#i dislike that they upped the light prices so much......

[horseskitchen]

spring is finally back

[cinnammonfairy]

⌗ hybrids – f! cat x doberman ghost! + heat + virginity loss + squirting + implied pregnancy/breeding ⋆˙⟡

where you go into heat, and your not-so-new friend simon helps you.

when price finally brought simon home, you did not take it all too kindly. only familiar with the presence of price and few other hybrids (being a house cat and all, always preferring to stay home), you grew uptight at the new imposing presence at your home. you knew price was only trying to look out for you by gifting you a companion, someone you could cling to when he was away, yet he also knew how shy you were too which could translate to unwelcoming behaviour towards those who are unacquainted with you.

simon having been briefed by price of your shy tendencies played along, preferring to wait until you grew accustomed to his presence around the house. which admittedly took... quite a while. price having been home for the start of simon's stay to get you on friendly terms did little to help, only making you ever so clingier.

when it came to just the both of you within the confines of your home, you avoided him with an admirable amount of effort. he knew it wasn't that you disliked him, you just haven't gotten to know him and how could you when you'd scramble if he walked into a room you were currently in? or if he'd be leaning on the doorframe of your shared bathroom waiting for you to finish your lengthy baths, the scent of your bathbomb wafting through the crack of the doorway your humming gleefully at the warmth of the water clear to his impeccable hearing, doberman hybrid and all does little to quell his ever growing fascination in you.

the week leading up to your heat (not that he knew), was filled with uncommon behaviour from you, once an early riser now you woke later into the day, your sweet scent heightened keeping him alert of your whereabouts throughout the house. your usually energetic self, that always found a way to keep busy around the house also grew tired easier, which was how he found you sprawled out on the couch late at night, a show you were keen on running on the tv. gathering your weak form in his arms, he lifted you up bridal style making sure to cradle your head in his arm.

your eyes opened briefly, jolting awake as you realized who was currently holding you and walking you towards your bedroom, before you gave in to the lethargy that seemed to engulf your body. letting him carry you up the stairs, his scent overwhelming your senses leaving your body the slightest bit feverish.

"i don't feel so good." your words coming out barely more than a whisper into the chilly night air, lights dimmed out due to the hour.

"i can see that, let me take care of you yeah? " his arms wrapping tighter around your form as he rounds the corner to your bedroom, tucking you in, and closing the door softly behind him before placing a call to price.

"...the date of her heats are usually irregular, but she's probably going into one soon." price's voice crackles through the phone speaker, as simon's brow furrows.

"what can i do to help her?" simon's reply earns a small huff from price, who's answer has simon's cock growing hard in his trousers imagining you begging for him.

"you can help her but only if she asks, she probably will though. god knows you feel much better than her dildo does."

the next morning he was greeted with the overwhelming scent of your slick, your warm body atop him, bare tits pressed against his chest, his blanket pushed aside so your wet little pussy could rub on his still covered hard on. every pass of his cock spreading open your pretty pussy, his tip catching onto your clit creating pleasurable friction.

"what's all this about angel? where did my shy girl go hm?"

"m' sorry si, need you..." his hands go to guiding your hips, as they grew sloppier. your wetness creating a patch on his boxers outlining his hard cock.

"s' alright pretty, i've got you." tipping your chin up to meet his gaze as he connects your lips to his, softly pecking them as a form of reassurance. price said to take things slow and he promised to try, you had no qualms kissing him back so sweetly as he cradled your cheek in his palm. with your pussy still rubbing on his cock, he moved you to lay below him lifting his body enough to peel his boxers off.

spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt, little hole twitching and leaking slick. your little clit glistening in the early morning sunrise, as he circles it softly with the head of his cock, dragging it down to your pool of slick and up to nudge against your clit, swiping it back and forth as you writhed on the bed moaning for him to,

"put it in now please si."

"so wet angel, i could just slip right in yeah?"

"'mhm! s' wet for you."

"such a good girl, so pretty for like this for me."

he positions the head of his cock on your hole, the both of you gasping as it enters. all the while rubbing your clit softly with his thumb, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks and lips. your pussy halfway enveloping his fat cock as your legs tremble softly, your hole clenching rhythmically at his intrusion. your hands go to his biceps as you feel the knot in your stomach growing ever so tighter, just from him putting his cock in. you've had a dildo and a couple pleasurable vibrators before to help you through your heat but never an actual cock, the feeling of his big cock entering your practically virgin hole was too much to bear, even more so as he rubbed at your clit so sweetly to build enough pleasure and wetness to take his cock. before you knew it, you were cumming hard on his cock a soft gasp left you as he worked you through your strong orgasm, clenching hard on his fat cock.

"so pretty... that was a nice one hm lovie, that feel good for your little pussy sweetheart yeah? y' love my fat cock stretching out your hole so much you can't help it huh."

"s' too big si..." you sobbed out as his fingers kept strumming your clit, prolonging your orgasm.

"you're taking it so well though sweetheart, i'm almost there baby. you can cum as much as you want angel."

your orgasm which left you wetter than before made it easier for him to ease his cock inside, groaning at your warmth as he bottomed out. he zoned in on where your eyes were currently resting, the filthy sight of your pussy plugged full of his cock as he took a testing shallow thrust, a mewl leaving your lips.

"your pussy's so pretty full of my cock sweetheart, you're taking it so well, 'm so proud baby."

"what do you say sweetheart?" he says, pulling his cock out halfway, watching as his cock slips out coated in your slick and cum.

"thank you si-i!" he slammed his hips once, again filling your pussy up full and catching you off guard.

his thrusts left you breathless as you looked into his eyes, pleading for anything and everything at all once. your current state of heat left your cheeks perpetually flushed which he found charming, your eyes fluttering, for someone who was practically begging to be fucked just this morning, he loved your sweet, shy and soft little mewls. slotting your lips together to meet for a kiss, one that you so kindly and eagerly return, he knows he's found your spot as a sweet little gasp leaves your lips. he rests his forehead to yours as you lock your feet on his back, your pussy clenching erratically as a telltale sign that you were approaching your orgasm.

"wanna cum si!"

"go ahead baby."

pulling out most of the way, he thrusts in to be met by a spurt of clear liquid splashing and splattering onto your stomach, his pelvis and abs. every time he pulls out the slightest bit to slam his cock back in to your tight squirting heat, he earns another splash of clear liquid that's prompted by his thrusts. the hot sight of you squirting uncontrollably whilst crying softly on his cock prompts his own orgasm, and pumping his load into you.

