you could sense his eyes lingering to your chest. The pinkish hue on your cheeks now coursed through your body, leaving you flustered and embarrassed beyond belief. Attempting to hold your blouse together with a weak hand, Wesker is unable to shift his gaze elsewhere, enthralled by your two mounds being propped up by your delicate, manicured hand.

You look up at him, trying to muster some semblance of defiance. Perhaps as a last ditch effort to spare your dwindling pride. "I don't know what you mean, Sir."

Wesker's eyes raked over you, burning into your soul. "Do not lie to me. I see that you look at the men in this office. The way you dress to provoke them. You can try your luck with the likes of Officer Redfield…" He leaned down, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

"But do you really think you can seduce me?"

Your pulse quickened, swallowing hard you respond. "No, sir. That's not what I was trying to do."

Wesker rose from his chair and towered over you, his face unreadable. "Over my knee," he commanded with a voice that brooked no disobedience. His intense gaze never wavered from yours, pinning you in place with the weight of his scrutiny.

As fear and excitement waged war within you, hesitation flooded your senses. But there was no escaping his will, and deep down, maybe a part of you didn't want to. So with a racing heart, you walked over to his desk and bent over his knee.

Your eyes fixated on the floor as sweat formed on your brow, anticipation building in the pit of your stomach.

To your surprise, Wesker's touch was gentle as he lifted the hem of your skirt, exposing your bare backside to him. The wetness between your legs couldn't be ignored, and you stammered out a feeble, "d-don't look."

With a dark chuckle, Wesker replied, "My dear," causing your throat to constrict. "You and I both know that's not what you truly desire."

His hand came down hard on your exposed flesh, the sting of the impact reverberating through every nerve in your body. You gasped, gripping onto something - anything - to ease the pain.

"That's for lying to me," Wesker growled, his fingers digging into your skin. "And for thinking you could manipulate me."

Before you could respond, his hand landed again, this time even harder. The overwhelming sensation sent electricity coursing through your veins, flooding your body with a heady mix of adrenaline and arousal. You couldn't help but squirm beneath his touch, craving more punishment from your boss.

You could feel his erection pulsating against you. Even clothed, tucked away— you could imagine the length and girth of it begging to break free from its confides. Yet you don’t dare to disobey, frame cemented over his knee until he wills you in another position.

“Captain, p-please…” your stutter is pathetic, trembling with need that further stokes the fire burning in Wesker’s chest.

Wesker’s grip tightened, his fingers wrapping around your waist like a vice, keeping you firmly in place as he surveyed the sight laid out before him—a juxtaposition of power and vulnerability. The corners of his mouth curled into a prideful smirk, dark eyes glinting with satisfaction as he savored the moment, each second stretching into eternity.

“What is it that you want?” The question laced with mockery, dripped from his lips like honey, sweet yet tinged with a hint of risk. Your heart raced at the implication, knowing all too well there was no room for mischief when it came to Wesker. Every whisper of your deepest desires hung unspoken in the air between you.

“Just—just more,” you breathed, desperation spilling from your lips before you could reign it in. The thrill of his dominance sent shivers coursing through your body, igniting something primal within you that thrummed with longing.

“More?” he echoed, your admission seeming to fuel his ego. His hand traveled down lower, fingers trailing along the curve of your backside, teasingly light despite the forceful position.

“Is that what you think will keep me interested? Dear, do you truly understand what you're asking for?”

A tremor ran through you at the challenge hidden in his voice.

"Yes, Sir," you whispered, trembling. The heat of his hand lingered on your skin, a reminder of both the punishment and your willingness to submit. The air was thick with tension, a charged anticipation that made your knees weak beneath you.

Wesker chuckled softly, a sound that sent both dread and thrill cascading through your veins. His fingers grazed the edge of your garter belt, teasing but unyielding.

"You think you know what you're asking for. But I assure you, this isn’t just a game." He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear,

"And I am not one to play lightly."

The flutter in your stomach intensified as he emphasized each word, filling you with a mixture of yearning and fear of the unknown. You wanted to speak again, to assert yourself in any way you could—but the words fizzled out at the last moment, trapped by the weight of his intense gaze.

He’s such a jerk, isn’t he? Never a smile, barely a glance your way, and he ignores you so thoroughly it feels deliberate—like you’re nothing more than the potted plant on your desk. So why, exactly, did you want this?

“Do you want more?” he repeated slowly, savoring the moment like it was an exquisite wine. “Then you will have to prove yourself worthy.”

With that, Wesker's fingers gripped tighter around your waist, lifting you effortlessly back up to standing position. You found yourself pinned against his desk, back pressed against the cool surface while he towered over you yet again—with knees pressed together you watch as your boss situates himself, fiddling with the collar of his work shirt as he prepares to undo the buttons.

In a haze, you force yourself upright, shaky hands fumbling toward the same buttons Wesker had begun to unfasten, your touch hesitant but fueled by intent.

"Allow me, Captain," you murmur, voice barely a whisper as your fingers trail over his collar.

Wesker’s smirk widens, a glint of satisfaction in his gaze as he tilts his head. "It seems you’re learning your place rather quickly."

"I'm a fast learner," you reply, feigning innocence, each button slipping free under your fingers as you slowly reveal the toned expanse of his chest. The firm lines of muscle, the coolness of his skin under your touch—it sends a thrill through you, amplifying the steady thunder of your pulse, beating wildly against the quiet.

God, you don't just want this. You need this.

Your hand rests flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat—steady, controlled. A stark contrast to the furious rhythm of your own. His eyes are locked onto you, unreadable yet searing, like a hunter watching every twitch of its prey.

Wesker’s expression remains calculating, composed; he’s in his element, the hunter is savoring each second. The tension between you is palpable, a rush of arousal and adrenaline flood your system. Despite your best efforts to maintain composure, rival his steadfastness with your own, your legs trembled beneath you— a testament to the power he wielded over you.

Wesker lets go of your waist but only for a second—long enough for him to unbuckle his belt and loosen his pants. His erection sprang to life, long and hard, pulsing with need. The head glistened with a bead of pre-cum. Your breathing becomes ragged at the sight of it, the curvature of it. The pulsating vein that ran up the shaft. How far it’d go inside you, poke at your womb and fill you.

“Lay back.”

Your heart thumped wildly against your ribs as you situated yourself on his desk, eyes never wanting to leave his throbbing proof of arousal. This was what you craved deep down—submitting fully to him, deferring to his every whim and command. A part of you relished in the humiliation; how far would you go for this? How much could you endure?

You shivered under his intense gaze, feeling a thrill of excitement course through you. His fingers trailed along the edge of your garter belt, skimming over the curve of your hip before dipping lower, brushing lightly against the thin fabric of your thong. You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, a soft, needy sound that only seemed to fuel his determination.

"Do you want it?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Do you want my cock inside you, beautiful?"

Your cheeks flushed hot at the crude words, but there was no denying the truth in them. "Yes, Captain, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "I need it. Please, I need you… Sir."

His hand slaps your wet cunt. The sound echoed in the small office, and you cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through you. He repeated the action, again and again, each slap harder than the last, his eyes never leaving yours as he punished you for daring to beg.

"Beg properly," he demanded, his voice cutting through the haze of arousal clouding your mind. "Tell me how much you need it."

You whimpered, your body trembling under his ministrations. "Please, Captain," you sobbed, your voice breaking. "Please fuck me. I need your cock inside me, Sir. Please, I can't take it anymore…"

His lips curled into a slow, prideful smile. "Good girl," he murmured, his tone approving. "That's what I wanted to hear."

With one swift motion, he hooked his fingers into the sides of your thong and yanked it aside, baring your aching, wet pussy to his gaze. You could feel the coolness of the air against your sensitive flesh, and it only made the ache in your core more unbearable.

Wesker didn’t keep you waiting. He stepped closer, positioning himself between your spread legs. His huge cock, already hard and throbbing, brushed against your slick folds, teasing you mercilessly. You gasped, arching your hips up in an attempt to get more contact, he held you still with a firm grip on your thighs.

"Control yourself," he growled, his voice gruff.

But you couldn’t wait. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, your need growing more urgent with each heartbeat. "Please, Sir," you begged again, desperation coloring your words. "Please, just put it in…"

Finally, finally, he granted your wish. With deliberate slowness, he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing the rim before slowly, oh so slowly, sinking into you.

"Captain!"

The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of fullness and pressure that made your entire body tremble. You clenched around him instinctively, your muscles spasming as he filled you completely.

Wesker inhales a breath, chest rumbling. "Fuck," he groaned, closing his eyes briefly as he adjusted to the tightness squeezing him. When he opened them again, they were dark with lust.

"Tight… so damn good."

You could barely form a coherent thought, your mind consumed by the incredible sensations radiating from where he was joined with you. Each slow thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, making it difficult to focus on anything other than the feeling of being claimed by him.

Wesker wasn’t content to let you languish in blissful ignorance. With a harsh command, he wrapped his hands around your wrists, pinning them above your head as he began to move. His thrusts were controlled, restrained, each one precise and calculated to drive you wild.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice brooking no disobedience. “Don’t look away.”

You met his gaze instantly, your eyes wide and vulnerable as you stared up at him. Even through the tint of his glasses, the intensity in his eyes was staggering, a searing heat that seemed to burn right through you. It was impossible to look away, even if you’d wanted to; his stare held you captive, ensnared by an invisible force stronger than any physical restraint.

“Good,” he purred, his expression almost feral. “That’s what I like to see.”

As he continued to thrust into you, his pace increasing, your vision blurred with tears of ecstasy. His cock pounded relentlessly into your cunt, pushing you ever closer to the edge. Each stroke rubbed against your clit, sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice rough and demanding. “Say it.”

“Y-yes,” you panted, the words torn from you by sheer force of will. “I’m yours, Captain… all yours…”

He grunted in approval, his movements becoming even more aggressive. You could feel the strain building within him, the tension coiling tighter with every passing second. But still, he held himself back, refusing to let go until he was absolutely sure you were ready.

“Come for me,” he demanded, his voice cracking with urgency. “Now.”

And just like that, the dam broke. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, roaring through you with such force that your hips raised up from the desk, bucking against his uncontrollably. Your walls clamped down on his cock, milking him with desperate intensity as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

Wesker followed you over the edge, his own release coming hard and fast. His cock erupted inside you, filling you with his hot seed as he came deep within your pulsing channel. His grip on your wrists tightened painfully, but you barely noticed; all you could focus on was the incredible sensation of being so thoroughly claimed by him.

A moment of silence washes over you as you attempt to catch your breath. Wesker's eyes bore into your own, an almost primal connection that made your heart race. His fingers delicately moved through your hair, pushing stray strands away from your face. His touch was gentle, thoughtful yet it felt like a claiming.

"Thank you," he swallowed. "You've been…exemplary."

His hand trailed down to cup your cheek, thumb gently caresses your skin. The warmth of his palm against your skin was comforting, the simple act of affection amplified something within you. Your breath hitched, and you could feel the heat radiating between your legs, even though he had already taken you to the brink of ecstasy.

Wesker leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You may go now."

With that, Wesker straightened, his movements precise as he strode over to a cabinet behind his desk. He retrieved a fresh work shirt, pressed and ironed to perfection, every detail meticulously in place. As he slipped it on, buttoning each button with practiced ease, the familiar aloofness settled back over him, as if the brief moment of vulnerability had never existed.

The dismissal was unexpected, but the way he said it made it clear that this was not a suggestion but an order. You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment wash over you. Relief because the intensity of the encounter had been overwhelming, and disappointment because you craved more of his attention, more of his control. Regardless, you can't help but to think: dude, you just came inside me and now you're asking me to leave?

As you began to gather yourself, Wesker was now seated behind his desk, his eyes never leaving you. The silence in the room was thick, filled with unspoken words and lingering touches. You stood up, your legs still slightly shaky from the force of your orgasm, and adjusted your clothing. The thong you wore was damp, evidence of the passion that had just transpired.

Without a word, you turned to leave, but before you could take more than a few steps, Wesker's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Wait."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned back to face him, curiosity and anticipation mingling in your chest. He gestured for you to come closer, and you obeyed without hesitation.

When you reached him, he stood up, towering over you once again. His presence was commanding, and you felt a rush of adrenaline at being so close to him. He reached out, his hand gripping your chin firmly, tilting your head up so that you had no choice but to look into his eyes.

"I want you to remember something," he said, his tone authoritative but not unkind.

"You are mine. In this office, you belong to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

Wesker released your chin and stepped back, his gaze raking over your body. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, assessing, admiring, wanting. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"Now go," he said, his voice softening just a bit. "But know this—next time, I won’t be as merciful."

You nodded, feeling a thrill run through you at his words. Merciful? What was merciful about this encounter? Wesker had been anything but, and yet, there was a part of you that yearned for more, for the relentless dominance he wielded over you so effortlessly.

As you left his office, you couldn’t help but replay the scene in your mind. The way his cock had filled you, the sounds of your flesh meeting his, the taste of his skin when you dared to kiss him. Each memory sent a jolt of desire through you, making it hard to focus on anything else.

By the time you reached your car, you were a bundle of conflicting emotions. Exhausted from the physical exertion, yet energized by the raw power of the experience. Gripping the steering wheel, you contemplate to go back. Demand him to take you again, or at least take you home. Yet you don't, you follow his order and drove home in a daze. Your mind constantly drifting back to Wesker’s office, to his command, to the way he had made you feel.

He made you feel desired in a way that went beyond the clothes you wore or the subtle charms you wielded around others. There was an allure in his unexpected charisma, a pull that felt impossible to resist—as if you were caught in a spell only he could cast.

When you finally arrived at your apartment, you stumbled inside, stripping off your clothes as you went. The sheer stockings clung to your legs, still wet from sweat and arousal. You tossed them onto the floor, along with your blouse and skirt, leaving a trail of discarded garments leading to your bed.

Finally you unite with your bed, the sensation of Wesker’s cum inside you was unmistakable, a warm reminder of what had just occurred. You closed your eyes, letting the memories wash over you, each one more vivid than the last. The feel of his hands on your body, the sound of his voice commanding you, the sight of his intense gaze locked onto yours.

You drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Wesker, of his office, of the next time he would call you into his domain. And as you slept, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning, that there was so much more to come.

[heartshapedmace]

less than an hour before i get to go home FREE ME

[merry-kuroo]

If things had gone my way, I would've moved into a flat in London this weekend and started my new life there and preparing to start a Ph.D program.

Idk. I've just been super pissy last week and this week because maybe if my interview was better my life would've been drastically different.

[alostcuttlefish]

I think what I love about the Murderbot Diaries

(aside from, you know Murderbot who I love and cherish)

It that it’s a very grim-dark distopian corporate hellscape setting, told through the perspective of someone who has seen some of the worst that world has to offer, who’s existence is part of the worst that world has to offer, and yet-

And yet it’s so full of hope.

Everywhere you look, there’s underground shipping routes to get refugees out from contract labour, there’s universities forging documents to get abandoned colonies out from corporate ownership, there’s people buying a secunit so the company don’t realise it’s hacked itself and has free will. A Tlacy employee smuggles out copies of the files to give them back to their owners, a human officer on HaveRatton station opens the security barrier to let Ayda Mensah escape. There’s a planet that took the promise of somewhere safe to live, of food and medical care, and kept that promise for generations.