"made such a cute mess on my cock baby hm? my shy angel's a squirter huh?" he says as he pulls his cock out fully, rubbing his cock fast over your clit to be met by more messy squirts, his thick load now seeping out of your little hole.

"m s-sorry si, it's embarrasing." you choke out amidst sobs where he gathers you in his arms, sitting up and places you on top of him. opening your legs to scoop up his leaking cum and shoving back into your hole, which makes you squeal.

"no need to be sorry sweetheart, 'm so glad i made you feel so good."

you hid your face in his neck as you sunk back down on his hard cock, seeing his cum leaking out of your pussy was an extremely erotic sight to him. your heat making you insatiable for the need of another orgasm.

"go ahead sweet girl, ride me baby, use me all you want."

and you do, if it wasn't evident enough with the protruding bump on your belly with a possessive hand resting over it upon price's return wasn't clear enough, you were having simon's pups.

☆ hi omg um this was just like something i spewed out from my brain deliriously over the course of a couple midnights i acc kinda wanna continue it or make a couple parts of it ... haven't rlly made an intro post but i'm planning to soon .ᐟ ♡ also reqs are open but i'm having midterms rn so if you do plan to leave anything on there might not get around to it for a while :(

ᡣ𐭩 header by cafekitsune .

[soltwent]

I LOATHE YOU

SUMMARY : fbi agent! vi ; fbi agent! reader. 15k word count one-shot! (sorry if you dislike longer fan-fiction) ; the secrets of highland parks are kept under lock and key, never to be whispered beyond its borders. “whatever happens in highland parks, stays in highland parks.” — you’re a registered, licensed FBI agent who's made a name for herself in the world of crime-solving. working alongside a team of sharp-minded professionals, apart of what's become New Jersey's go-to crew for getting things done. their reputation? polished, and trusted. then, there’s vi west: your work partner, equally sharp but just a step ahead in some ways. almost too close for comfort. who would've thought work partners could be this competitive? the irony? they’re unstoppable together, but neither is quite the same without the other.

WARNINGS : eventual smut. modern fbi! au. inaccurate descriptions of the profession! i’m not a professional. this is for fun. work rivals (one sided beef) to lovers. SORRY I YAP. female reader with female anatomy. y/n is sort of used. “thorne” is your last name. vi’s last name is “west”. you refer to her by her last name mostly. reader is sorta mean. reader is an overachiever and insecure. vi and powder aren’t related. tons of banter. bottom! reader & top! vi. spitting. a bit of sexual praise. fingering r! rec. pussy eating r! rec. crime scenes mentioned.

A/N : also i’m not that great at writing and my english isn’t spectacular, so i apologize for any confusion! this was previously started as a fic with OCS. if you see the name 'audrey', ignore it! This isn't my best work ever (i was sick writing it), but it's something.

MINORS + MEN DO NOT INTERACT.

"Great," you muttered, rolling your eyes at the red light like it had personally offended you. One hand gripped the leather steering wheel, while the other balanced a bagel slathered in thick cream cheese and peppered with everything seasoning. You took a bite, savoring the soft, fresh bread—a far cry from the jaw-breaking bagels they served at the headquarters.

No need to spend the rest of your shift nursing a sore jaw, right?

South Jersey always gave you this weird ghost-town vibe. It was like all the real Jersey energy got stuck up North, and down here? It was all tumbleweeds and out-of-towners. And the drivers? Somehow even worse.

"Dude, go!" you groaned, smacking the horn with your free hand.

The truck in front jolted to life at the sound of your obnoxious horn, hesitating like it couldn't decide if it actually wanted to move. But you were late for work, and patience wasn't exactly on the menu today. The light had barely turned green when the Ford finally screeched forward, turning right without so much as a flick of its blinker.

Not even surprised.

Okay, maybe calling this place a 'ghost town' was a bit dramatic, but it wasn't exactly buzzing with life either. A population of five thousand? It wasn't tiny, but small enough that you pretty much knew everyone, or at least recognized their faces.

You rip off another chunk of your breakfast, chewing thoughtfully as you kept her eyes on the road ahead.

The headquarters sat smack in the middle of town, like the town's claim to fame. Not that it had much else going for it, anyway. The place was known for one thing and one thing only: a team of agents who dealt with crime and shady stuff, navigating the waters of illegal activities with professional ease.

And you were one of them. FBI agent—living the dream. Except for mornings like this, you weren’t so sure. Some days you questioned all of it. Why didn't you go for Wall Street like every other uptight, middle-aged guy who loves his over priced suits and has a receding hairline? But, of course, you were not a man. And would never be a man. So, that was that, unfortunately.

Other days though? Absolutely loved it. The thrill, the purpose. It kept you going.

You slammed your car door shut, the headlights flickering as if saying goodbye. Your boots clicked on the pavement as you tossed her brown paper bag with trash into a nearby bin, finishing off the last bite of the bagel while juggling your bag and keys in one hand.

(Y/N) Thorne. Not exactly the name that struck fear into anyone's heart. You were, after all, everything someone would want in a woman: totally normal. And boring as hell.

"G'morning," you called out, voice rippling through the main office full of her co-workers as you scanned your ID and pressed the door open with your forearm. Inside, it was warmer — nothing fancy, just your typical government building. Functional, plain, and definitely not the kind of place that got decorated for Thanksgiving.

November in Jersey wasn't exactly charming. Sure, it had its cozy moments but it was mostly cold, wet, and kinda depressing. You shrugged off her trench coat, and tossed your bag onto the desk, just as Jayce swiveled around in his stool, that annoying smirk plastered across his face.

"Wow. You're late," he teased, his eyes darting to the clock behind her.

"Like, late-late. Late as hell."

You then shot him a look, knowing full well that you was over half an hour late. Unlike everyone else who was seated and working as usual.

"You think I don't know that? I got caught up in traffic," you say, the lie slipping out as easily as it always did on mornings like these. The truth? There was almost never traffic in Highland Parks. Maybe during the holidays or when something big was going on, but never on a random weekday morning.

You started unloading your personal bag, pulling out the essentials: a still-steaming insulated cup of coffee, pens, some files you’d taken come to look over, and your planner. Everything else was digital of course, but you liked having these things on hand. It just made you feel more grounded.

Jayce raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying her excuse. "Traffic? Don't tell me you're coming down with schizophrenia, (Y/N)."

You then rolled your eyes, brows pinching together. "You don't 'come down' with schizophrenia, Jayce. It's not a cold that comes and goes." You didn't bother looking up at him, already used to the back-and-forth banter. They both were close enough for this to be just another day in the office.

"That still doesn't explain whatever you've got smeared around your mouth," Jayce quipped, pointing at you like he'd just caught you in some criminal act.

You halted, then swiped at your lips, just now realizing the cream cheese from the bagel you were eating earlier had betrayed you. "Shut up."

Jayce spun back around to his dual monitors, both lit up with the usual chaos. One screen was a mess of opened unnamed files, highlighted sections jumping out at him like some kind of fucking neon nightmare. The other? A classified CIA document he probably shouldn't have access to but, hey, Jayce was Jayce. A pain in the ass sure, but damn good at what he did, and you could respect that at least.

You plopped into your chair and rolled it forward, the familiar hum of the workspace coming to life. Resting your head in your hand, and letting out a sigh that felt as if it had been building up for days on end. Sleeping through your alarm again. It was becoming a pattern, and you was starting to seriously think about just camping out here at headquarters.

At least then you wouldn't have to rush to work every other week because of your growing habits.

You glanced around the room. Everyone else was locked in, focused on their screens, their tasks. A hushed few conversations floated in the background — just the usual work chatter between people you’d known for years now. They were solid. Resilient. You felt lucky to be surrounded by a team you could count on, even on days like this where your brain felt like it was running dry.

You wiped away the last remnants of cream cheese from your lips, still mildly annoyed that Jayce had been the only one to point it out. Not that you wanted everyone in the office to make a big deal out of it, but seriously, not one person gave you a heads-up?

Jesus Christ. It was way too early to care about that kind of stuff, especially right now.

Outside, the sky hung heavy with thick clouds, the kind that obviously promised rainfall later — great just what you needed. You moved your hand over the cursor, pulling up the files for the marriage fraud case you’d been slogging through. It was equally as exciting as watching paint dry on a fence. But a job's a job, and no one ever said working for the government was supposed to be fun.

Your eyes scanned the screen, index finger clicking away as you moved through the organized files. Your routine, monotonous. It was keeping your hands busy, at least. If nothing else, the day had nowhere to go but up from here.

"The money transferred to the spouse was unlabeled, and we're talking a decent amount. Anywhere from a grand up to five grand. Normally, separate bank accounts wouldn't draw too much attention, but in this case it's a red flag." You say, half to yourself as you rummaged through the stuffed file drawer. One folder was delicately tucked under your chin, held in place as you flipped through files with your manicured fingers. Brows furrowed in concentration as you searched for a similar case.

Tax fraud cases were like the PP&J to your workload, with a few shady marriage fraud scenarios thrown in to mix things up. Sometimes the scandalous ones were entertaining enough to break the pattern, but this one? Torture.

Jayce stood nearby, leaning back against the spruce-wood counter, which was digging into his lower back. He took a slow sip of his iced oat-milk latte, listening to you work and ramble through your day's work. It had been a quiet morning, with nothing dramatic or exciting happening, which should've been a good thing.

Still, it left you with that uneasy feeling — like the calm before a storm.

You were never relaxed for this long. Clocked in for almost three hours and had surprisingly plowed through a solid amount of work, even with a fried brain that was practically begging for a nap. That was another thing you found weird. You were usually a mess by now, half-distracted or complaining about some new crisis.

The files slapped onto the counter with a loud thud as you set them aside, hands brushing together like you were dusting off the whole ordeal. Jayce’s eyes flicked to your bare hands: no ring, no sign of marriage or any serious relationship. You were always all work, never any talk about a significant other or anything personal.

You slowly sighed pushed your hair back from your face, shutting the file cabinet with a firm click and locking it for good measure. Sliding your personal key into your pocket, ready to move on from whatever boring task awaited you next.

"This Wren Staples woman is kind of smart. I mean," Jayce held up a hand before you could even start to question his logic, giving you that familiar look. "I'm not saying it's right, but if someone offered me five grand a month to stay silent and just show up to some fancy business dinners? You wouldn't have to ask me twice."

He paused, waiting for a reaction, but you just stared at him, face scrunched up like you couldn't decide if you was more irritated or confused. Clearly not amused. Jayce let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes like this conversation was nothing but a lost cause. Adjusting his belt, he gave it one last go, this time sounding more defeated than the first time.

"Forget it." He waved it off dismissively, taking a long sip of his drink while you mentally rubbed a hand down your face in pure frustration.

"Yeah, I will forget it," you say dryly. "Because if anyone heard you say that, you'd be stuck at the front desk while a janitor took your place. Or," you added, picking up your files, "you'd just be fired."

Jayce smirked, a dimple creasing his cheek. "You're obsessed with the idea of me getting fired, but who else would have your back when West over here starts breathing down your neck?"

At the mention of West, your mood took a nose-dive. Violet West — the co-worker from the literal pits of hell. If you had to sum her up in three words it, was be easy: haughty, a know-it-all, and self-indulgent.

You’d like to say you didn't hate West, but that would be a lie. And sure, lying wasn't illegal, but pretending to tolerate Violet felt criminal. The woman was all sharp words, choppy hair, and superiority complex wrapped in a suit.

"Yeah, you mean 'she-who-must-not-be-named'?" you mutter as you both walked down the dim hallways, the usual morning light blocked out by the overcast skies. Jayce snorted.

"What? Is she a forbidden topic now, Ms. Thorne?" Jayce raised an eyebrow, teasing as they headed back to the main room. You shot him a long side-glance, silently telling him to knock it off as they neared West's usual... territory.

You scanned your ID at the door, unlocking it with a beep and pushing it open for the both of them. Your expression blank, and voice deadpan.

“Just very, very taboo.”

You rip a piece of tape off the roll with your teeth, holding it between yours lips for a moment before carefully sticking it onto the document you were patching up. The team had already gone through a ridiculous amount of ink today, and printing another copy of this page would be a waste. A little tape, and it was good as new. Well, good enough. No one would notice unless they were trying to be a detective about it.

Smoothing the tape down with the pad of your thumb, you stood up and pushed your chair back with a small scrape. So far, this week wasn't too bad. It was only Tuesday, but still better than the disaster that was yesterday. Not that it mattered much — work was work, and that was that.

"Lunch started ten minutes ago, (Y/N)."

You turned to see Mel, stirring honey into her ginger tea, the spoon gently clinking against the glass. The smell hit you, and seconds in you were already fighting the urge to grimace. Tea wasn't your thing. It always left this weird aftertaste, like lukewarm juice that had been forgotten in a car on a hot day. Gross, but you get it.

Mel wasn't bad, though. Laid-back, easy to deal with, which was more than you could say about most people at the HQ. In your mind, everyone had something annoying about them, and you weren’t shy about digging for it. Nobody's perfect, why pretend?