And for all it can’t even see the hope yet, can’t even really believe it might be there yet (because trauma will fuck you up), Secunit keeps being that hope for other people.

Not just the lives it saves, not just all the times it shows up out of nowhere like a social anxious guardian angel with energy weapons in it’s arms and several lifetimes worth of soap operas in it’s storage.

When it talks to Dr Volescu all the way up the side of the crater, to keep him moving. When it sticks with the scientists on RaviHyral. When Tapan sneaks onto it’s sleeping mat, because she’s scared, and it ups it’s body temperature to keep her warm. When it keeps Amena safe from a predatory partner, when it tells her to go rest. When it hacks the Comfort Unit’s governor module. When it-version-2.0 gives Three the codes to hack itself.

Imagine being on RaviHyral. Imagine meeting a security consultant who you shouldn’t be able to afford, who goes above and beyond and doesn’t even check the payment card at the end, who tells you that sometimes people do things to you that you can’t do anything about, that all you can do is learn to live with them, who’s clearly been through some shit but came out of it with so much compassion. Imagine the hope in that.

[kekeyw]

klean soho apartment. | cc build

hi everyone!

i built a two story apartment that features @felixandresims and @harrie-cc 's latest collections, Kichen 2Point0, Klean and Soho.

gallery id: kekeyw

packs used: backyard stuff, cool kitchen stuff

placed: IX Langraab, San Myshuno

watch youtube video here

download tray files here

how to place the stairs -> here

cc list below the cut

house of harlix - bafroom, baysic bathroom, baysic, jardane, kichen 2point0, livin' rum, kichen

harrie - klean (all), brownstone, brutalist bathroom, coastal pt3, halycon kitchen, kwatei pt1, octave pt2, 3, shop the look (all)

felixandre - soho (all), chateau pt4, 5, berlin pt1, 3, florence pt1, 3, grove pt1, 3, london, shop the look (all), paris pt3, kyoto pt2,

pierisim - calderone, coldbrew, david pt1, mcm (all), pantry party, stefan kitchen, office, auntie vera, unfold, woodland ranch pt3

bbygyal123 - advent calendar (shopping bag)

charly pancakes - chalk, miscelleneous

the clutter cat - dandy diary pt1, 2, snuggle set pt1

linacherie - backyard candle override

littledica - eco kitchen, delicato, rise&grind (stair rails)

myshunosun - gale dining, simmify guitar,

peacemaker - hudson bathroom, futura

ravasheen - flood saucer light, motivational speaker, sip sip hooray

thank you to the following cc creators: @pierisim @bbygyal123 @charlypancakes @thecluttercat @linacheries @littledica @myshunosun @peacemaker-ic @ravasheencc

[magalhaessims]

AGAVE APARTMENT - MAXIS-MATCH CC BUILD

I'm finally sharing an apartment! I chose to build in Oasis Springs and opted for the smallest lot available. There are three units in total, but I've only fully decorated one. I designed it with Johnny Zest in mind. Also, I really wanted to use these two new, coolest sets: Neighborly and Cheap&Chipped by @syboubou. I really loved all the items — especially the empty toilet paper roll; it's my new favorite! LOL.

Additionally, due to some glitches in my game following the For Rent patch, I've labeled this build as "Residential" to avoid any potential issues with saving files. If you encounter any problems, please don't hesitate to let me know! If you want to check out the construction progress, watch the YouTube video linked below.

NOT CC FREE 

Lot Type: Residential | Rental

Size: 20x15 

World: Oasis Springs

Enable bb.moveobjects before placing in your game!

📺 WATCH THE SPEED BUILD HERE ✨

Origin ID: MagalhaesSims (remember to enable custom content on!) DOWNLOAD

CC USED IN THIS BUILD:

NOTE: For convenience, some of the CC is included in the Download Folder. Please put it in your Mods Folder along with the CC linked below.

AwingedLlama: Nostalgia Living || Charly Pancakes: Chalk Kitchen (Clutter) | Munch | Soak | The Lighthouse || TheClutterCat: Busy Bee | Cozy Casita | Dandy Diary | Flower Power (Vinyl) | Hello Horse (Trophy) | Mellow Moods (Essential Oils Tray) || Felixandre: Colonial | Kyoto (Arch) | Soho || Harrie: Klean | Octave Collection | Shop The Look V2 | Spoons (Pizza Tray) | Stockholm || House Of Harlix: Baysic Bathroom | Baysic Set | Livin'Rum | The Kichen (Plant) | Tiny Twavellers (Wall) || KKB-MM: Citrus Room | My Heimish Hall || LittleDica: Delicato Living | Greasy Goods | Lava Lamp | Sleek Slumber || Max20: Classic Kitchen | Garden At Home | Master Bedroom | Poolside Lounge (Plant) || MyshunoSun: Gale Dining | Lottie Bedroom | Simmify | Sona Dining || Peacemaker-ic: Hinterland Kitchen (Honey Pot) | Hudson Bathroom (Towel Holder) | Tasteful Tots (Clutter) || Pierisim: Auntie Vera | Calderone Living | Coldbrew | Combles | David Apartment | Domaine Du Clos | MCM House Set | Oak House Set | Pantry Party | The Office | Tilable Kitchen | Unfold | Woodland Ranch || Simkoos: Clutter Dump || Sixam-CC: Art Studio | Cozy Family Livingroom | Home Improvement || SurelySims: Office Spaces (Clutter)

The CC Sets above are the main ones I used to decorate this specific building and you can find all the links to the creators’ sites on my Resource Page. However, if you can’t find something specific, you can send me a WCIF and I’ll try to help you find it!

My content will always be free and right away available to everyone, but if you want to, you can show your support through my Ko-Fi Page. Your donation will always be much appreciated!

Thank you for reblogging: @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @mmfinds @s4realtor @coffee-houses-finds and everyone else for helping me boost this post!

[rheya28]

Frost Point Ski Resort [ Rental ] ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

Welcome to Frost Point, a ski resort nestled in the peak of Mt. Komorebi, where the chilly winter air is infused with the warmth of hospitality. Frost Point is not just a destination for winter enthusiasts; it's a haven for those seeking a cozy and inviting atmosphere.

The resort boasts charming, rustic architecture, with snug lodges that feature crackling fireplaces and plush furnishings. Picture yourself sipping hot cocoa by the fire after a thrilling day on the slopes, surrounded by the laughter of fellow guests sharing tales of their adventures.

➽ Speed Build Video

➽ Rheya's Notes:

● Obviously we do not have a hotel lot, however you can set this lot to a rental or a residential rental to make it somewhat function like one. You can also just set this as a generic lot for storytelling purposes. [Update: Lot51 released a hotel mod, I have not updated this build so you'll have to add the required items for the mod and lodge to function]

➽ Important Notes:

● Please make sure to turn bb.moveobjects on! ● Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own. ● Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file ● Feel free to edit/tweak my builds, but please make sure to credit me as the original creator! ● Thank you to all CC Creators ● Please let me know if there's any problem with the build

➽Lot Details

Lot Name: Frost Point Ski Resort Lot type: Rental, Residential Rental, Generic Lot size: 50x50 Location: Mt. Komorebi

➽ Mods

● Tool Mod by Twisted Mexi

➽ CC List:

Note: I reuse a lot of the same cc in all my builds, specifically cc's from felixandre, HeyHarrie, Tuds, and Pierisim so if you're interested in downloading past, present, future build from me i suggest getting all their cc sets to make downloading a little easier! other creators include Sooky, Charlypancakes, Sixam, Thecluttercat, Myshunosun, awingedllama, Peacemaker, kiwisim4. This will also ensure that the lots are complete and are not missing any items upon downloading ! Harrie ● Baysic Bathroom ● Country ● Brownstone ● Klean ● Octave pt [2] (Door), pt [4] (bed) ● Shop the Look pt [1][2] ● Spoons pt[2][3] ●Stockholm (Floor lamp) ● Orjanic (Windows) The Clutter Cat ● Busy Bee pt [2] (Ceiling Light ) ● Dandy Diary pt [2] ( Chess table) ● Sunny Sundae (rug) Bbygyal123 ● Abstract Prints FelixAndre ● Berlin (Office Chair) ● Kyoto pt [2] ● Chateau pt [5] (books), pt [4] (small plant) ● Florence pt [4] (Floor pattern) ● Grove pt [2] (coffee cups), pt [3] (Cushion) Charly Pancakes ● Maple & S Construction pt [3] ● Dinna (Small plant) ● Soho pt [1] ( Rug) House of Harlix ● Harluxe ● Jardane LittleDica ● CountrySide Cabin ● Rise & Grind Rustic Sims ● Mayaken Cozy Kitchen (Ceiling Lamp) ● Modular Life (Wall art) Myshunosun ● Garden Stories (String lights) ● Lottie ● Tranquil bedroom (Ceiling light) Peacemaker ● Coba (Ottoman) ● Gently Draping ● Pointless Renovation ● Wood Slat Flooring (Vertical and horizontal) Pierisim ● Calderone (mirror) ● Coldbrew ● David Apartment pt [1] ● Domaine Du Close pt [2][3] ● MCM ● Oak House pt [5] (Pillow bedding), pt [4] ● Unfold ● Winter Garden pt [1] ● Woodland Ranch Sixam ● Cozy Family (decorative rug) ● Home Office ( Tablet keyboard) ● Hotel Bedroom (desk) Syboulette ● Ratatouille (Simlish sign's) MycupofCC ● The modernist Dining (wall art) The Townie Architect ● The Moderno Living Room (wall art) Tuds ● Cross (wall divider) ● Ind

● DOWNLOAD Tray File and CC list: Patreon Page ● Origin ID: anrheya [previous name: applez] ● Twitter: Rheya28__ ● Tiktok: Rheya28__ ● Youtube: Rheya28__

[kisses4reid]

understand? pt. 2 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you’re a polyglot translator assigned to work for the bau in a cross-national case, and there’s an officer who’s less than friendly.

genre - angst, fluff, good ending, fem!reader, both of them are awkward nerds, they both dig each other’s intelligence

warnings - mild racism, basic cm file details, so many inaccuracies regarding translating, languages, and crimes, no where do i specify which language r is translating because i don’t want to include wrong translations, please let me know if i need to add anything

w/c - guys idk count the words yourself

a/n - part 2!! if i didn’t add you to the taglist i apologise pookie.

part 1 (must read first!)

Spencer called Morgan and you into a small interrogation room that was being used as a temporary evidence locker. Books and documents were strewn across the room, Spencer had one opened in his hands, one finger dragging down a page.

���What’s up, Reid?” Morgan asked, eyes scanning the messy room. You bent down and picked up a book that seemed to be a diary, and inside was the sole reason you had been assigned to work the case.

“The diaries kept by the mother are all in english, so I’ll go over these, the rest are in a foreign language that L/n can go over.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, “And me?”

“Oh, I was wondering if you could make me a coffee?”

Morgan scoffed and walked away.

You settled on the floor criss cross style, noticing the diaries had been organised in order of when they were written. At least 40 diaries had been filled, and you wondered how someone would have that much time to fill these out. Spencer watched you as you read the accounts written on the pages, but had to rip his eyes off of you once again if he wanted anything to be done.

His stack was much higher, that only becoming apparent to you after you took the courage to look at him.

“How are you going to read all of that?” You asked, cutting the silence like a knife. He looked around him and smiled slightly.

“I can read pretty fast,

“Oh, wow. That’s impressive. Are you a genius or something?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Oh.” You smiled tightly, grabbing the small notebook from your back pocket to start writing important details in english. He gulps, barely audible and squeezes his eyes in courage to talk again.

“Do you like reading?”

You lifted your head again and nodded, “I like sci-fi, maybe with some romance.”

He nodded and smiled, before clearing his throat and saying what he truly wanted to say this whole time, “I think you might have to keep distance from Sheriff Stevens.”

Your gaze flickered up at his brown eyes, swirls bringing you in like an optical illusion made for hypnotism. You shrugged and put on a reassuring smile, “It’ll be fine. He probably just didn’t expect me to be here, I’m not a part of your team so.”

“You’re a part of it now. At least for this case.” Spencer said softly, going back to dragging one finger down the scribbles in the book.

His words warmed your heart and your cheeks, causing you to look down after he did to hide the pink painted against your faded freckles. Suddenly, Agent Hotchner appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat - maybe he felt the same tension you did.

You stood up immediately, patting down your pantsuit trousers, Spencer’s eyes latched onto your hands.

“We need you both at the tip line immediately, they’ve called us.”

“They?” Spencer stands and follows Hotch out the room and into a smaller office with only a desk and phone in it, and that same sheriff from before.

You trail behind them, eyebrows furrowed before you realise the situation.

“The Unsubs. Y/n, we need you here to translate and scribe, I’ll be talking and if they end up speaking their first language,” Hotch pierced his gaze to yours, “you’ll be speaking.”

Your eyes widened, glancing between Spencer and Hotch, raising your hands in your own defence, “Oh, no. I don’t know how to- I don’t even know what to say-“

Hotch hovered a hand over your shoulder and nodded, “We’ll tell you what to say. All you need to do is what you do best, and listen.”

The sheriff lifted himself to where he was leaning on a wall and crossed his arms over his uniformed chest. He stared at you and then at Agent Hotchner. “This is who you’re trusting classified information with? Someone from the country we’re going against?”

Emily and Morgan entered the room then, closing the door, both of them nearly shivering at the sudden gloominess of the room - not that making contact with criminals was all sunshine and rainbows.

“Excuse me?” Hotch raises an eyebrow and puffs his chest out.

“I’m not from that country, sir, I simply understand the language.” You defend yourself as Spencer moves closer to you, shoulder to shoulder. Hotch moves away slightly, obviously thinking that was the end of that misunderstanding, but the sheriff speaks over any orders the SSA Chief.

“That’s what you want us to think. I saw how you scoped out the office, not to mention you look exactly like those people. How can we guarantee this girl doesn’t tell us lies? How can we guarantee she doesn’t tell them the truth?” His face was turning red and he had started moving towards you, before Spencer put out an arm in front of you and positioned you behind him.

“Agent L/n is a trained translator and has been for more years than you’ve been a sheriff. If you want any chance to find the kidnapped girls, you need to get over your ego. Maybe if you actually listened to her and let her do her job, you’d realise how stupid you are.”

The sheriff stood in shock, so did you. Your neck reddened and you took a step back, Spencer’s cologne overwhelming you. Morgan grabbed the man by the arm and forced him out of the room.

It was silent only for a second before Emily started, “Well, now that we’ve gotten him out of the way. Why don’t we take this call?”

They spoke english for a large portion of the call, but there were other people on their side who were speaking another language in the background that you got to work on translating. The call abruptly ended, and everyone’s shoulders slumped, the call was nearly useless. Hotch glanced at you and you took that as an invitation to begin reciting what they were saying.

As you went down the list of phrases, you paused and looked up to the BAU team.