You laid your stack of papers down, giving Mel a tight, thin-lined smile with a small shrug. "Who else is gonna organize our cases by date, importance, and agent?"

"You do know there are six other people working in this office, right?" Mel raised an eyebrow, amused but not surprised by your martyr complex.

You knew you were not technically responsible for everything. You weren’t dense. But every time someone else tried to handle the file-work, things ended up in a chaotic mess, and that drove you crazy. You’d rather just do it on your own, your way, even if it meant taking on more. Loosening your tie, slipping a finger into the knot and giving it a tug as you got back to sorting through the paperwork.

Policy guides? Tossed onto the pile on her left. Investigation files? Those got dropped into a drawer with a firm hip-check to shut it. Personnel records? Neatly tucked into a black folder. You had a system, and it worked.

"Exactly," the words came out as a drawl, not really in the mood for chit-chat as you worked through the stack. You still needed to collect some files, but that could wait until later, maybe even tomorrow. The week had been more relaxed since most of the tasks were in-office, which was honestly a relief. The days when public affairs or training sessions were on the agenda? Those were the ones that pushed you to the edge of madness.

As you started to walk away, Mel called after you, "Tell Jayce his phone's rung fifteen times in the past twenty minutes!"

Of course it had. Jayce avoided work calls like the plague.

You shut the door behind you and slipped a hand into your right pocket, pulling out your cellphone. It was mostly your work phone — you kept your personal life strictly separate. The idea of mixing the two was a disaster waiting to happen. Scrolling through your contacts, you found the number you were searching for, and tapped it. You needed to update the attorney general. Your boots clicked softly against the floor while stroding down the hallway, phone pressed to your ear.

It rang a couple of times before a voice answered. "FBI Legal Division."

You inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly to gather your thoughts before responding. Tone direct, professional. "Thorne, (Y/N), speaking. Just calling to update you. We've covered all files and documents this past week. Fingerprinting is being handled by Shimes, and the lab services are currently in progress. Everything else looks good for now. If anything changes, I'll let you know as soon as possible."

You kept it short and to the point, just the way it needed to be.

A satisfied hum came through the line. "Great work, I'll review the details and let you know if I need anything else."

You thanked your attorney, lowering the phone as you pushed open the doors to the lounge. You had about twenty minutes to eat which was more than enough, though the thought of food didn't exactly thrill you. When your mind was full of work, your stomach didn't have room to complain. Sliding your cellular device into your pocket, you noticed a few co-workers giving you a glance.

"Where've you been?" Powder asked, nosy as ever. Powder Shimes was hunched over, chewing on what looked like the remains of a sad, microwaved breakfast burrito —probably from hours ago— and washing it down with a can of Dr. Pepper that looked far too room temperature. Was that ketchup on her burrito?

Ekko tilted his head, giving her a once-over. "Probably the HQ. She looks pretty pissed."

You rolled your eyes and yanked open the lounge fridge. Taking your time to riffle through the bagged lunches, each marked with large initials to avoid any office food theft drama. You grabbed your pre-prepped Caesar salad —the one you didn't have time for the day before— and a small bottle of water.

"Where's Jayce?" you asked, settling into a chair a seat away from the two of them. You ignored their commentary about your supposed "pissed off" look. It wasn't like you were mad, but your resting face had always given off those vibes. "Matter of fact, where's everyone at?"

Powder and Ekko were always together, so their presence wasn't exactly surprising. Mel was eating at her desk while taking phone calls. Jayce was MIA for reasons unknown, even though he was usually first to hog the entire couch in the break lounge. Caitlyn popped in sometimes after training, but you hadn't really expected to see her today.

You popped the lid off the salad and grabbed a plastic fork from the tin holder nearby. As for West? Well, she wasn't here either, which was a relief. Lunch without Violet West around was a small victory in itself. It wasn't like seeing her would brighten your day. If anything, the distance was a blessing.

You stabbed at the Caesar salad, spearing a few leaves and bringing them to your mouth. A quiet lunch was all you really needed right now.

"Caitlyn went to grab some stuff from Home Depot. Something about the sink breaking. Something with the piping. I don't know," Ekko shrugged, digging into his half-full peanut butter cup ice cream with a plastic spoon. Meanwhile, Powder took another horrific bite of her ketchup-slathered burrito, opening yet another packet of ketchup like it was a delicacy.

You uncomfortably clenched your jaw, doing your absolute best to ignore Powder’s obnoxious eating habits. She gulped down her food with an unnecessary loud sigh and crushed her soda can with a loud crack. "Like Ekko said, Cait’s at the store. Jayce? Off doing whatever, said he'd be back after lunch. Vi?" Powder raised her hands once mentioning the girl in mock surrender, a crumpled napkin in her palm. "No idea where she is, and honestly? Don't care."

You picked at the chicken in the Caesar salad, chewing slowly. You really needed to up your protein intake, especially with how grueling training days had been. But Caesar salads? The only kind you could enjoy without wanting to throw the bowl out the window. "So, it's just you two?"

"Yup," Ekko confirmed, licking his spoon clean.

Spectacular. Stuck with these two for the next fifteen minutes. Not that long, but in moments like this, you found herself wondering how they were the same people she did real-world investigations with. Ekko, a grown man, devouring ice cream like a five-year-old, and Powder, well.

"That's disgusting, Shimes," you deadpanned, eyeing the ungodly amount of ketchup Powder was consuming. Ekko barely stifled a laugh, grinning against his spoon. You rubbed your temples, trying to ease the headache that had started creeping in. Who knew the break room could actually make things worse?

Powder scoffed, leaning back in her chair, her work jacket tossed aside. Now just in a wrinkled button-down, she looked far too comfortable for someone whose eating habits were under fire.

"Like I care. That was delicious. I'd give it like an eight out of ten— only because it was kinda cold in the center."

That earned a grimace from you. You did not need to know how cold her burrito was or how much she enjoyed it in great detail. As much as Jayce could be a pain, you’d trade this scenery for his company any day. At least Jayce wasn't… this.

Just as you were starting to imagine a more peaceful lunch break, a gruff female voice broke through your thoughts. "Thanks for saving me a seat."

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor made you freeze. Ekko shot you a knowing look, and Powder’s shitty grin only widened.

"Surprise guest!" Powder announced with a clap, running a hand through her hair like she was prepping a show.

Surprise guest? More like surprise loss of appetite. Because who else would be sitting next to you, shoulder to shoulder, than Violet West herself. No invitation, no polite "is this seat taken?" just West, plopping down like she owned the place.

Your fork hovered above your salad, chewing coming to an abrupt stop. You stared down at the greens, the moment of peace you had been savoring now utterly ruined.