“There’s a foreigner working with them.” Spencer furrowed his brows which caused you to explain quickly, “One of them had a strong english accent, and only chimed in a couple times. He was telling the caller what to say… I think.”

Hotch nodded and lead the team away from the room with the phone and into the room with the bulletin boards full of crime scene photos and maps. Spencer stood behind you slightly, and when your temporary boss started explaining the situation to the still-red sheriff, he turned your shoulder to face him. You searched his face confused before he spoke up,

“You should be more confident. Don’t say ‘I think’ at the end. You’re the only one who knows you’re right - plus me.”

You smiled and nodded. Spencer scanned the room, only to make eye contact with a smirk-faced Morgan.

Spencer conversed with Hotch after the sheriff went off to do who knows what, and Hotch agreed that he shouldn’t be left with you at any point in the case.

After 10 more hours of translating, driving, and analysing, the case had been closed and now you were back on the plane. The uncle of the girls had hired the kidnappers, wanting money from the parents that he felt was stolen from him when his parents died and his brother got most in the will.

This time, you took an empty seat at the back, not feeling like hovering for the full plane ride like last time. Your legs hurt, your social battery drained and your was energy at its lowest, and yet when Spencer took the seat in front of you, you felt a rush course through your body.

His cologne was back, and he held two books in his big hands. Tucking a short strand of hair behind his ear, he cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly,

“Hi, Y/n.” Your first name, not your last, and not Agent L/n. Your first name.

“Hi, Spencer.” His first name, not his last, and not Agent Reid. His first name.

He gulped, eyes darting from your face to the books on the table between you. “I brought you a book from my library I thought you’d like.”

Your eyes widened and you smiled, looking down at the blue covered book he held out. In your hands the book was still warm with his touch as you let your fingers trail the title and authors name.

“Well, I don’t actually know if you’ll like it. But you said you like sci-fi romance so- And I know you can speak that language so.” He rambled and you giggled smally, causing him to pause and stare at you in awe.

“Thank you, Spencer. This is actually the second language I ever learnt, I learnt it from my grandmother.” You told him, opening the book to a random page and smiling at the language printed on the off-yellow paper.

Spencer heart swelled, and it felt foreign. You had told him a piece of you, a tiny piece, but it felt like enough confirmation that you didn’t think he was weird, or too nerdy, or not outgoing enough.

“I’m glad.” He whispered, eyes scanning your face like it was the last time he would see you. It worried him slightly. “Do you want to um… go somewhere?”

“Like in general?” You titled your head.

He laughed slightly, “No, no. I mean like, with me?”

You cheeks reddened immediately and you unconsciously held a hand up to your face to hide your flustered expression. You took a breath and nodded, “Yes, I’ll go somewhere with you.”

perm taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

taglist - @0108s22m @aurorsworld @gghostwriter @khxna @reeseisinapiece @bibissparkles @pinkpantheris @theognatster @webbluvrkleo @sneak-fic @jiuseoks @geepinky @darling006 @adissonsss @iniyalovesall @danilewis @radiantdanvers @bibiznbyler @butternutter6779

[agreyrose]

So hang on, hang on, lemme make sure I’m getting this right. So she’s in a psych ward. In a wedding gown. And she takes the “miracle move on drug” the “forget him” pill of which the effects are temporary. Right, right. And then she’s set free, and immediately walks into a sterile office in a VICTORIAN MOURNING gown! And sits down to start working away on her typewriter. She’s writing, and she loves her muse, and it’s ruining her life. Okay. And then she and the muse are laying on the papers, in love. The pages of her work, her diary, her songs, THE FILES!! And they’re together, and the pages are flying around them, blocking them from the camera, okay? You still with me? She reaches for the muse and then she’s getting electric shock therapy?? With curly hair?? Okay. Okay. And again, loving the muse is ruining her life. And all the doctors, the people closest to her, run away scared when the electricity short circuits or whatever, and the muse is the only one who notices and stops it from killing her!!! The muse is in a (glass) phone booth, and Taylor is sitting right on top, but out of view from the muse. And they are in the middle of NOWHERE. The rust that grew between telephones??? And then we’re back in the office, and she’s pulling all the files out of the drawers!! In the mourning gown again!!! And she’s letting them out, ruining the sterility, and she’s freaking out, sobbing. And then she’s facing the camera, stone cold, letting the files swirl around her, now out in the open ON FIRE I MIGHT ADD. And back in the psych ward in the wedding dress, she breaks the glass to escape, to bolt?? And then, once the files are free, once the glass is broken, once the muse steps out of the glass!! Then she can touch the muse. Then she can touch the muse. Somebody give me an oxygen mask, holy shit

[pinkolve]

A Spencer Reid Fic- The One Where He Reads Her Diary

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Summary: Spencer Reid gets pressured into reading your diary. How will things end after you find out...

Genre: Fluff, and a little angst

CW: Autistic coded!Fem!Reader, use of Y/N, a bit of dramatic? reader, sad Spencer :(, steamy kisses, slight artist!reader.

Word Count: 2,227

A/N: I'm not the best at writing in a reader's perspective!! I always write my fics with myself in mind, so y/n is usually very similar to myself. I hope you still enjoy this anyways, and let me know if you have any tips for writing x reader fics!! Thank you! <33

Y/N’s always been an honest person, she always tells people exactly what she thinks. She’s blunt, but still kind. Y/N believes that everyone deserves to know the truth, especially when specifically asking for it. But, she also has millions of secrets piled up. Some of them, people know. The others…No one knows, except her diary. 

Y/N had just turned twenty-two a few months ago. Some would argue she’s much too old for a diary, while others would say how beneficial it is for the mind. Like Spencer Reid, for example. He himself had a journal, he just hadn’t used it nearly as much as she did.

He used his journal to talk about important events or changes in his life, while Y/N used it for everything. She wrote everything she ever thought, and drew whatever came to mind. 

The one mistake she had made from the start was keeping her diary in her work bag…That she always left on her desk when she left for the bathroom. 

***

“Reid, man, come on. You need to tell her eventually.” Morgan bantered, standing right next to Spencer’s desk. 

“I’d rather not look like an idiot, Morgan.” Spencer slightly rolled his eyes, still focused on his paperwork. 

“You already do?” Morgan said, confused. Spencer looked up with a scowl. “I’m just messin’ with you Pretty Boy! Just ask her out for coffee, nothing wrong with coffee.” He shrugged. Spencer simply shook his head, staring back down at his files. Morgan shook his own head in disapproval before walking back to his own desk, passing Y/N’s in the process. 

As he passed by, his hip bumped the half-open bag on her desk, knocking it to the floor. Morgan immediately turned around and swore. He set his mug down on the desk and bent down to grab her bag. He took notice of a surprisingly thick notebook. He picked it up and reveled at how heavy it was. Morgan looked at the cover to read ‘Diary.’ His eyes immediately widened. 

A smirk took over his face as he placed the bag back on her desk and carried the journal back over to Reid’s desk. Once he was close enough, he threw the journal on the desk with a particularly loud ‘thud.’ Lucky for the two of them, the office was mostly empty so they were able to pull more shenanigans than usual. 

Spencer looked over at the cover and looked up at his friend with furrowed brows. 

“What is this?” 

“Y/L/N’s diary. Fell out of her bag.” He gestured behind him. Spencer’s face went white, his jaw dropping, and eyes almost bursting out of his head. 

“You cannot be serious! Put this back!” He jumped up from his desk, journal in hand, ready to bring it back to its rightful home. 

“Woah there, Pretty Boy!” Morgan put his palms against Reid’s chest, pushing him back in his desk chair. “You have a major advantage here. You read that, and you’ll probably know everything Y/N’s ever thought about you.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Spencer’s face was angry. “Look Reid, if Y/N finds out I’ll take all the blame. I’ll tell her I read it to you and you didn’t want anything to do with it.” Spencer looked down at the book in his hands, contemplating. 

“I can’t believe I’m letting you convince me into doing this.” Spencer sighed, shaking his head to himself. He hated the idea of invading his best friend’s privacy but he was also still a man. A man with a terrible crush on said best friend. How could he hold her very diary in his own two hands and not read a single word? “One page, that’s it!” Spencer groaned while Morgan ‘woo-hooed.’

Spencer took notice of just how thick the journal was before opening to the newest page. He held the book open gently, praying he wouldn’t break it since it was falling apart already. He looked at the left page, two messy sketches were drawn there in pen. They both were of him, the specific view Y/N had of him from her own desk. These are actually pretty good…He thought to himself. 

“Holy shit, Reid. Is that you?” Morgan practically gasped. 

“Yeah.” He whispered, too entranced by the book. The right page had an entry. 

11/10/24 Sunday, 6:22 pm

Dear Diary, 

Today hasn’t been very eventful. I came into work to try and finish some of my paperwork. Morgan and Spencer apparently had the same idea. I’ve been feeling so weird around Spencer lately. I can’t quite put my finger on why. Usually I feel fine around him, he is my best friend after all. I think it may have something to do with the wet dream I had about him last night…I can’t quite shake it from-

“Okay! That’s enough!” Spencer shut the book harshly, his face beet red. Morgan looked at him with a wide grin. 

“Why wouldn’t you keep reading? It was just gettin’ good!” He chuckled. Spencer glared at him. “Well, now we know she likes you.” Morgan smirked. 

“This doesn’t prove anything! People have wet dreams about other people when they don’t even like them, all the time!” Spencer almost screamed. Just then, Y/N came in through the large glass doors, letting out a loud sigh and stretching. She took one look at her desk and groaned. 

“Derek Morgan, I told you to stop leaving your coffee on my desk!” She complained, grabbing it angrily. She looked over at the two, their faces covered in guilt. “What happened to you guys?” She questioned. 

“Nothing. Nothing at all!” Spencer yelled, awkwardly covering the journal with both his arms. Y/N walked towards them while chuckling. 

“Come on guys, you look totally guilty. What’d you do?” She smiles at Morgan then looks over at Spencer, taking notice of the large lump under his arms. “What’s that? Did you accidentally buy erotica again?” She shook her head. She reached over to pry his arms away from the object. “I told you to stop-” Y/N cut herself off, staring at her own journal. Her face drained of any color and every feature on her face practically melted. 

“Y/N/N, I’m so-” Spencer started.

“Shut up.” She spit out. She tore her journal from him and slammed Morgan’s coffee on his desk, causing it to spill everywhere. She practically ran back to her own desk and packed her things. 

“Y/L/N, it wasn’t his fault. I’m the one who-” Morgan tried to reason. 

“I said shut the fuck up!” She screeched, her face red with anger and embarrassment. “I never thought you would do something like this to me. I trusted you with everything I had and you broke it like it was nothing.” She was crying now, looking between the two men. But all of them knew she was only really talking to Spencer. 

“Y/N, please-” 

“Don’t ever talk to me again you fucking asshole!” She sobbed out before running to the elevator and making a fast exit. Morgan looked over at Spencer and his heart nearly broke. Spencer looked like a wounded puppy, his eyes were wide and filled with unshed tears. He looked frozen in place, he couldn’t move a single inch. He begged any and every deity he could think of to make Y/N come back so he could explain. They hadn’t listened to any of his pleas. 

***

Y/N lay in her living room on her large corner sofa. The TV was on, playing ‘Gilmore Girls’ very loudly. She hoped to drown out any thought she had with the noise. So far, it wasn’t working. 

She hadn’t been to work in nearly a week, it was currently Saturday and no one had heard from her. She only called Hotch to tell him she wouldn’t be in for a while, sick with the flu. She sure as hell couldn’t admit that the real reason was because her crush read her diary. It felt stupid enough in middle school, she wasn’t about to say it aloud to her own boss. 

Everyone on the team was very worried, getting barely any information and zero replies from Y/N. Penny, Emily, Morgan and J.J had all come to her apartment on different occasions, begging to see her. She never let them in. The only thing she cared about was seeing Spencer, but at the same time, she never wanted to see him again. Funnily enough, Spencer was the only one who hadn’t come over. Y/N was partially glad for this because she knew if he was at her door, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from opening it. 

Spencer had of course sent about fifty-three text messages and made twenty-four phone calls to her. Once again, all of them were ignored. Spencer was the kind of person who liked to talk in person, apologize in person. All his text messages were him begging to talk to Y/N, to let him explain. None of them actually contained any excuses or apologies. She was clearly clueless on any reasoning he had, or how much he had read, because he didn’t want to say any of it in a meaningless text. He had been waiting since Wednesday for the weekend to come rolling around. He planned to show up and explain everything, but he needed to make sure they had plenty of time to talk, hence the weekend. 

Everyone on the team knew of his plan so they all refrained from going over themselves. They just hoped the two would figure everything out. 

*** 

Y/N had just gotten out of the shower when she heard a knock on her door. She rolled her eyes to herself and sighed, looking at the time. 

“Which one of them has the brilliant idea to come over at eight in the morning?!” She yelled to herself. She softly and slowly walked against the hardwood floor, careful not to make a single noise and alert whoever was behind the door. She wouldn’t answer it but she at least wanted to know who it was this time. 

“Y/N…It’s me.” Spencer’s voice rang out and she froze. “I know you’re angry but I really need to talk to you. Please let me in.” His voice was pathetic and sad, cracking occasionally. Within seconds the door opened in front of him. There stood the girl he’s been dreaming of seeing all week. Her hair was soaking wet and so were her shoulders and arms. A towel was wrapped around her body tightly, showing off her figure. Spencer watched a single droplet of water pass down between the valley of her breasts. 

“H-Hey.” Spencer choked out. 

“Hi.” Y/N greeted shyly. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“So I heard.” She nodded a little. “What about?” 

“You know what about…” 

“Okay, fine. What specific part of that interaction would you like to discuss? What, did you just come over to make fun of me? To ridicule me for the way I feel? Did you come over here just to humiliate me even more?!” Y/N’s voice raised the more she spoke. 

“No!” Spencer yelled, cutting her off. “I don’t want to do any of that!” He sighed to himself. “I…I never should have read your diary. Morgan convinced me, and I know I should have reacted better, and not listened to him. He just kept telling me how…Convinient it would be. I’ve been scared to tell you how I really feel for the last two years. He told me that reading your diary would be the perfect way to see how you feel about me before I confessed and made an idiot of myself. I just…I had a weak moment and I hate that I hurt you in the process.” A couple tears fell from the corners of his eyes. “I’m so…So sorry, Y/N/N.” 

She looked up at him with an expressionless face. Spencer looked back into her eyes with the saddest look on his face. He was about to ask her what she was thinking when she told him instead. 

“Do you like me? Romantically?” She asked, voice monotone. 

“Of course I do. I genuinely thought it was obvious, I can never stop how flustered I get around you. All I’ve dreamed about since we became friends is spending my life with you. Whether we spend it as best friends or more, I couldn’t care less. I just want you with me every step of the way” Spencer spoke honestly. 

“Kiss me.” Y/N blurted out. Spencer’s eyes went wide. 

“W-What?” He stuttered. 