You've got to be kidding me.

Three shots rang out. You adjusted your earplugs with one hand and tightened your grip on the Glock 19M with the other. The gloves were pulled snug over your hands, and you squeezed the gun a little harder than usual. You didn't bother with safety glasses during training. What was the point? You didn't wear them on the job.

Agents like you often practiced shooting all kinds of targets — stationary, moving, from cover to cover, on the move. The whole deal. Training days like these were crucial for staying sharp, and even though they ran these drills once a week, you always tried to push yourself, especially with your Glock. The gun had a way of making your skin crawl every time you fired it, but you had to be good with it. You hadn't had to use it much in the field, thankfully, but when you did, it never felt great.

"Not bad, Thorne," Caitlyn muttered as she patted your wrist, adjusting it slightly and motioning for you to fix your posture. You hadn't even realized you were holding the gun so close to your body until she gave that look. A lump of saliva slid down your throat and you nodded. Caitlyn was a solid instructor. She didn't sugarcoat anything, if you were doing something wrong, she told you straight up, step by step, how to fix it.

You deeply appreciated that.

The days rotated every week. Monday meant outdoor training, Tuesday indoor, then back outdoors on Wednesday, and so on from there. Weeks of drills. Not your personal favorite, but it was part of the job, and you had to be ready to reach for your waist when things went sideways.

You bit your cheek, thinking about how unpredictable this town was. The citizens too. Not that you were any better — you weren't exactly a poster child for predictability yourself. You let out a breath, firmly holding the handle of the Glock as if it could settle your nerves.

Caitlyn handed you a pair of safety glasses, breaking your focus. "You need to wear these. None of that 'I'm too good for this' nonsense. If you lose an eye because you're being stubborn, you're not touching a firearm again. Take them."

Irritable but not wrong. You weren’t offended. Rumor had it someone lost an eye once because they ignored safety, though that was before her time here at the HQ.

"Thanks," you say, slowly taking the glasses from her hand. She stomped off, her heavy boots thudding against the ground as her vest shifted with each step. You put on the glasses and popped your knuckles, already feeling that strain in your hands that would stick until the end of the month.

Nearby, Powder was lounging with her legs spread, while Jayce gnawed on a marshmallow-studded protein bar. Powder’s face was slick with sweat as she gulped water, some strands of her azure hair sticking to her forehead. Ekko was swapping out his gun, peeling off his thick vector gloves.

You placed your weapon down and rolled your tense shoulders, feeling a knot in your neck release. The relief was short-lived, though, she glanced over at Caitlyn, who was now standing in front of West. Another knot formed in your gut, this one a mix of annoyance and envy. You clenched her jaw unconsciously.

Of course, Caitlyn was probably praising the hell out of West. She was the best with the weapons out of everyone, aside from Caitlyn herself. Powder was more into forensic work, Ekko handled lab services, and Jayce was a crime-solving machine, and you?

Just... good. At a little bit of everything. You were organized, which was great, but that was also Mel’s job. A deep inhale filled your lungs, and you sighed heavily. You were useful — a great help, a mix of skills, but nothing extraordinary.

Ekko’s voice snapped you back to reality. "Dude, instead of choking back a hundred protein bars, try starting with eggs in the morning. Those are food, but God damn."

He was talking to Jayce, who was hunched over, elbows on his knees. You resisted the urge to critique his posture. You didn't, but that was primarily because it would make you a hypocrite. Caitlyn had just corrected yours. You slipped off your own gloves, then decided to stand and stretch your legs, feeling more awake on your feet.

"Eggs are nasty as hell," Jayce waved Ekko off, and he shrugged, half agreeing as he lazily sipped his water.

"Cottage cheese? Tofu? Greek yogurt?" Ekko continued, trying to offer solid protein options, but Jayce’s chewing slowed at his suggestions. Even though Ekko’s advice came from someone who clearly knew what he was talking about, Jayce’s eyes narrowed, his tanned skin glistening under the fluorescent lights.

A firm smack on your back snapped you upright before you could even think about it, body reacting on instinct. Caitlyn’s voice echoed in your mind, reminding you about your posture, and for a split second, you wondered if you'd hunched over under the weight of your responsibilities again. But when you turned to see who had hit you, it wasn't Caitlyn and her sharp, fine eyebrows. Instead, you were met by a different pair — thick and scarred along the edges.

West.

Your stomach dropped. Caitlyn, you respected. Caitlyn had the right to correct your posture, whether in training or in office. Violet, on the other hand, had not. Jayce could get away with being a little touchy sometimes, and Mel, if it was educational, but Violet? No. Never.

"You aren't a Pilates teacher," you say in a calm, yet perfectly passive-aggressive tone. Your brows furrowed as you tried to smooth out the back of the suit jacket you had on, trying to ease any trace of Violet’s unwanted touch. In another timeframe, you might've smacked her hand away, but today you settled for being politely firm.

Violet, of course, gave you another pat, this one being more condescending than the first. "Another profession? I'd be making bank. Every housewife would be in my classes," she replied, her voice smug and dripping with fake charm.

Your skin prickled with irritation, patience running thin by the second. You would've given everything for earplugs at the moment. The sound of Violet’s voice was enough to make your head throb. Meanwhile, Jayce, ever the opportunist, chose this exact moment to stay silent, focusing more on his marshmallow protein bar than on you, who was clearly about to bite down hard enough to crack a molar.

"You'd be making below minimum wage. No one would willingly attend those classes," you dragged out, voice flat and uninterested, though the tension in your jaw spoke volumes. Violet didn't have to do much to get under your skin, and honestly, she didn't even have to try. She was the walking embodiment of something that made your veins itch.

"Realistically, that is."

Violet studied your face, noticing the way your expression had tightened, a visible vein of pure irritation. It wasn't like you abhorrd Violet — if you did, you would've moved locations a long time ago. But there was a fine line between tolerance and whatever the hell this was. Tolerable, in your world, meant zero contact. Silence. Absolute distance. And right now, West was far too close for comfort.

"Realistically, a business run by someone confident in their growth is more likely to succeed than someone who's just a follower."

Violet’s smug response hit you like a match to gasoline. You could feel the heat of your frustration under your skin, a familiar sensation that always seemed to bubble up during your rare, but tense interactions. Most days, you two kept your distance, sticking to cold, judgmental glances. But on days like this, when they were forced into the same space, it was inevitable snarky exchanges, backhanded compliments, and that thick, suffocating air of competition.

You bit back the flood of insults threatening to slip out. Pressing your chapped lips together, irritated by the dry, rough feeling but too focused on the current situation to care. "You can't speak from experience," you finally muttered, knowing full well that it was a weak retort. You weren’t in the mood to come up with anything smart. Keeping it safe was the safest bet for your sanity right now.

Violet, naturally, didn't miss a beat. "I'll have that privilege one day." she flicked her ID badge with a cocky flourish, the engraved letters of her last name catching in the light. Her face was twisted into a self-satisfied smirk, the kind that made you want to roll her eyes so hard they'd get stuck.

There was nothing motivating about Violet’s arrogance. Only aggravating.

You cleared your throat, forcing a thin smile.

"Fun talking to you, as always," you said, determined to get the last word in, as usual. Your exchanges were like a never-ending thumb war, both of you pushing for dominance without truly getting anywhere. Two years of this, and absolutely nothing had changed.

Violet smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "I'm flattered, but I can't help wondering if you're considering stand up comedy for those with lobotomies." She punctuated the remark with a firm hand on your shoulder.

Your stomach churned at the touch, and you shrugged off Violet’s hand like it was a spider crawling on you. Resisting the urge to vomit right then and there, you reached down for your Glock, thumb brushing over the magazine release as it could somehow end this insufferable conversation.

You needed to reload, which at least gave you a reason to focus on something else.

"Be my guest," you said flatly, eyes fixated on the gun, not on the smug asshole hovering over you.

Her lips quirked again in amusement, but she stayed quiet, watching as you methodically reloaded the 19M, clicking the slide back in place with more force than necessary. You were hyper-focused now, anything to block out Violet’s presence.

You slipped the gloves back on, fastening the Velcro tightly, mentally preparing yourself to get back to training.

"Training's over for the day, you know," Violet said, casually reminding you. She was annoyingly familiar with your habits on the range, probably because she always kept an eye on you, just waiting to see if you messed up.

You didn't bother looking up. "I'm aware everyone else is gone. I prefer extra training."

"You hate training," Violet replied, her tone laced with smug knowingness. She clearly enjoyed pushing your buttons, and right now, you kinda wound tighter than the Velcro on your gloves.

"Like you'd know know." you simply say, cocking your head to crack your neck.

Your raised the Glock and fired at the nearest dummy, ending the conversation with a bang.

The sweet relief of coffee never failed to satisfy Violet, even on days when everything else seemed to fall apart. She let her calloused fingers linger on the coffee maker as it hummed, her other hand twiddling a packet of sweetener absentmindedly. With nothing pressing on her mind or plate today, she pulled the pitcher from the machine and dragged her New York embroidered mug forward. The coffee poured steadily, just below the rim, and she tore the sweetener packet, dumping it in with practiced precision.

But before she could savor a sip, her forearm nudged open the lounge door, and—splash. Hot coffee cascaded over her freshly pressed suit, drenching her work pants and top in a scalding, sticky mess.

What—the fuck?

Violet's eyes slowly drifted down to the damage, the burning liquid stinging her skin beneath the fabric.

Her grip tightened on the mug as she looked up, fury already simmering behind her eyes.

And there, frozen in shock with wide eyes, was none other than you. Of course. Violet could see the words forming in your head before they even left your mouth; you never missing an opportunity to make things worse.

"Watch where you're going next time," you grumbled, tone dismissive, like the whole thing was somehow Violet’s fault. You had also whispered something under your breath, and it couldn't have been good. The coffee dripped silently between them, pooling on the floor and marking its territory on Violet’s ruined clothes. She had managed to get through the rain this morning without so much as a spot, but your clumsiness had managed to wreck her in mere seconds.

Violets’s scarred upper lip twitched in irritation. Was she being blamed? Really? "What are you in hurry for, the last few munchkins in the fridge? You don't exactly look busy, Thorne.”

Your eyebrows drew down slowly, eyes narrowing in offended disbelief. Violet might've found it amusing to mess with you in any other circumstance, but right now? Right now, it really irked her. She was being blamed for this, and she wasn't going to let it slide.

"If you've got time to throw insults, why don't you go and do Mel’s job again? After all, you went to school for years to play assistant at headquarters, right?" Violet’s words were sharp, deliberately cutting. It was a bitchy move, but she was indeed not in the mood.

You’d had been riding her nerves all week.

Monday, you’d shredded Violet’s files by "mistake," chalking it up to be tired. Tuesday, you’d nearly wrecked her Glock 17M and tried to convince Caitlyn it was just a mix-up. Wednesday, there were dirty looks and backhanded compliments in the middle of a meeting. And yesterday? You’d almost derailed an entire investigation with your impatience.

Two years of this, and it was finally pushing Violet to her limit. It wasn't just competitive banter anymore — it was real animosity. Violet had always tried to keep things light, a little teasing here and there, but you? You downright hated her or something, and it was getting mutual.

You, ever so unfazed, didn't even glance at the mess you’d made. "Who pissed in your coffee this morning?" you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And don't worry about how I handle my tasks around here. Why don't you go cozy up to Caitlyn while I keep things easy and simple for you? Sound good?"

Violet clenched her jaw, her fingers tight around the now empty mug. This woman...

"You've got a lot of nerve," Violet snapped, her voice low but sharp, each word deliberate. "I don't have an issue with you, but for some reason, you're always trying to get on my bad side. I try to be halfway decent with you, but you always find a way to ruin that too." Violet stepped closer, exaggerating her words, hoping it would hit you harder. For someone who walks in heeled boots everyday, the shorter woman still hadn't quite figured out how to own them.

Before you could fire back, Violet cut you off.

"And if you want to accuse me of cozying up to Caitlyn, then take a good look at yourself, Thorne. Your surname fits you precisely. You're like a thorn to someone's side."

You let out a sharp huff, clearly caught off guard by Violet's sudden willingness to stand her ground. You weren’t used to being confronted, especially by someone you considered to be an annoyance. Violet could see the gears turning, the effort you put into keeping your voice steady as she shot back.

"At least I have a good relationship with everyone. You pick and choose who you talk to. You're not down to earth, (Y/N). You're just a shitty person."

You felt your blood simmering, but you kept your expression neutral, even as the insult landed. By habit loosening your tie, fingers trembling just slightly with adrenaline, and tossed your now-empty mug into the trash bin by the door without a second thought.

The satisfying crack of glass echoed through the room, but she didn't care.

Not about the mug, not about your words. Not now.

She brushed past you, not sparing a second glance as she headed toward the restroom. The coffee was already soaking into her clothes, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to her skin. She peeled off her ruined pullover as she walked, letting it fall down her arms before she entered the bathroom, where she was greeted by her reflection.