“Please.” She breathed out. “Kiss me.” Her eyes were heavy and clouded. Spencer was quick to reach down and grab the sides of her face in his hands, pushing their lips together roughly. Y/N whimpered the minute his lips touched her own. Just as fast as the kiss happened it turned sloppy. Spencer’s hands travelled down to her waist, gripping tightly. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts pushing up against his chest. Their tongues collided and twirled against each other. 

“I love you, Spencer.” She whispered against his lips. 

“I love you more, Y/N.” He sighed.

[wri0thesley]

work health assessment - dottore x reader (nsfw, 4.8k)

you really need this job, and you're willing to put up with more than you should in order to get it.

cw: dub-con, dark content, medical kink, needles, mentions of drugging. reader is explicitly chubby and a virgin, afab (words such as 'breast' and 'cunt' used, but no pronouns). fingering, glove kink, mentions of forced prostitution. it's dottore!!

You’re trembling. You can feel your leg awkwardly twitching, a trapped nerve in your calf that makes you unable to sit still - and it only gets worse as the last applicant before you comes out with a face like thunder. The other Fatui agent stops and looks at you - he’s obviously higher up in the hierarchy than you are, wearing the trademark hood and red-trimmed coat of a Pyro agent. Somebody looking for a change of pace from combat, then, you suppose. 

“You ought not to bother,” he spits out, vitriol in his tone - but you have been around other people enough to know that the vitriol is directed at the man sitting in the office and not at you. “He won’t care about how well-suited you are, any qualifications, any fucking scientific proficiency--”

The Pyro agent walks away still muttering under his breath; you think you hear something about how clearly graduating the Akademiya meant nothing in a place like this, and you feel an unfortunate pang of sympathy for him. He’s definitely far more qualified for this kind of work than you are. If Il Dottore is looking for an assistant, surely somebody who studied at the Akademiya is going to be a far better prospect than you--

You swallow. You need this role. 

Everybody has been kind to you since The Fair Lady passed on. They knew you were one of her favourites, and they found work for you to do - even if it has been rather menial and trivial, it’s meant that you’ve kept receiving Mora, and been able to keep yourself afloat. Head above water. They’ve looked at you sympathetically for the past year - but this is the Fatui, after all, and you cannot expect to live on pity for the rest of your life. You need to make yourself indispensable to somebody else. 

Heaven knows you’re not primed for combat, you think ruefully, as you look down at the soft curve of your hips and the plush of your thighs where they spread out against the chair you’re waiting on. You’re not clever enough to be an actual scientist underneath Dottore’s instruction, you don’t think; and you hadn’t liked the way that the Regrator had sized you up last time he’d seen you, enquiring after your salary and whether it was truly appropriate for the work you’d been doing around the Palace with that calm, sly smile on his face--

But administration? Handling The Doctor’s papers, filing things away, accounts and schedules and diaries? That is very much the kind of thing you can do, and the thing you did very well for Signora before she met with a shining blade. You grit your teeth and force yourself to think things through and get your words in proper order. The Doctor is not the kind of man who will be kind to you if you start stuttering or falling over yourself; he doesn’t suffer fools gladly, you’ve always been told--

Oh, it would be a step up though, wouldn’t it? To go from the employ of the eighth Harbinger to the second? You’d ordinarily never have dared entertain such a thing, but Pulcinella had sought you out amongst the Palace walls and patted your arm and given you a kind, fatherly smile as he’d told you that he thought you’d be a perfect fit for what Dottore needed. 

The door to the office opens and there he is; tall, imposing, his gaze imperceptible behind the crow-like mask he wears at almost all times. Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve seen him, of course . . . but this close, and with nobody else around, he has a strange aura that makes you feel dizzy and nervous. Like a laboratory mouse being observed through glass. Slowly, his chin tips down, as if he’s looking you up and down, and then he makes an impatient gesture with one gloved hand. 

“Come, then,” he says, in a low, cold voice. “The first thing to learn is not to keep me waiting.” 

You’re clumsy getting up off the chair, still a little rattled by the way he looks and just how much he towers over you. The accoutrements he wears on his lab coat do not soften the effect; they give him the look of a too-large raven who is ready to peck your eyes out, making him seem all the more intimidating and all the wider - and considering he is a Doctor, a scholar . . . he’s not exactly lacking in the breadth department even without them. 

His lip curls for a fraction of a second at the sight of you pulling at your clothes, rearranging yourself, even nervously reaching up to touch your hair to ensure that it’s in place - but then he motions you through the door and his face is blank once again. 

His office is in complete disarray. It’s no wonder he needs an assistant, really; there are files all over his desk, spilling onto the floor. A few tables and chairs in other corners are just as full of ephemera and notes and other things you don’t want to think too hard on. The only things in this office that are meticulously clear and clean are a doctor’s examination bed pressed up against the wall and a tray beside it with an array of silvery instruments that glint cruelly in the snow-bright reflection from the windows. The lock clicks. You swallow again as Dottore motions for you to take a seat in front of his desk and he walks around to recline into his own. 

His is old leather, wingback; more throne than chair, and he sits in it like a king observing one of his subjects in a way that makes you feel so small you can barely stand it. 

“Well?” He asks you, and you squeak in alarm before your words start to careen out of you like a runaway train. 

“I--  The Rooster told me you were looking for an administrative assistant, and you know that’s the same thing I did for the Fair Lady. I-I’m not scientifically-minded or anything, I’d be no help with your experiments - but maybe that’s a good thing, if I don’t know enough to properly even understand the documents I’m handling then I’m no risk with sensitive information--”

He raises one gloved hand to stop you in mid-flow. There’s that quirk of his lip again, as he steeples his fingers together and leans forward on his elbows to rest on the messy wood of his desk. 

“My dear,” he drawls at you, “are you truly trying to get me to employ you by making a show of your own incompetence?”

A cold shiver down your spine. You need this role. You need something to get you out of the drudgery of the boring tasks you’ve been given, to get you away from Pantalone’s prying eyes, to give you some kind of purpose--

“I’m good at admin!” You tell him, your voice pitching high in your nervousness. “I’ve a head for figures, I’m organised, I’m discreet--”

“How’s your health?” Dottore asks, that slight curve to his lip not dissipating even a bit. “I can’t employ somebody who is unreliable, you see. I’m rather more of a workaholic than some of my compatriots, and I do so hate to be interrupted when I’m on the brink of a breakthrough.”

“It’s good!” You blurt out without thinking. It’s true; you’ve never had any issues with it. You had mandated checks every year with a doctor that Signora employed - she always made a point to say she wouldn’t make the Doctor do it, with a pinch to your cheeks and a lazy, indulgent smile. She liked her underlings to think her magnanimous. 

“Mmm.” Dottore says. He regards you over his hands once more, before he says; “When I saw your application on the pile, I had already half a mind to take you on. The Fair Lady was always effusive in your praises, and I do indeed not want a little upstart who thinks they can replace me. You were right to think your lack of scientific knowledge would be a boon to me. My work is very delicate, you understand?”

“I understand entirely, Doctor,” you say, nodding enthusiastically. “I’m the soul of discretion, I promise.”

“Mmm,” he says, the noise not entirely convinced, but your toes have curled in your shoes and you can feel the fingers of hope crawling up your spine. “Despite that, you do not seem unintelligent. I don’t think I could bear having an idiot handle my files. You’re already well-versed in the politics of Zapolyarny and the way working for a Harbinger functions; I would not have to waste time doing too much training.”

“Not at all, My Lord,” you say, trying to smile despite the nerves that you can still feel tingling all over you. “I’d be extremely good at what you want me for, I promise.”

This wins a soft snort from him, as if you’ve said something very funny. You keep yourself as poised as you can, your spine straight, your face as sweet and open as you can manage. Signora always preferred you to be like this . . . in time, you suppose that you’ll learn what Dottore likes, but until then he doesn’t seem opposed to the same gentle demeanour that you’d perfected with the Eighth Harbinger. 

“Nevertheless,” he says, “your physical condition . . .” 

Your cheeks burn hot. You hope he is not referring to the curves of your body; you’ve never been particularly self-conscious about it - it’s rather the fashion in Snezhnaya to be soft, and you receive your fair share of admiring looks and propositions - but . . . you know that Dottore is not originally from your homeland, and there can be such strange stigmas in other lands--

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says to you, as if he’s read your mind. “In a purely biologically aesthetic sense, you’re very much a prime specimen. But looks can be deceiving, my dear, and before we finalise the employment I would like you to submit to a medical examination.” 

Your eyes widen. You hadn’t prepared for him to ask for this; you try and run through in your head what he might want to check in this examination, but even as you do that you realise he has you caught. You need him to employ you, and he has as good as said that as soon as he’s declared you medically fit and able he’ll be able to officially do so. How bad can it really be, then? Let him poke and prod and walk out of this office with a brand new purpose. You swallow. 

“Of course, My Lord,” you say, giving him a blank smile. “What would you like me to do?” 

Dottore gives a pleased hum at your acquiescence as he stands up and walks towards the medical table. 

“Obedient,” he says, approvingly. “That will serve you in good stead. Come here, if you please. For now, I’m simply going to listen to your heart and do a few quick reflex tests. The more . . . invasive tests will come afterwards. Please remove your topmost layer.” 

You do not like the sound of ‘invasive tests’, but you allow yourself the briefest moment of a flinch before you follow his orders. The fur-lined cloak you wear is shed, and the soft knit cardigan follows suit. Seeing you’re wearing a blouse beneath that, Dottore clicks his tongue briefly. 

“That too, I’m afraid,” he says. “I need to be able to place this device directly onto your bare skin.”

It takes another moment of steeling yourself, but the blouse follows your other garments until you stand shivering in your lace-trimmed camisole. You’re suddenly exceedingly aware of the generous curve of your breast within the silken cups of your brassiere, the bare skin of your collarbone, the plumpness of your shoulders - but Dottore, doctorly in the extreme, merely lets his gloved hands brush over them as he steers you to take a seat upon the examination table and presses the cool circle of his stethoscope against your chest. 

The next fifteen minutes are boring but predictable. Dottore takes your vitals; your blood pressure, your heart-rate. He checks your reaction times with a little glowing light - he takes your temperature. You wrinkle your nose when he produces a syringe, but you have had blood taken before and you manage nothing more than a little flinch when you feel the needle slide into the crook of your elbow. He writes all of his findings down in a little black-covered ring bound notebook. 

It is only when he closes the notebook that you finally let yourself relax; your shoulders to slump, the breath it feels as though you’ve been shudderingly holding on to finally dispelled. 

“Do I meet your expectations, My Lord?” You ask him, and Dottore gives a small, considering noise before he looks back up from the notebook. 

“I’m afraid I’m not quite finished yet,” he tells you, with a small smile. “If you’d please remove the rest of your clothing.”

Your eyes widen. 

“I--”

“There’s a hospital gown for you,” he says, interrupting, reaching towards a lower drawer in the silver cart by the side of the bed. He pulls from its depths a pale blue, paper-thin concoction that you do not feel as though deserves the title of ‘gown’ - but Dottore has you at his mercy. If you refuse now, he simply won’t employ you - and who knows what might happen to you after that? You bite your tongue and repeat the mantra in your mind: what’s the worst that could happen? “I’ll turn whilst you change. Your underwear too, if you please.” 

What’s the worst that could happen? You repeat it over and over as Dottore sighs when he turns around, as if he’s being very generous by making this small provision for your modesty and he doesn’t quite see the point. You put your clothes down onto the pile that’s been gradually growing and shrug yourself into the uncomfortable papery gown, perching primly on the very edge of the hospital bed when you’re done with your knees together. 

You are terribly aware of just how naked you are beneath the flimsy covering when Dottore turns back around and gives you a slow once-over. There’s a lot of your bare thigh on display; the thin ties at the back of your neck you have done your best to fasten, but you’re also aware of cool air on the bare skin of your spine and the precarious position you would be in if he bid you to stand up and turn around. You press your thighs more fiercely together as if sheer force of will can make you less tortuously conscious of your bare sex, your missing underwear, the way your nipples have peaked in the cool air. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, conversationally, as he comes closer to you - and your cheeks go hot all over as one gloved finger comes up and softly circles over the slight imprint of your nipple in the gown. You hiss through your teeth, but don’t say anything. “Your temperature was fine . . . so perhaps you’re just sensitive?” 

He tips his head to one side as he considers it. He still has not removed the bird-like mask, but you have the fleeting impression that you’re being ogled by him. His other hand reaches up, and before you can make even a token attempt to slap him away, he is cupping the heavy fat of your breasts through the material, testing their weight in his palms. 

“D-Doctor!”

“Yes?” He tilts his head again. “I simply have to get to grips with your body, my dear. This interest is strictly professional.”

“I-- this doesn’t seem necessary, My Lord Harbinger--”

“Believe me, it is. Unless . . . well, you do want me to employ you, don’t you?”

The last is said in a condescending tone that makes you very much sure that if you deny him, he will send you on his way and happily throw you to the mercy of whoever swoops down to feast upon his leftovers first. You remind yourself that it will be over soon; think of how this role will cement your place in the Palace as someone of use, and when Dottore’s thumbs swipe over your nipples you bite back the whimper that wants to tear from your throat. 

“Mmm,” he says. “Very sensitive, indeed. Tell me when this hurts.” Still through the gown, Dottore uses thumb and forefinger to gently pinch your nipples. Against your will, you squirm on the hospital bed slightly, heat rising to your face as a low ache between your thighs makes itself known. He starts off soft, but gradually increases the pressure, until you blurt out;

“Th-that hurts!”

“Hmm?” He pinches a little harder and watches you in great interest as you flinch, giving a mean little twist before he finally releases the aching nubs of your nipples. “Yes. As I thought. Now, let me try without the obstruction--”

He reaches behind you and undoes the ties of the gown with one quick, fluid motion - so swift you barely have time to bring your hands up to cover the spill of your breasts, as protests die on your tongue. 

“I don’t have time for prudery,” he tells you. “Show me.”

To your great horror, a shaking breath only a moment away from a sob comes trembling out of your throat - but you do as he asks, thinking once more of that job that is dangling over your head. Dottore seems to observe your naked chest for a moment, and then smiles sharp and cruel again. 

“Lovely,” he murmurs, as he returns to touching them - kneading handfuls in those awful gloves, tugging at your nipples, rubbing circles around the areola until your over-sensitive body squirms. “Ah, these are nicely sized, aren’t they? And these . . .” Another pinch to your nipple, and this time you feel a tear slip from the corner of your eye unbidden, your throat clogged. “Such pretty little things. So responsive! I daresay the rest of your body has reacted just as nicely?”

“I--I don’t know what you mean, My Lord,” you say to him, although you have the mounting fear that you understand exactly what he means. Dottore chuckles. 

“So far, you’re passing the physical examination with flying colours,” he says to you, voice low and cool and smooth. “Don’t disappoint me now, darling.” He pats the side of the examination bed. “Get yourself up here please. Feet flat, knees up.” He leers at you even through the mask as he finishes his order with two words that make your blood run cold. “Thighs apart.”