Violet stared at herself for a moment, hair falling messily over one eye. It had grown longer than she liked, brushing just past her nose slightly. She pushed it away impatiently and leaned over the counter, scrubbing at her button-down with frustration. It was practically see through at the stain.

"Come on," she muttered through gritted teeth, working at the larger stains with more force than necessary. The top had cost her over fifty bucks, and the thought of it being ruined because of your clumsiness made her blood boil. If it had been some cheap shirt, she wouldn't have lost her cool like that, but it wasn't.

"Fucking come out, Jesus." Violet’s voice cracked slightly as she scrubbed harder, knowing full well she was only making it worse. But she couldn't walk back into the HQ with this mess on her. Not after what had just happened. She wasn't about to give you the satisfaction of seeing her like this.

As the stains slowly faded, her mind raced. Were you insecure? Violet didn't know, and frankly, she didn't care. The woman was a confusing mess of contradictions, and Violet had no desire to decipher her. All she knew was that you got under her skin, and made her head throb with frustration. An impatient groan escaped her lips as she managed to get some of the deeper stains out, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

Violet stared at the shirt, feeling like the whole situation was ridiculous. And yet, here she was, scrubbing out coffee stains and stewing over someone who should've been nothing more than an office inconvenience.

The urge to tell you off bubbled up again, but Violet bit it back. Sure, she was pissed, but wasn't trying to escalate this any further. She had done the right thing by standing up for herself, like anyone else would. There was no point in pushing things to the point of no return, where they might both end up fired and jobless.

She slung her ruined pullover over her shoulder and walked out of the women's restroom, her steps heavier with the weight of her lingering frustration.

She wasn't about to let it go, not completely, but she wasn't going to make it worse either.

If nothing else, she thought, I'm not worse than her. That was for sure. Violet had rattled her pride a little with the teasing, but it wasn't like she'd gone overboard. In fact, if you had any sense of humor, they could've had some fun with the back-and-forth. But no, the hostility from you felt different, like it was more personal. You ribbed Ekko and Powder too at times, but with Violet, it felt deeper, like there was something else fueling it.

As she exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping, she made her way down the hallways of the HQ, her mind still buzzing with the aftershocks of their argument.

"That was my favorite shirt," she muttered under her breath, glancing down at the faint coffee stains that still clung to the fabric.

You grimace, hesitating before fully letting your eyes take in the crime scene photos clipped to the case folder in front of you. One side is filled with notes detailing the body discovered, the evidence collected by officers and K-9 units, while the other holds the photographs. It’s never easy looking at the dead, but this case in particular —one involving children and animals— settles like a weight in your stomach.

Just suck it up and focus.

Jayce is out today, which means his ridiculous pile of files is now your responsibility. For someone who jokes around constantly and eats while reviewing these kind of things, he’s got a stomach of fucking steel. You, on the other hand, find yourself letting out a quiet, uneasy strings of grunts as you shuffle a set of dated photos into an envelope hastily. You barely register your own signature as you scrawl it across the front before tossing it into the small brown box beside you leveled on Jayce’s chair.

The barely touched coffee on your desk doesn’t help your mood. Mel had been nice enough to bring drinks from the local coffee shop for everyone, but yours? It tasted watered down, and the undissolved brown sugar left a grainy texture that made it hard to enjoy. You had set it aside, already planning to let it get cold so you could toss it out without feeling guilty.

Bad coffee is worse than no coffee. You’d rather suffer through exhaustion than force yourself to drink something made by a barista who clearly didn’t know a basic coffee rule: to stir the damn sugar while it’s hot.

You bite the inside of your cheek, inhaling deeply, forcing yourself back into work mode.

Outside, thunder grumbles in the distance, and the printers rattle beside you, filling the silence of an otherwise empty space. The office is quieter than usual, the seat next to you noticeably unoccupied. Rainy Novembers are typical in Highland Parks, but in all honesty you don’t have much of an opinion on the weather. You spend most of your time indoors anyway.

Working.

Your stomach interrupts your train of thought, rumbling loudly in protest. You unconsciously glance at the digital clock near Jayce’s empty desk, its red numbers flickering back at you. Lunch passed a while ago. Not that it mattered. After spending hours handling Jayce’s case files, your appetite had somewhat disappeared. Your meal, along with your Diet Coke, was probably still sitting untouched in the lounge fridge.

Powder and Ekko are out training one-on-one with Caitlyn. Not your business, but you’re curious anyway. You always are. Why didn’t you ever get one-on-one training? Everyone else did.

Are you lacking something?

You chew on your thumbnail, the thought making an unwelcome home in your head. This always happened.

A sudden tap on the top of your head yanks you from your inner turmoil. You glance over your shoulder, expecting Viktor, the guy who fixes the printers and every other broken thing in HQ. Jayce is good friends with him, so, you are as well in that case. But instead, it’s Mel. Your shoulders loosen slightly. You’ve been tense all week.

“Not exactly the best way to get my attention, Mel,” you say, stacking some of the finished files on your desk, head still heavy with lingering doubt.

“Lighten up a bit. You’re such a pessimist,” Mel hums, dropping the stack of documents onto your desk. “You should go eat. I saw you skipped lunch. Plus, Jayce can finish the rest tomorrow. You’ve done more than enough.”

You exhale, considering her words. Why didn’t you just work a role like Mel? She had a clear job, an essential purpose. Meanwhile, you felt like you spent most of your time quietly filling in the gaps — like a seat filler, temporary, replaceable. All that school for what?

A stubborn voice in your head protests the comment about your pessimism, but your hunger wins out. You push back your chair and stand, rolling your shoulders to shake off the stiffness.

“You can take the file box then. I’ll be back.” Grabbing your ID lanyard, you stride out of the office, making your way through the mostly empty space.

The walk down the same hallway you’d been pacing for two years somehow felt longer every day. Realistically, nothing had changed. It was the same damn stretch of floor, the same fluorescent lights buzzing above. But lately, the need to move your feet, to just get to where you were going, had started to feel like a chore.

You had three keys to this building: one for the main office where the bulk of the work happened, another for the lounge, and the third just to get into the damn building in the first place. Underwhelming. Your pay was the same as Jayce’s, even Ekko’s. You were making more than both Powder and Mel combined.

So why did it still feel like you were scraping for something?

You pushed open the lounge door with your elbow, only to immediately regret it.

Violet.

A grumble of annoyance rumbled in the back of your throat as she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at you. Her cool, ashy-blue eyes flicked to you for only a moment, but it was enough to make your skin prickle uncomfortably.