It almost pushes you over the edge. The thought of Dottore looking at you, so vulnerable, so close to naked (actually, you suppose when you move the gown will flutter to the ground and you will be utterly bare before him) - the idea of him having you entirely at his mercy . . . You’re suddenly all too aware that there is nobody waiting for you; no applicant after you, who might poke their head in rudely to see if Dottore is nearly ready for their interview. For all intens and purposes, Dottore could kill you and use you as spare parts and nobody would ever know--

“My patience is not neverending,” Dottore murmurs, drumming fingers on the leather of the bed. “You do want this, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you swallow back the fear. You have nothing else that is viable to do, really - you would never beat him to his door if you ran, you would be naked and afraid, you are entirely at his mercy. . . “S-sorry.”

A pleased noise at the apology. You force yourself to keep breathing as you manoeuvre your traitorous body - to your immense horror, you realise that the kneading and the pinching and the petting that Dottore lavished upon your chest earlier has had an effect between your thighs, and there is a definite dampness wetting the curls of your pubic hair. You squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t have to see that damned bird mask looming down at you. 

“There we are,” Dottore coos to you - fingers slide up your shins, rearranging them slightly until you’re put in exactly the position he wants. “Relax, now. Head on the pillow. This will perhaps be uncomfortable, but I shan’t hurt you on purpose. Ah, there we are. Very good.” You hesitantly settle flat against the leather, and for your obedience you are rewarded with a fleeting pat on your head, like a well-behaved little dog. “Oh, my.”

“I-- is the examination nearly over, Doctor?” You ask him, though you fear that you know the answer - and to answer your fears, Dottore lets out a chuckle that sounds like a creak. 

“Oh, not yet,” he says, airily. “Relax, my dear. If you don’t, perhaps I ought to inject some kind of tranquiliser?”

“N-no,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to relax.”

“Very good. Ah.” He shifts again, and you hear the sound of the cart being moved. Your heart begins to rabbit at the thought of any of those silvery sharp instruments coming near the soft part of you nestled between your thighs, but Dottore simply pauses at the foot of the bed and once more observes you. 

It’s been a while since he wrote in the notebook, you can’t help but note. 

“You’re just as lovely here,” he says to you. “A perfect specimen, really. Very nice.” Very slowly, all the more terribly enhanced because you cannot see him, you feel Dottore bring his gloved finger to stroke down the plump slit of your labia. Your body tenses at the sensation. “You’re wet, too. Good. I’m going to help that along a little - this might be a bit cold, you can shiver if you need to--”

The clatter of the cart again - and then something thick and viscous and cool is being drizzled over your bare sex. You do indeed take in a deep breath, your nails digging into your palms at the unusual sensation. 

“Wh-what is it?” You whisper, a thousand horrible thoughts flitting across your head - numbing agents, or oils designed to make you all the more sensitive, or any other kind of horrible concoction that the Doctor might have at hand - but he just laughs at you, as if you’ve told a very funny joke. His tone is condescending;

“Merely a lubricant, my dear. We are simply testing your health; your sensitivity, your reactions, how much you can take--”

He gently continues to stroke up and down the slit of your sex, working the lubricant against your cunt - paying particular attention, to your mortification, to the swollen nub of your clit. Of course, you’ve touched yourself - but to have someone else doing it! To have the Doctor, doing it like this!”

“You’re a virgin?” He asks you, with a note of surprise, and you press your lips tightly together because you cannot bear to say it out loud. Dottore chuckles. “Oh, you don’t need to answer that. I can tell from the way your greedy little hole is trying to suck me in even though it barely seems as though it will stretch enough to fit a finger in.” He clicks his tongue and lets out another low little laugh. “I should have guessed when you started panting and whimpering when I played with your nipples. You’re just darling, you know.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t think this is part of an ordinary medical examination,” you whisper, as Dottore’s finger prods testingly against the flutter of your hole. You hate that he’s right - despite how your mind is whispering poison, your body is only aware of how good it feels to be touched like this, by slow and practised and meticulous hands. 

“And I am no ordinary Doctor, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“Please--”

Your next words are drowned out by the whine that falls from your lips as he slowly slides his finger into the hot tight tunnel of your sex. His gloves are still on; the texture makes you fight against the desire to wriggle as he crooks it inside of you, truly getting a feel for the pulsing walls around him. 

“I’m sure you’re aware the Regrator has inquired about your contract,” he says to you, as he slowly begins to slide his finger out and then in again, the movement aided by the lubrication and your own slick. Your back arches, but you do not receive a scolding for it - Dottore’s voice has shifted just a semi-tone, thickened just a touch. “He’s thinking you’d make him a pretty penny if he loaned you out to some of his more discerning investors.”

The thought of the way that the Regrator looks at you flashes through your mind again, and you find yourself tearfully shaking your head. 

“As well as being a prospect to indulge in himself,” Dottore continues, as if you have not responded. “Now. I’m sure you won’t want that, do you?”

“P-please,” you say, shaking your head. “No.” 

Dottore lets out a satisfied exhale. A second finger prods interestedly at your entrance, and you try to force yourself to relax as he slides two of them inside instead. The stretch now is noticeable, and the muscles in your thighs jump. Two fingers, and you almost tell him that it’s too much - before you remember what it is that Dottore is telling you. 

“Oh, very clever. I am not lying about needing an administrative assistant,” Dottore tells you, fingers pumping in and out of you now, curling against the pounding of your inner walls, the wet click of his fingers fucking into you echoing too loud in the room. You hate that you can feel yourself, wet and sticky and hot. You hate all the more that inside of you is growing a warmth you have never experienced, a tight ball of tension that makes you dizzy. “I am merely a man who believes in . . . multi-tasking. Dual purpose, if you will. I have found that sometimes I get . . . frustrated in my work, and one of the few ways I have found to expel some of that frustration lies in sexual gratification.”

Your face, hot. Your body, responding against your will. Your heart, pounding like a trapped animal. Dottore’s thumb swipes across your clit, circling the bundle of nerves with the practised assurance that only a doctor can truly embody. 

“Your virginity is a variable I hadn’t quite counted on,” he continues, still working you over like your cunt is a puzzle that he needs to solver. You can barely concentrate on what he’s saying now, that ball of heat within you is so overwhelming. “But it’s hardly unwelcome to know I’ll get to shape you to my own desires, if you will.”

You can feel that you’re close; you can feel that if he just carries on a bit longer, if he just lets you get a little further, that ball will explode like fireworks in your head and warmth will spread through your body like a heating lamp on a cold Snezhnayan night. But he stops. 

“So now you know the full terms,” he tells you, whilst you fight and lose against the instinct to try and hump your hips back to the gorgeous sensation of his hand on you. “Tell me, my dear. Do you still wish to be my assistant? Or do Pantalone’s plans sound more desirable? For a virgin, you’re being more than a little desperate - perhaps you like the idea of him sharing you out?”

“N-no,” you gasp out, shaking your head. Better the devil you know. Better the second Harbinger, and the same face, and the familiar walls of Zapolyarny Palace than beds of men you’ll never see again. “M-My Lord Harbinger, Dottore, Doctor, please--!”

He chuckles.

“Alright,” he murmurs, and he resumes fucking into you, the firm pressure on your clit, and before you know it you can feel yourself spasming around him with soft pleasured cries as your body is suffused in the warm glow of pleasure. Dottore fucks you on his fingers through the afterglow, the ebbing tide of your first orgasm at the hands of somebody else - before he abruptly stands and you hear the clack of his boots on the floor as he walks away, leaving you naked and shivering and gasping. 

“Very well,” he says to you, and though you’re still staring at the ceiling you hear the smile. “I shall see you bright and early tomorrow, my dear. We’ll make a start on my next tests. For now . . .”

It all feels like a muddle in your head. You can’t remember what you’ve agreed to; Dottore’s words are so mired in meaning, and you’re an admin and not any kind of genius--!

But it’s too late. Dottore’s voice is lazy and indolent in a way you’ve never heard it be as he says to you;

“You’re dismissed.”

[silverbrain]

Diary

Summary- Caleb finds MC’s diary and reads it. Angst ensues.

Words- 8k

Caleb has made it a habit to frequent your apartment in Linkon. Since you’d taken care of him when he was sick, something had changed for him, back at Skyhaven. The city seemed less empty, less cold and on the days that it did, he could simply disappear into his phone and call his favorite person.

He still struggled to let you see his vulnerable side, he knows it’s a problem, but he doesn’t let it hinder him from trying to pry his way back into your life. He couldn’t however, get rid of his habit of showing up unannounced, a small part of him still scared that if he called ahead, you’d try to avoid him.

This often caused him to have to stay at your place while the association sent you on your way, your daily grind not stopping because your childhood best friend had returned.

Today was one such day, and Caleb was simply relaxing on the sofa, after having set a delicious apple pie in the oven. His phone rings. His eyes light up seeing your name. “Hey, it’s my favorite pipsqueak!”

“You call other people pipsqueak?”, you narrow your eyes.

“Of course not. You’re the only-“

“Anyways. Caleb, you’re at my place, right?”, you ask hurriedly.

“Yeah…?”, he replies, instantly setting his feet on the floor sensing your tone. “Why?”

“Could you do me a favor and check my desk to see if Jenna’s birthday card is there?”

Caleb relaxes his shoulders that had tensed up involuntarily. “Sure thing, hold on”

He pads his way to your room, making his way to the desk. It’s relatively neat, save the piles of files in a corner and the haphazard stationery. “Uh…”

“Are you at my desk?”

“Yeah”

“Okay. Is it there? It’s in a dark blue gift bag?”

“Uh... I don’t see it”, Caleb replies, balancing the phone between his right shoulder and ear as he gingerly shuffles the files around. He opens a drawer, only to find it filled with some odds and ends, and tries his luck with the other. This one is more organized, filled mostly with thick books of a shade of dark purple. He quickly checks between them. “Okay, hold on”

Nestled between two books is the bag and Caleb pulls it out quickly. “I think I see it. Dark blue bag with two cards inside”

“Yup! Thank goodness!”, you sigh happily. “Could you please give it to Xavier? He’s coming over to get it?”

“I can just drop it off if you need me to pipsq-“, he says, but you interrupt him.

“No, no, I’d feel bad making you bear the Linkon traffic. Besides, Xavier needs to be at the association anyways so…”

Caleb hums quietly. “Sure, if you say so. Will you be late?”

“No… at least I don’t think so…Jenna’s going on vacation for her birthday, so we’re just doing a small office party today”

Caleb nods. “So…this Xavier…”

“Yeah, he should be there any minute, he lives upstairs”

“Oh”.

He didn’t like that.

He didn’t like it at all.

He dawdles awkwardly while he waits for this Xavier. Xavier turns out to be…rather surprising. Dressed in an outfit similar to your own, he’s talking on his phone as he offers a bright smile. “Hi, I’m Xavier…” Caleb doesn’t let him continue, shoving the bag in his direction. Xavier happily takes it and turns, replying with a small ‘yes, I got it’. It only fuels the irritation brewing at Caleb’s fingertips. He was on a call with you.

After trying to will away the annoyance in his chest at the sight of the confident blue-eyed man, Caleb returns to the desk, shuffling the things back to where they were. A bunch of polaroids drop to the ground from one of the books, which he picks up instead.

He doesn’t recognize anybody in the photo besides you, but he assumes the one you’re making a finger heart with is Tara, your best friend. Two other women huddle close behind, and then there’s the three men. Xavier, a black-haired man with glasses who didn’t look happy to be there, and a smart looking man with a not-so subtle hand on the long-haired woman’s waist. His eyes linger on your smile, the way you look so happy and content and he can’t deny the pang he feels in his chest. She has friends.

She has people she loves. And who love her.

He looks at the photo for a bit, before it began to hurt too much, and then he turns it over in his hand. Company Dinner 02/02/2048. Deciding it was enough snooping, he tries to find where it had fallen out of, before he sees two other photos lodged between two different pages. He carefully turns the pages. There’s one of her with a purple haired guy, with a painting the size of a wall behind them.

His hand is on her waist, his brain registers ruefully.

Rafayel’s exhibition 01/03/2048.

Huh.

He places both the photos back inside, before turning to the last one. A silver haired man sits with a crow on his finger, smiling at the camera like the very act of taking a photo was his prime source of amusement. Caleb feels his blood boil a little. He imagines her taking it, smiling, and this man’s ruby red eyes watching her. Sylus 12/12/2048

Making a mental note to find out who this Sylus guy was, he slams the book shut.

He can hear his breathing.

That’s never a good sign. He’s about to pack them away when his fingers open up one of the purple books and skims over the first line, written in a loose mixture of cursive and print.

Dear Diary,

Life is complex, but it is during times like these that I…

He slams the book shut, his heartbeat in his ears. This…is your diary. Your most personal thoughts. Written down on paper, within reach, right there, at his fingertips. And there’s not one book. There’s multiple. This wasn’t a one-time thing. It was a habit.

He stays there for a few seconds, his fingers frozen, his thoughts a mess, but then he slowly piles the books back into the drawer. Except the one he’s holding. He checks the last page. It’s filled. He sits down slowly on the chair facing your desk.

He shouldn’t.

He knows he shouldn’t.

But then again, he shouldn’t have drugged you either. He knows it’s a bad idea. Back then, he had the excuse of needing to protect you. There was no excuse for this. There was no excuse for him to read your personal diary. And yet, he found his gaze transfixed and his hands turning over the pages of your diary.

Dear Diary,

Life is complex, but it is during times like these that I turn to home. I don’t really get how and when does one’s ‘home’ change from the place you grew up in to something else. I’ve been away since college and yet when I go back home, it feels like I’ve hit the reset button. I love it there.

I’m seeing Caleb today, after quite some time. He has not been home since forever, and grandma keeps pestering me to tell him to visit, as if he’s going to listen to me, of all people! Caleb just marches to the beat of his own drum. Still, I miss him. I’m soo excitedd.

I’m not going to carry this diary there, it’s too much work trying to hide it, so adios!

Caleb can’t stop himself from reading further. He remembers that day clearly.

Dear Diary,

I’m back!! The trip home was great. I saw Caleb after ages. He looked happy. Can’t believe he’s a pilot now. In fact, I can’t believe the three of us really did become what we always wanted to- Zayne became a doctor, Caleb became a pilot and I became a hunter. Imagine we had switched roles? Imagine Zayne as a hunter and me chiding him for injuring himself, that’s funny. Or imagine Caleb as a doctor. He wouldn’t last a minute when he sees those pools of blood. Or maybe he would. I don’t know. He’d make a good hunter too, he was always fighting the bullies in school.

Grandma looked okay, but I wish she would stop growing older. Every time I see her, I can’t help but worry. The doctor has increased her medication too.

I felt my system reset, like I said it would. Every time I go back, I feel like I’m okay. Otherwise, it’s so easy to feel like a mess, like I’m not doing enough, and like I should be doing so much more, things like that.

However, I’ve decided to go to the arcade at least once a week. When I saw Caleb’s airplane models, I decided I should spend some time doing things I like- like collecting plushies. I don’t have the energy to pick up a new hobby right now, but I can at least start a little collection.

Caleb smiles. He looks over at the neatly lines plushies on the wall mounted shelf. You sure kept up the promise. He carries the book over to the couch.

Only a little more.

Dear Diary,

I met Zayne today, for my yearly medical checkup. He lectured me about sleeping and eating and getting injured less and other things that I zoned out about. He worries too much about everything. If I worried this much about each Wanderer I had to fight, I’d have grey hair before 25.

Speaking of grey hair, Nina from weapons found a grey hair yesterday, so she’s worried. She bleaches her hair a lot, so maybe it’s because of that. Wait let me look that up.

Okay, so apparently constantly bleaching your roots can do that to your hair. Maybe I should text her that. I had hotpot for dinner today, it was great. I do eat outside a lot, but I simply don’t know what to cook, that’s the reason why.

Caleb remembers the pie in the oven, just in time. He takes his time in the kitchen, unable to keep the little smile off his face. She’s so cute, he can’t help but think, but it’s combined with a sinking feeling. There’s so much that she thinks about. So much that I don’t know.

Caleb spends the next hour reading through. He promises himself he wouldn’t pry too deep. He'd stop if things got too personal, but the line between the two of you had always been blurry. Where did he end and you begin? What secret was too dark that you'd hide it from him? He didn't know, he couldn't tell.

He slipped the book into his backpack for later.

You return sometime later, and Caleb is more than happy to welcome you and your stories from work. He feels happy, and so much lighter than he has since so many days.

"And then...Tara nearly fell into her arms!"

Caleb laughs heartily, but his mind lingers longer on your smiley eyes than the story you tell.

x

Skyhaven is bright, but it is also too clean, too clinical. Too empty, Caleb thinks. His breaks are punctuated with questions of when he’s getting to see you again, finger loitering over the video call button. Should he call? Would that be too much? You always did like your space.

Caleb had stuffed the book in his backpack and it now lay under his mattress-a little night reading before he went to bed. Initially, he hadn’t been able to keep the jealous feelings from coiling painfully in his stomach when you wrote about the other men you knew, but eventually he found himself feeling pretty neutral about them. You seemed…dare he say happy? His heart drops a little at the thought again, but it was true. You were allowed to be happy without him.

He deserved that.

Besides, he couldn’t keep them away from you when they claimed to be ‘friends’, so he continues, trying to see what you were like when he didn’t have his eyes on you.

Dear Diary,

Today, Rafayel slipped on a paintbrush and admitted himself to the hospital. I really don’t understand how he’s so clumsy. He also had the audacity to lie to me!! First, he pretended not to recognise me as revenge, because I didn’t visit him as soon as he texted. And then, he said he fell while trying to save a child!! He’s ridiculous!!

Caleb chuckles. This Rafayel guy was funny at least.

Then, he proceeded to tell me some stories and wanted to run away from the hospital but Zayne would actually kill me if he found out I helped a patient elope, so I refused. Zayne has been superr busy too.

He could see you in his mind’s eye, arguing with this Rafayel guy. He rolls over in bed, clutching the precious diary closer.

I was hoping to have lunch with him today but he didn’t even have time for that. I really don’t get how he survives the day on cafeteria sandwiches. Especially those particular hospital cafeteria sandwiches. The mayo is so watery, it once ran down my lip as if I’d bit into a strawberry. Zayne has good taste in restaurants, plus he’s a good cook. That’s surprising, but I guess it’s not that hard to follow instructions off a video. I don’t understand how Xavier managed to burn tea today, AGAIN. It's like my life is a sitcom! He called me, all panicked, at 7:25, when I had an alarm for 7:30, and I had to go and help him. How is he so capable as a hunter but so terrible at cooking? Does it do it for fun? I don’t think he does? He looks too pitiful when he does, like he really would like to get it right but simply can’t. Also called Caleb today but the reception was ass, so we spoke for only like 10 minutes.

Caleb’s heart thumps at the mention of his name. He remembers that call. He had tried to use the fleet’s Wifi, but nothing had been working. Regret seeps into his bones slowly. It seems like the only emotion he feels these days. A sudden ringing of his phone startles him out of his reminiscing.

He looks over at his phone on the bedside table.

Call from Darling Pipsqueak. He quickly picks up.

“Hey, pipsqueak!”, he greets.

“Hi! Are you free?”

“For you, yes”, he replies, his lips curling into a smile at the sound of your voice.

You don’t notice. Caleb is good at pretending.

“I have to tell you what happened today”, you sound particularly happy, and he closes the book to face the screen.

He stops for a second and decides to take it in.

All of it.

He’s here, and you’re calling him to tell him about your colleague who tripped over the sidewalk and you’re laughing, and you’re not looking at him with doubt, or fear, or confusion because you’re laughing.

Regret.

Regret can wait for when his heart isn’t thumping at the way you’re smiling at him.

X

Dear Diary,

I was talking to Tara about Mark. After she insisted on making me download an app which made matches based on ‘personality and Evol’, I swiped a few men left and right before I met him. He was nice at first, even though he seemed a bit nervous. He was chatty and funny and like generally, there was nothing wrong with him but…wait I’ll elaborate in a minute. Me and Tara were at Café Serena, trying the new sfogliatellas with matcha and she was taking these Pinterest date pics. She was way too excited for me and Mark. Things have been going well, but I don’t feel as excited about it as she wants me to be.

It just feels like pretence. There’s nothing technically wrong with him. He’s smart, and flirty and he appreciates me and makes me feel seen, but I feel like I’m playing a role on a stage instead of ‘being me’, you know? I imagined calling him my boyfriend and sitting with him in that same café and I just simply didn’t care. I didn’t hate it, but I couldn’t care less. How do people fall in love with strangers? How do people fall in love at all?

He hadn’t known about this. You hadn’t told him.

Caleb closes the book and stuffs it under his mattress. He needs to sleep. He needs to run. He needs to do something to chase away the feeling that’s creeping below his skin at the mention of this Mark. In fact, he needs to sleep right now if he wishes to catch at least four hours. His job as a Colonel was still an integral part of his every day, even though his mind wandered to Linkon City every ten minutes.

He tosses and turns in his bed, unable to sleep. Finally, he pulls it out again and huffs. Sleep be damned, he has to find out how it ended with Mark. 

The next entry is dated fifteen days later.

Dear Diary,

Me and Mark ‘broke up’.

See, technically, he knew that. You were single now, weren’t you? But Caleb can’t deny the rush of satisfaction that floods his veins as he reads the words on the page.

I simply don’t care. I don’t know if it’s callous of me. Mark looked confused for a moment, but then he looked disappointed. ‘You’re really emotionally unavailable’ he said and I am SO ANGRY. WHAT DOES HE MEAN! I’m plenty emotional. I just didn’t feel the spark with him. At this point I’m fed up of all this dating business.

I don’t know why I feel upset when I broke up with him. I don’t know, I’m going to sleep. I need to wash my hair first. I’m fucking annoyed at everything!

Caleb intended to feel a sense of relief, but he just felt annoyed. You shouldn’t have to feel like something was wrong with you because of some guy.

The next day, Caleb wishes he had makeup to hide the dark circles under his eyes. He had stayed up all night, reading further, wanting to leave on a good note. The next few entries had just been short tired updates, or gossip from your hunter friends, or irritated outbursts about Mark, which had only fuelled the already present disdain he felt for this man.

His eyes were burning.

He runs his finger over the plush material of the book, which he had carried to his office, and now sat locked away in a drawer by his left. h

X

That night, he’s settled into bed. Little does he know that he’s only got a few pages before that day. That day when everything changed for him, but everything ended for you.

Dear Diary,

Grandma’s gone. Caleb’s gone too.

His hands shake a little as he sees the dried drops that had stained the ink of your pen into little purple pools. Tears.

Oh.

Oh, he had…he wouldn’t say forgotten, but he had locked it away. He had imagined you happy. Now he’s faced with the consequences of his actions in the truest form, the proof of how he’d hurt you.

That same day, I had lunch with them. Caleb cooked for us too. He looked different I don’t know why, and we fought about something dumb- about how I don’t rely on him or something. He entered the house and it just exploded. I don’t remember much, no matter how hard I try. I was just there and then I wasn’t. I woke up in the hospital. Zayne understands my need to keep busy. It is the only way I can do anything. If I sit down, I will never stand up. If I sleep, it feels like I will never wake up. Some days I wish it, actually.

I refuse to believe it was an accident. Zayne said the professor who worked with grandma about something related to Protocore syndrome might have had something to do with the explosion. I have to find out. I will find out what happened there, because there’s no way that was just an accident. We’re going to Mt. Eternal next week.

So, you had always suspected. A part of his mind marvels at how you always knew, but he can’t focus on it when he turns the pages to see so much, so many words written in the days that followed.

A brief moment has him wondering if he should stop, if this was the line he couldn’t, shouldn’t cross. Not for you, for him.

He didn’t know if he was ready to see exactly how he’d caused that much hurt.

He falls asleep clutching the book to his chest like a lifeline.

X

The next diary entry is dated a month later.

Dear Diary,

Zayne visited me today, which was strange since he works 25/7. At first, I was suspicious of him, but he said he was just there ‘to hang out’. We cooked dinner together, although he did most of the work, and then we had dinner. He was really chatty today. We spoke about many things. He even made me an ice duck- just because I said his expertise only extended to ice seals. It was fun.

Caleb sighs. Zayne. His mind conjured up an image of the man, albeit much younger. Time hadn’t erased much of your image from his head, but it had been years since he had met the man. He remembers a boy, a quiet, shy boy, but the same nonetheless. A boy who would always make sure you were okay. He’s apparently that same boy. Would Caleb ever meet him again?

He can’t help but stare at the book for a moment, his fingers twitching to reach over and dial your number, hear your voice. He nearly jumps when his phone does ring, and he reaches out excitedly only to see it’s from Gideon.

“I hope you still live at Capella Towers because…I’m right here”

Gideon had shown up to his place to ‘catch up’. Caleb shouldn’t have been surprised. The night ended with him drinking way more than necessary and the next day he would have barely considered himself awake till he was already sitting at his desk at the Fleet. The day went quickly for him, which was a good thing. You also replied to his post on Moments, and he had to bite back a smile in the corridor. It wouldn’t do his reputation any well to smile in the Fleet’s corridors.

It's not before he’s back in bed that he realizes something his off. His hand involuntarily moves to the slot between his mattress and bedframe, feeling around for the book that has become habit to him, only to find nothing but the cold metal. He immediately sits up, body bolting up straight as a rod before he lifts the corner of the mattress straight off.

It’s empty.

The book is gone.

Panic sets in, driving any rational thoughts away. He drops to his knees, feeling around once more as if his metal fingers had simply missed the first two times.

There was no way he lost the book.

Caleb stands, rapidly crossing the room to grab the small bag he carries to work. Nothing but his ID and water bottle sits there.

Besides, why would it be in his bag?

Could Gideon have found it? No way.

Caleb stands, sweat beginning to form at his hairline.

Gideon wouldn’t do such a thing, would he? He’s probably tease Caleb about it first. That would only leave the office-

Caleb moves fast. He’s in his car before the minute is up, not bothering to change out of his cotton pants and loose T shirt. He’s about to break every signal if it comes to it, and he clutches the wheel like his fingers would leave prints. He’s striding to the main gate in no time, scanning his ID and ignoring the guard at the entrance before marching to his desk. He takes a deep breath.

Caleb tears open the drawers. Papers fly.

He sees it.

The little book. Caleb clutches it in his hand. He flips through the pages, just in case.

Just in case. His heart is still thumping dully when he reaches home.

X

Dear Diary,

A few days ago, Rafayel was pestering me about not visiting him so I did. That was the first bad idea. I had already had a bad day, thinking about everything, and I was hoping talking to him would sort some things out but it didn’t help. Instead, he began talking about Lemuria and a few other things and I was trying to be sympathetic but after a point, I found myself just simply nodding. I couldn’t help him. I knew it was a wound for him that still hurt, but I couldn’t help him, and he knew it! I tried to keep track of the conversation but I zoned out for a long moment, I think.

I had my laptop with me and I still had work to upload. I just continued working. Rafayel kept talking, and even though I appreciated the company, it was just a lot. The scraggly handwritten reports written by Nero, which I could barely read, the swish of the waves outside the window, the buffering internet, Rafayel’s voice, it was just irritating me…I was also nauseous since I hadn’t eaten, I think.

 I ended up throwing the files across his studio. The effect was terrible. Papers flew everywhere, and I wanted to rip them to shreds. I also think I shocked Rafayel.

Rafayel gave me a hug then.  I don’t know what came over me- why I was so angry. It just felt like I was useless as a friend to Rafayel, to grandma, to Caleb, to Linkon as a hunter. I just felt generally useless. I was too useless to deserve even his friendship.

All I wanted to do was go home and lie down and sleep and not think about how my life was falling apart every single day, and he was trying to play therapist.  It just suddenly got on my nerves. I kind of rejected his hug but he refused to let go and I started crying.

I was a mess, crying and almost thrashing, but he didn’t let me go. I haven’t seen him since. I still feel embarrassed about seeing him again, but he acted normal the next day, so I’m just going to have to suck it up and meet him today. I think I cried for a while before I fell asleep.

I really hope he doesn’t bring it up. I don’t have any answers for him. I can’t even cancel. He’ll know if I’m avoiding him.

He’s too perceptive sometimes.

Caleb takes a shuddering breath.  

He’s sitting on his bed, his fingers involuntarily tracing the letters on the page when he hears his shrill doorbell ring.

Who…? Certainly, nobody from work would dare to show up to his house. Besides, not a lot of others knew where he lived. Which left… Caleb crossed the hall, bare feet on the cold floor, as he opened the door only to feel his heart kick up to see you, standing at his doorstep.

“Caleb!”, you cheer excitedly, opening your arms up for a hug.

“Pip…squeak?”, his arms curl around your shoulders, but his voice betrays the questions in his mind. “What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t come to see you?”, you ask, cheerfully, as he drags you in to shut the door.

“You…came from Linkon…to see me?” Caleb can’t believe it. Sure, he had done the same thing a few weeks ago, but to think you’d do that for him…

“Yeah! I have tomorrow off, so as soon as I got off work, I booked an evening ticket and here I am”, you explain simply, as if it were that easy. Caleb notices the little backpack you’re carrying, and his heart thumps in his chest.

You really came to Skyhaven for him. To spend one day, your day off, with him.

“Well then, welcome”, he says quickly. He’s good at pretending, after all. His smile is back on his face, even though his heart is doing a funny combination in his chest.

Over dinner he watches you eat, his heart squeezing painfully at the thought of a day when you couldn’t, because of him. When you take a shower, he hides the diary quickly, wondering how he had forgotten it on his bed, but that was what you did to him.

Left him off guard, off kilter.

“Do you have face moisturizer Caleb?”, your voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Yeah”, he hands it over, unable to keep his eyes from trailing over you as you rub the lotion into your neck.

His body moves involuntarily as he pats your hair against the towel. The gentle scent of his shampoo on you hits his nose, and he has to keep something at bay, to tamper down what suddenly threatens to flow over. “What are you…?”

“Drying your hair, obviously”, he replies. His voice sounds rough. He clears his throat.

His mind wanders when he’s finally lying down. You’d spent hours talking, playing Kitty Cards, before your eyes had started to droop. “Time for bed, sleepyhead”, he had said squishing your cheeks, before setting up the guest bedroom.

He turns over once. Sleep evades him. He walks to the kitchen for a drink of cold water. He stares at the night sky. He debates with himself. He shouldn’t, really. Besides, you’d be asleep. His feet still carry him to the edge of the bed you’re lying in, before he places a hand on your head, gentle, light.

You don’t move. You hope your measured breaths speak for you. He waits. Watches as the quiet moonlights kisses your skin. He turns away. You reach out to grab his hand before you remember sleeping people don’t do that. “Can’t sleep?”, you ask. Caleb shakes his head.

“Lie here with me?”

Who is he to deny you that? Who is Caleb to deny you anything, really.

So, he does. He lies down, keeping his distance, trying to ignore how every minute seems to add to the water threatening to spill over like an overfilled dam straining at the seams.

But you shuffle and press yourself closer to him and he lets himself a little reprieve to preserve his sanity as he reaches an arm out to encircle your waist. Your hand on his nearly makes his heart still.

X

Dear Diary,

Nobody makes me madder than Sylus. Every word he speaks is smug. Every deal he proposes is suspicious. The other week I had to attend a dinner because of this businessman I met and he seemed suitable enough to go with, so I asked him. He was every bit smug the entire evening. “Am I too much sweetie?” “Am I stealing the spotlight darling?” His ten-thousand-dollar laugh doesn’t help either. By the time it was time to go home, I was done. The dress I had ended up picking wasn’t great either. It was beautiful, but it made my skin itch.

I was going to head home but Sylus insisted I ‘owed him’ and drove us to the Onichynus base instead. It’s a long story. He wanted my input for a heist that involved stealing a code from a businessman. Usually, Sylus uses power, not stealth, but he needed to stay hidden, hence my help.

I didn’t have an answer. Every option I ran through in my head felt like it put him in too much danger. It had to be him too. He had to go there himself. It wouldn’t do if he sent any of his men. I don’t think I can trust my decisions with matters of stealth like that. I used to, some time ago, when I was a fresh hunter. One’s trust in oneself is an important part in stealth operations. But recently, I find myself questioning everything.

If I had kept talking to Caleb that day, maybe he wouldn’t have entered the house at all. Maybe he wouldn’t have died. Maybe if I hadn’t left the house at all, it wouldn’t been me too. I wouldn’t mind it honestly. I can’t help but run the possibilities of how things could’ve gone differently over and over again. It’s endless.

I didn’t have an answer for Sylus. “Trust yourself”, he told me. I don’t.

Eventually he stared at me for long and then gave up. Thankfully, I didn’t cry like a baby this time. I would’ve avoided him for a month out of embarrassment if I did, actually. But he didn’t seem to notice. He just insisted the N109 streets were too dangerous to drive home and I should stay at his place for the night, so I did. I was too tired to argue. We even had hot chocolate.

Caleb holds the page between his fingers. Surely, Sylus noticed. He feels his anger dissipate a little, an aching pain filling the gap instead. He had been there for you. When Caleb hadn’t been. Not beside you, when you needed him.

He swallows once.

Caleb turns the remaining pages absently, his heart thumping in his ears. His mind goes back to the man’s red eyes, his smile when you had been behind the camera.

He realizes he didn’t even have the right to be angry.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair.

X

Running is Caleb’s way of starting the day.

When his body wakes up before his mind. Truth is, his mind hadn’t felt very awake even when the sun is at its peak in the sky. He had done his best to keep it going. His routine. His carefully balanced system of pretense and silence. Silence in which he would either think of you, or call you, or sit. When he sat, he felt guilty.

So, he didn’t. He filled the time with more missions. More fleet mergers. More people pissed off. He could deal with enemies, enemies weren’t new.

He couldn’t deal with silence.

He couldn’t deal with you.

Because slowly your words had darkened the image he saw in his head. The cheerful one; you with the same fight and enthusiasm as when you were little. Every time he saw your face on a call, his brain moved a little slower, taking another path of worry, even when you were right there, in front of him. His mind kept wanting to inspect closer for any cracks, wanting to ask if you were okay, because now he knew that if you weren’t, you wouldn’t go to him.

You’d go to Rafayel, or Sylus, or Zayne or Xavier. Certainly better options than him.

It was destroying him more than he knew.

The running wasn’t working.

X

Dear Diary,

I didn’t go to work today. Even after a day off, I felt terrible. I woke up in the morning and nearly cried at the thought of having to get up. it’s like falling down on ice. Once you fall, you want to keep sitting there because you won’t fall further. I slept till 2pm and then I only woke up to drink water before I slept for another four hours. I woke up after the sun set. Xavier texted me asking if I was okay, but that was at 11am and I was just too embarrassed to text him back by the time I saw his text, so I just ignored it. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he knocked on my bedroom door some time later. I was just in bed, scrolling on some random videos and he had just let himself in.

I hated him seeing me like this. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth or taken a shower. My hair was a mess. The worst part is, he asked me if I was sick and I couldn’t even make up a lie quick enough. I was just having an off day, I told him. Kind of like when he sleeps for 28 hours at a stretch.

He had brought over takeout, and out of embarrassment I brushed my teeth and washed my face as he set it up. Xavier pretended not to notice but I’m sure he thinks I’m coming down with something. I shouldn’t have given him my apartment passkey. Now I can’t even bedrot in peace.  

He told me about this new book he’s reading and I said I’d read it soon, but to be honest idk when I will. I don’t have the patience to read a book these days.

The next entry has a time skip of three months.

Dear Diary,

I think the thing that hurts the most is feeling like we have time. We always had time. And then we didn't. I wonder what he’d do if it had been me.

I never got to tell him I love him.

I will always regret that.

The diary ends abruptly after that. Caleb turns the pages in a panic before he sees a few more words after a few blank pages.

Dear Caleb,

In therapy, they talk about a 'normal grief reaction' but I don't understand what makes it normal. My best friend is gone. The one I love is gone. He didn't know I loved him.

I don't understand how they don't see that.

I saw a boy flying a paper plane today and for a second, I thought, we should do that when I see you. Before I remembered.

I hate to think that it was such an ordinary day. A quiet day which will forever divide my life into a before and after. Into a with and a without. I hate that nothing stopped, everything went on as usual. There just was and then there wasn’t.

I hate that I have to remember and talk about you instead of talking to you. In the middle of all the chaos, with Tara and Simone and Andrew, every time I eat apple pie, every time I see an airplane fly, I think of you.

I still send messages to your number, and I still confess to the sky.

I'm hoping the airplanes will carry my wishes to you, and my thoughts and ideas, unlike those traitorous shooting stars we saw once. Because they didn’t keep my wish.

Yours,

Y/N

X

It is a quiet sunny day when the birds chirp like they did all those years ago, when Caleb slips the notebook back into the dark brown drawer where he had found it, two months ago.

X

He disappears into the Deepspace Tunnel. Work was a mask, it was a shield, it was a cover for so many things that he didn’t know where to put down and how to hold. Maybe, he should never have picked up that book. Because the last time he had spent at your place, he had found a ball in his throat every few minutes to the point where you had noticed.

He should probably do something. Say something. He doesn’t know where to start.

He can’t help but check his phone as soon as he’s landed, though. Texts flood his phone.

MC: Wow, you left again!! Without telling me!

MC: Caleb when I catch you, Caleb!

MC: text me when back

He laughs.

Caleb: guess who's back. Just landed ttyl

He barely makes it to his office before his phone is ringing. Video call. He picks it up, because there is no world in which he wouldn’t.

“HOW DARE YOU!!”

Oh no. “I told you I was going to go back to Skyhaven?”

“Yeah, I assumed for some daily job things?? You didn’t say you were going into the tunnel!”

“Well, plans changed a bit pipsqueak”

Pipsqueak simply shook her head disappointedly before she got closer to the camera. “What’s that on your face? Are you hurt?”

Caleb winces. Of course she would notice. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch”. It had been a rough tumble the ship had taken that had rammed his face into the controls, but it had been healing. He was almost hoping she wouldn’t see.

“Well, does the brilliant hunter have some time for me?”, he quickly moves the conversation forward.

You roll your eyes. “When are you getting here?”

“If I take a taxi in an hour, it should be six hours”

“Now?? Didn’t you just land?”

“Yup”, he grins, “See you soon”

Rain envelopes the long road to Linkon. He’s missed the last train, he knew he would. Caleb sleeps fitfully, his eyes occasionally opening to trail the drops of water racing down the glass windows. He arrives at night.

You welcome him joyfully, but don’t miss the dark circles that somehow seem to have got deeper. He hardly eats before he’s out like a light on the couch.

Outside, thunder rumbles.

You leave him a cute little note before going to work the next day.

‘Rest. If you cook anything, I’ll kill u♡’

At work, you rush through the paperwork like being chased by wild dogs, and you rip Xavier away from his desk to go fight that Wanderer, before clocking out.

The rain doesn’t let up. You do a quick grocery run before heading back home, hoping Caleb has taken your advice. You find him on your bed, arm over his head, headphones in. You check to see if he has a fever. Caleb jerks awake at that, startling you in turn. “H-Hey”

“Pipsqueak!”

“You weren’t sleeping?”

Caleb scratches his neck, “I’m…not sure. I think I was? Especially since you threatened me so nicely”, he adds, smiling mischievously.

“You needed the rest. You looked like shit yesterday”

He puts an offended hand on his chest. “Wow, so subtle”

You laugh before you sit down on the bed beside him. “Let’s eat dinner and then watch a movie?”

You do the cooking this time, Caleb helps. He narrates stories from here and there as he does it. You sneak peeks of him from years ago, but you don’t say it. He steals ingredients to be annoying on purpose. “I’m just trying to be your sous chef, pipsqueak. Isn’t this what you always do?”. You laugh. He stares.

He looks away, because if he doesn’t, he feels like his chest is caving in.

Before long, you’re both settled in comfortably for a movie.

It turns out to be a complex thriller with a group of friends escaping death and betraying each other to survive. The real jumpscare happens when the lights go out with a loud flash. You and Caleb stare at each other. “Did it just…?”

A flash of lightning hits threateningly. “Yup, I think so”, you confirm checking your phone. “There’s a rain warning”

“Damn”

Caleb lies back against the headboard, stretching his legs.

You two sit in the dark, the occasional lightning flashing across your face before it dawns on him that you don’t flinch anymore. He sits up straighter.

“What?”

“You’re not scared?”

A small laugh escapes you. “I’m not ten anymore”

Something hurts. He thinks it’s his heart. No, you’re not.

You realize the words stung. Because you move closer to him, resting against his side. His arms wrap around your waist.

He wasn’t there to see it happen. When you stopped being a kid. When you stopped needing him.

My best friend is gone.

He shouldn’t, but he thinks you’re gone too, in a way. You’re a different person now. While he’s the same. Stuck, waiting, only somehow, worse. But he was destined to love every version of you. That was who he was. Caleb, in love with her.

The one I love is gone.

Caleb thinks of the things he’s seen you love. A little plant you grew for a school project. A puppy you fed every day. Ice candies in summer. He remembers how you cried when the plant began to wilt, and how you aggressively nursed it back to health. He thinks of your love-struck happy smile when your fingers brushed the puppy’s brown soft fur. He sees the gentle way you handled the things you loved in his mind’s eye. Not like they were fragile, but precious. He tries to think of being among those things. He doesn’t see it. Can’t picture it. There’s no way he could be loved by you. There’s no way he could forgive himself, either.

He didn’t know I loved him.

His hands wrap around your waist, tighter. Please, he prays. Please understand how I feel. Because I know I don’t deserve to. And I still do.

He knows it hadn’t been easy. But seeing, knowing, had changed the way he felt the guilt. And right now, it was curling around his heart making every beat feel like it was a mistake. He blinks his eyes, trying to well away the tears he feels rising.

I still send messages to your number.

He can’t keep them in. His vision swims as a thin layer of water pools at the bottom of his eyeball, threatening to spill.

"I'm sorry…”, he whispers, because he is. He’s never been sorrier.

This is pathetic.

He’s pathetic.  

You turn to face him.

“I'm so sorry...for everything.”

Your eyes widen in question. What was happening?

“Caleb, what’s wrong?” The Caleb from your childhood didn’t cry. Neither did the one who came back. Caleb just didn’t cry. At all.

"For going away...for coming back...for putting you through so much… for still wanting…”

Your hands cup his sharp jaw as his words ramble out of him in bursts, your concern growing exponentially. “Caleb…you’re not making much sense”

A singular tear runs down the inner corner of his eye, past his nose and down to his lips.

“I’m sorry…”, he whispers again, his breath stuttering as he inhales, trying to calm himself, but only making it worse. The tears flood his eyes now, as he cries. You swipe your fingers delicately on his face and shush him. “It’s okay”, you whisper quietly, unsure of what’s happening.

But he’s crying, and your heart is breaking because he’s crying. Caleb doesn’t cry. Something must be seriously wrong for him to be crying. You hug him to your chest and his hands wrap around your waist, as he sobs.

You sit like that for a while, patting his back while the raindrops hit your window outside.

“I know I hurt you…when I died… and I’m so sorry”, he manages. His voice cracks a little.

Understanding dawns on you.

“You’re back now. And…” ‘We should forget it’, didn’t seem appropriate. “we’re going to be okay”, you assure him.

“I read your diary”

What? You freeze, and you feel he does too. You let go of him, but he only holds on tighter, burying his face deeper, avoiding eye contact. “What? When? Caleb what”

“The day I was looking for that birthday card…I just came across it and I…”, he shakes. "I feel...I felt so far away...like no matter what I did, I couldn't ever be the Caleb that you needed. I needed to know you...”

Your heart softens, despite his actions. You should be angry. You should be furious.

And yet the anger doesn’t seem to come.

“Caleb…you know me, I’m”. I’m yours, your mind offered, but you couldn’t say that. He doesn’t wait for your response.

“It’s okay if you hate me, you deserve to, I’m…” Disgusting. He had seen the look in your eyes, once, back in Skyhaven when he had you on house arrest, even if you hadn’t said the words.

“I'm sorry that I still…"

What...?

“I still...want...I think of you..."

He takes a deep breath.

"I want...", he whispers.

Thoughts rush through your head at his words. You push him out of the embrace to look at his eyes. 

“I want you to know that…”, he begins. His voice is quiet, "You don't have to confess to the sky anymore."

Time seems to stop as you take his words in.

So, he knows.

He knows.

The one I love knows, that I love him.

You lean forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss. He knows, he knows, he knows. Caleb lets out a quiet noise of surprise before fresh tears flood his eyes and his arms tighten back around your waist. He kisses you, tenderly, gently, like he wants to, like he needs to, worship.

You taste the salt on his lips and lick it off. “Don’t cry”, you say, even if you feel the tears running down your face too.

“I love you”, he whispers when you’re both panting for breath, wet faces resting against each other’s, refusing to let go. “I love you. I’m sorry I…”

“I love you, Caleb.” And then, “You’re here. I’m here, you’re okay”

Caleb shudders against your skin before he gasps in air as if he had been held underwater. Maybe he had been, in a way. He had been running, drowning, hiding.

“We’re okay”, you whispered again, even if your breath stuttered too.

Your hands grasp at his neck, pressing him closer, needing to tell, needing to show. His hand trails lower before it fits below your thigh, perfectly.

A second later, you’re in his lap. Closer. You needed to be closer to him.

You show him how you love him. You make sure he knows. The dam bursts. Caleb doesn’t hold back. He lets the emotions flow.

There had been a before. And it had been complicated. Twisted. Held back. Repressed.

But when dawn arrives, you’re sure this is the after that you’re going to bask in for the rest of your life.

gimme all your thoughts and comments

[adannamdi]

Why Character Occupations Matter in Mystery Writing

In some genres, a character's occupation might seem like a minor detail, something that simply adds depth to their personality or daily life. However, in mystery writing, a character's profession is crucial because it directly impacts their investigative approach, access to information, and level of influence.

Occupation as a Tool for Investigation

Take, for example, Adebayo Owolabi from The Hidden Diary. Adebayo is a retired lawyer. While I haven't specified what kind of law he practiced, his strong sense of justice suggests he was deeply involved in legal matters. This background gives him a mindset suited for investigation, but also comes with limitations. He knows how to analyze cases, but he no longer has the authority or active resources of a practicing lawyer.

His legal connections become crucial. One of his key allies is Chimoabi Duru, a high-ranking police officer who shares Adebayo's commitment to justice. Chimoabi provides inside access to case files, forensic details, and even helps Adebayo see his daughter's body, which would otherwise be impossible for a civilian. Another ally is his brother, Tunde, a politician with access to influential networks. These connections give Adebayo leverage in different spheres of power, but also introduce complications, as politics and law enforcement each have their own red tape and hidden agendas.

On the ground level, Adebayo relies on Blessing, an informant with deep roots in the streets, to uncover local gossip and underground activities. Each of these characters' professions defines how they contribute to the investigation, highlighting how different jobs shape the flow of a mystery.

What If Adebayo Had a Different Job?

Now, imagine Adebayo was a professor instead of a lawyer. His approach to solving the mystery would be entirely different.

If he taught criminology or law, he might use academic theories and research to piece together clues, relying on past students or university connections in law enforcement. If he were a business professor, his investigative route might involve tracking financial records or understanding the economic ties behind the crime. His access to police files or forensic details would be limited, requiring more external help.

If his wife, a nurse, were still alive, she might have medical connections that could offer insight into forensics or autopsy reports. Each change in occupation shifts the narrative, creating new strengths and weaknesses in the character's ability to navigate the mystery.

Occupation as an Obstacle

A character's job doesn't just aid investigation—it can also create roadblocks. Adebayo's status as a retired lawyer means that while he understands legal procedures, he has no active authority. Some people might dismiss him as just a grieving father with no official standing. If he were a professor, police might see him as an outsider meddling in an investigation.

In mystery writing, a well-chosen occupation not only enriches a character but also determines how they interact with the case. It sets the boundaries of what they can realistically do and what challenges they'll face. Whether they're a journalist, detective, scientist, or artist, their profession shapes the mystery at every turn.

Next week, I'll dive into How to Write an Engaging Investigator. Stay tuned!

[kekeyw]

chateau mansion | cc build

hi everyone, you may have seen screenshots of this build months ago and i've been slowly finishing it until now!

it is now up for download featuring 5 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, large backyard that can be customisable to your tastes and needs!

gallery id: kekeyw

packs used: get together, cottage living, growing together, island living, vampies, laundry day, little campers

watch video here

download tray files here

reshade by @bojanastarcevic

cc list below the cut

amelie - light & airy paintings, ralph lauren sweaters, vintage art print #2,3 4

awingedllama - boho living, paranormal plants, blooming room plants

charlypancakes - lighthouse, dinna, lavish, precious promises

felixandre - all

harrie - all

house of harlix - bafroom, baysic bathroom, baysic, harluxe, livin'rum, jardane, orjanic (all), kichen, tiny twavellers

little dica - delicato, chic bathroom, eco kitchen, rise&grind

max20 - cozy bathroom, master bedroom

mr olkan - cool pools

mycupofcc - bath collection, tiny dreamers

myshunosun - nora living, arrie office, dawn living

peacemaker - moderondack, colour me rugs, matilda mudroom, creta kitchen

pierisim - all

ravasheen - sip sip hooray

sforzinda - artworks

sixamcc - home improvement, private school, small spaces - laundry room, stylish wood living room

syboulette - life livingroom, laundry, shopping

taurusdesign - angela bedroom

the clutter cat - fairylicious, baby boo pt1, busy bee, dandy diary bathroom, dandy diary pt2, hello horses, mellow mini, mellow moods

tuds - 2nd wave, beam, nctr, shkr

thank you to all the cc creators: @pixelglam @harrie-cc @awingedllama @felixandresims @charlypancakes @littledica @maxsus @mycupofcc @myshunosun @pierisim @ravasheencc @sixamcc @syboubou @taurusdesign @thecluttercat @tudtuds @peacemaker-ic

[heaven-s-black-box]

Head Down- Jing Yuan x fem!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: January 6th, 2025

Description: Hi I was just watching the first episode of the apothecary diaries and I had an idea, what if the reader was in a similar situation with Jing Yuan

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions. I took the whole, trying to keep to yourself but wanting to help and getting dragged in to stuff, aspect. Hope that's good enough.

Word count: 1 371

Back to directory

Survival is predicated on keeping your head down; at least that’s what Y/n has been taught.

It was how she’d made it through life so far, working hard through school and never going above and beyond, finding a quiet career as a waitress at the Sleepless Earl. Even her hobbies were fairly mundane.

Y/n stood in the kitchen, hugging her tray to her chest and watching the water boil as she made a new pot of tea for one of her tables. The door to the shop opened and closed, and there were heavy footsteps on the polished wooden floor. Her lips curled into a barely noticeable frown.

Cloud Knights rarely entered the shop, it was inconvenient in case they were called off for an emergency. Only once or twice had Cloud Knights come in, still armored, right after a shift.

She waited with baited breath for the footsteps to pass, to find a table inside, but luck was not on her side today.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Y/n looked up from the water. “Can we speak with Ms. Mengming?”

“Ms. Mengming isn’t here today, but she left me in charge.” Unfortunately. “How can I help you?”

The Knights looked at eachother, having a silent conversation, and then addressed her again.

“Is there a way we can contact Ms.Mengming?”

“I can get you her number,” Y/n offered, not bothering to probe.

They agreed, and Y/n excused herself to the back; coming back with Mengming’s contact information scribbled on a note. Surely she would understand that Y/n had to interrupt her day off, though she did feel a little bad.

The Cloud Knights left, and Y/n assumed that would be the end of it.

It was not.

A week later Y/n showed up for her morning shift and was immediately met with a gossip circle in the break room.

“Y/n!” One of her co-workers called her over.

“What’s up?”

“What did the Cloud Knights want the other day?”

Y/n shrugged, putting her stuff in her locker. “They were looking for Mengming, I didn’t ask why.”

“That’s Y/n for you,” someone else commented, he was new so Y/n didn’t take it to heart.

Most of her co-workers appreciated her behavior, because she’d definitely caught them doing things they technically shouldn’t and she’d also gone above and beyond without credit to lessen their workloads. Because technically, one could live with their head down as long as they never got caught doing more than the bare minimum.

“Well the Cloud Knights are back, and they’re interviewing everyone individually.”

“I think I saw the General here too.”

“Why would the General be here?”

“Must be serious if he is.”

“Great,” Y/n mumbled.

Y/n was the first interviewed.

She’s barely started the first batch of snacks when Mengming called her into her office. The foxian bid her good morning with a reassuring smile and held the door open for her.

Even before stepping in, Y/n took note of the room. The only person in the room was, surprisingly, General Jing Yuan. Outside the door were two Cloud Knights on either side, and Mengming who excused herself to go help the rest of the staff.

Y/n nodded politely at the Cloud Knights before stepping into the office. The Cloud Knights closed the door behind her, and she stopped to stand behind the chair across from the General.

“General, is there anything I can help you with today?”

This was not the first time they’d met; Jing Yuan was a fan of the Sleepless Earl, and Y/n had been working here for quite a while.

“Please, sit.” Y/n did as she was told, crossing her hands in her lap. “Apologies for interrupting your day.”

“It’s alright, I’m sure the matter must be important if you’re here yourself.”

Jing Yuan laughed. “Always straight to the point.” The General leaned forward, lacing his hands on the desk. “Have you noticed any of your co-workers acting suspicious lately?”

“No.” Y/n bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from wincing, she’d answered too fast. “I mean, I don’t really pay attention to know what’s suspicious and what’s not.”

The General raised a brow, scrutinizing her lie.

You see, Jing Yuan is very perceptive. He has to be. He also likes to think he knows Y/n pretty well, so he does know that she definitely pays attention to the things going on around her. It’s very hard to pass unnoticed when you don’t know what the norm is.

“Y/n.”

“Yes?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two pieces of paper. One, a receipt from the Sleepless Earl with a note scribbled on it. She doesn’t need to read it, or see the second paper, to know what he’s getting at. The second paper, which she glances at anyway to confirm her suspicions, is a note.

Side by side, she wants to kick herself.

It is very clearly her handwriting both times, rushed but legible.

“If you have a tip what’s with the interviews? Surely the Cloud Knights can investigate on their own.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“A bit of an abuse of power, no? You’re disrupting our business for your own curiosity.”

“You wouldn’t have answered me otherwise, now, the sooner you answer the sooner we leave.”

Y/n sighed, setting her hands on the desk and leaning in.

“She’d unpacked a shipment of tea and ‘thrown out’ the shipment box saying it was damaged. Unfortunately for her, I’d already checked the shipment and knew it wasn’t damaged.”

“So you investigated.”

“No. What do you take me for, a PI? It was one box and I’d scratched off the approval seal, I do that with all our shipments. But she didn’t want it to get something past inspections, did she?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Y/n sat back, dragging her hands along the desk. It shouldn’t matter that Jing Yuan couldn’t tell her, she was already more involved than she liked to be. Survival was predicated on keeping your head down, and not getting involved with dangerous people– and anyone could be dangerous.

But, Y/n wasn’t the type to let injustices she could stop pass her by. That was why she was here, wasn’t it? Because she couldn’t keep to herself like her parents taught her to.

That was why she had packed that stupid note in Jing Yuan’s order of tea cakes to go.

“Is that all then?”

Jing Yuan nodded. “You’re free to go.”

She stood up, bowed politely, and left.

Her co-workers practically swarmed her, asking what to expect and what it was about. They were silenced when the office door opened again and Jing Yuan stepped out. He apologized to them for disrupting their day, and then Mengming escorted him and the Cloud Knights out.

Y/n watched them until the door to the shop closed.

The next day, one of her co-workers was arrested for the trafficking of illicit substances on the Luofu. Y/n had been half right, it didn’t matter that the boxes no longer had inspection seals because they were only being used to hold and move the substances within the Luofu. She’d had a feeling it involved illicit substances, she hadn’t mentioned anything to Jing Yuan but there had been more to her tip than just the boxes. 

Since she was using empty tea boxes, she would keep some of her wares around the Sleepless Earl. Y/n had taken great care to keep anyone else from finding out; it would be too much of a hassle. The Sleepless Earl would have to close during the investigation and everyone who worked here would be implicated. It would do more harm than good to report her.

As Y/n watched the news, her phone lit up with a text from an unknown number.

Unknown 8:16 AM I think we work well together I hope you’ll keep me updated in the future It’s a lot of effort to pull a stunt like yesterday, and it’s counter to your motto I do believe

[rheya28]

Ridgeview Apartment [ Apartment + Gym + Bar] ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

➽ Speed Build Video

➽ Rheya's Notes:

An open/closed concept floor plan. Kitchen with all new appliances Bathroom with shower and bath Gym & Bar Panoramic view of the city

➽ Apartment Units:

1st Floor: lobby, Bar and Gym 2nd Floor [Unit 1: 3 Bed, 2 Bath] [Unit 2: 1 Bed, 1 Bath] 3rd Floor [Unit 3: 3 Bed, 2 Bath] [Unit 4: 1 Bed, 1 Bath] 4th Floor [Unit 5: 4 Bed, 3 Bath]

➽ Important Notes:

● Please make sure to turn bb.moveobjects on! ● Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own. ● Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file ● Feel free to edit/tweak my builds, but please make sure to credit me as the original creator! ● Thank you to all CC Creators ● Please let me know if there's any problem with the build

➽Lot Details

Lot Name: Ridgeview Apartment Lot type: Apartment Complex w/ gym and bar Lot size: 40x30 Location: Windenburg

➽ MODS

Tool Mod by Twisted Mexi

➽ CC LIST:

Note: I reuse a lot of the same cc in all my builds, specifically cc's from felixandre, HeyHarrie, and Pierisim so if you're interested in downloading past, present, future build from me i suggest getting all their cc sets to make downloading a little easier! other creators include Sooky, Charlypancakes, Sixam, Thecluttercat, Myshunosun, awingedllama, and tuds. This will also ensure that the lots are complete and are not missing any items upon downloading !

Additional notes: You do not need to download all of the cc on the list as I only used 1 or 2 items from some of these set. Some items can be easily be replaced by what you already have!

I would however, download all heyharrie, pierisim, and felixandre sets that are listed as I used alot of their cc in the exterior and interior!

S-imagination : Nota Living Room [ Ceiling light Only]

Around the Sim: Shop sign [Barber sign only]

The Clutter Cat: Busy bee Pt 1 [ Green table Plant only], Dandy Diary [ Concrete coffee table only]

House of Harlix : Bafroom, Baysic, Harluxe, Livin Rum, Orjanic, Kichen

Bbygyal123: Balance Collection [ Yoga mat ]

Felix Andre: Berlin Pt 3 [ Office chair only], Chateau, FLorence, Colonial Pt 3, Grove Pt 4, Kyoto Pt 2, London Interior, Paris Pt 1 2 3, Grove

Charlypancakes: Maple &S Construction Pt 3, Soak

Harrie: Brutalist, Coastal, Klean

Joyce : Forever Autumn [ Curtains only]

Peacemaker: Graciously Georgian, Paige Armchair, Hamptons Hideaway [Ceiling light only]

Pierisim: Coldbrew, Combles, David Apartment, Domaine Du Close, MCM, Oak House, Winter Garden, Woodland Ranch

Charlypancakes x Pierisim: Precious Promises [ Chair only ]

*Ravasheen: Uplifting Elevator [MOD]

Simkoos: Everyday Clutter Add-on

Simplistic: Rustic Rug Trio

Sixam: Hotel Bedroom [ Desk only], Small spaces Laundry room

Syboulette: Fitness

Tuds: Cross

*Zulf: Let's get fit [MOD] -optional-

● DOWNLOAD Tray File and CC list: Patreon Page ● Origin ID: anrheya [previous name: applez] ● Twitter: Rheya28__ ● Tiktok: Rheya28__ ● Youtube: Rheya28__