It felt like every time a coworker looked at you, it was out of pity, not respect. As if all the work you put in was just something to be tolerated, not acknowledged. The thought made your heeled boots feel loose, like you were one wrong step away from rolling your ankle under the weight of Violet’s occasional, unimpressed glances.

Why was she even here?

Yes, this was the employee lounge, but she never lingered here long. And yet, here she was. You weren’t even sure if she had food, and she definitely wasn’t making coffee.

You ignored her gaze, forcing yourself toward the fridge. Your hands were already clammy before you saw her, but now they were straight up sweaty. The cool air from the fridge was a small relief as you reached for your neatly labeled chicken and lettuce wrap, along with your untouched sealed Diet Coke.

It had been this way ever since the coffee incident. Ever since you’d —“accidentally”— ruined an entire month’s worth of her research.

West had actually stopped making jokes around you.

At first, that satisfied you. But now? Now, it made your gut feel like a crumpled-up sticky note.

Had you actually liked the attention? No. Absolutely not. Jayce spoke to you every day, cracked his ridiculous jokes around you, so it wasn’t that. And it wasn’t about communication. You and Violet didn’t even work in the same department. You weren’t exactly friends, either. Strictly coworkers. Two people who knew just enough about each other’s flaws to be annoying and pick at them.

So why was she bothering you so much?

Your flimsy fingers tightened around your wrap as Violet finally looked away. But she didn’t move. Didn’t eat. Didn’t make coffee. Just existed. Silently.

Judgment was awful, but silent judgment? That was even worse.

“Can you quit watching me like that?” you snapped before you could stop yourself, your voice sharp with the bitterness that always seemed to linger between you two. “It’s weird. And aren’t you supposed to be working?”

Violet barely reacted, she just blinked at you, unimpressed.

“Lunch ended three hours ago,” you added, “unless you’re digging for Caitlyn’s crumbs.”

Your jaw clenched as you unwrapped your lunch, your teeth sinking slightly into your torn up bottom lip. Uncalled for. You knew that. And Violet knew exactly how to weaponize the moment.

“Thanks for the reminder, Thorne,” she said, her voice steady but laced with something biting. “But I actually don’t have to make that effort. Cait pays attention to me without me having to act like some crazy addict who thrives off her validation.”

Your fingers stilled.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t said worse to her before. The difference? Violet never hid behind her words. She always said them looking you dead in the eye, unwavering, direct.

The comment shouldn’t have hit a soft spot, but it did.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to play it off, pretending it didn’t get under your skin.

“You know me so well,” you muttered with a strained chuckle, though your jaw ached with the effort of keeping it together.

Because deep down, you knew exactly where your problem with Violet had started.

It wasn’t out of nowhere.

You’d been intimidated by her from the moment she got the job —without even needing an interview. She made more than you right off the bat. Caitlyn warmed up to her almost immediately. It wasn’t like Violet had ever rubbed it in your face, but envy was something you never handled well.

Do this better. Do that better. Finish this. Try harder. Ask to do more.

Violet ran a hand down the front of her work suit to smooth out the cotton. Ever since the coffee incident, she’d switched to wearing black button-downs under her blazers, likely to avoid another purposeful coffee disaster.

“You don’t exactly make it hard to read you,” she mused, her voice irritatingly casual. “Especially when you have a vein bulging from your forehead every time you see me.”

Your first instinct was to snap back. Who wouldn’t be irritated when you think everyone is your friend? But you knew better. And honestly? You didn’t have the energy for another round of verbal sparring this week either.

Jayce was out. Your workload was heavier than usual. You hadn’t had coffee, and you hadn’t eaten all day.

So, instead of feeding into it, you focused on your food. You took a bite from the edge of your wrap, careful not to let the contents spill from the sides. It hurt to open your mouth too wide. Your lips had been painfully chapped for a month now. February was creeping closer, and with it came dry skin, exhaustion, and the growing desire to sleep at your desk instead of work.

Your bottom lip had split more times than you could count in the past week, but you hadn’t done much to fix it either. No time for chapstick when you could barely keep up with everything else.

Violet had noticed.

You always got like this in the winter; pushier, more irritable. You weren’t as unbearable when the weather warmed up, but your attitude toward her never thawed either. You were always on edge around her, always competing, always watching.

She had caught you staring the day Caitlyn pulled her aside to discuss a raise, the same day you had taken on extra side gigs and hadn’t gotten so much as a mention. She had seen you fist your hair at your desk after downing your fifth cup of coffee. She had been on the receiving end of your little retaliations, the way you’d ruin her things in ways so small they could almost be called accidents.

Violet had always noticed.

“A chicken wrap with a side of blood,” she mused lightly, resting her hip against the counter.

Your chewing slowed for a beat before resuming, brows furrowing just slightly. You still curled and coated your lashes every morning for work with an older tube of mascara you couldn’t seem to let go, still maintained some things about yourself, but you weren’t oblivious. You knew you looked rough lately.

“You seriously need chapstick,” Violet continued, eyeing your lips with something between amusement and concern. “That’s gotta hurt.”

It was the first semi-joke she’d made around you since November. It wasn’t even really a joke, but it was… easier to hear than the usual biting remarks.

You swallowed your food and huffed. “My lips are none of your business, nor your concern. I’m applying chapstick just fine. It’s allergies.”

Wrong.

Allergies were the least of your problems. You had been biting your lips raw and were probably vitamin deficient in more ways than one. Even Jayce had commented on it the other day, asking if you were cosplaying as a grumpy vampire or some other nonsense.

Violet scoffed. “Are you looking to eat your lunch or the skin off your lips?” She rubbed her own lips absently, likely remembering the thin scar that stretched across her upper lip from training. “You’re running on nothing but caffeine. Have you forgotten what real food tastes like?”

You scowled, cutting her off before she could continue. “Why are you in here?”

Violet blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the abrupt change in conversation.

“I mean, I could be just as annoying, but I’m not in the mood, West.”

She raised an eyebrow, then shook her head with a small smirk, arms crossing over her chest. Your eyes hesitated for just a second, catching the way the layers of her uniform —button-down and blazer— did nothing to hide the toned muscle beneath them.

What kind of moron actually wore both their blazer inside HQ?

“Why?” she taunted. “Because you’re finally getting a taste of your own medicine? Or because Jayce isn’t here today to defend you?”

Your jaw clenched.

“Are you fucking serious?” you huffed, your voice laced with disbelief. “You think Jayce not being here affects how I feel?”

The defensiveness in your tone was embarrassingly obvious, and Violet knew it. Her lips quirked upward, her smirk deepening.

“Well,” she dragged the word out in fake thought, pursing her lips in a way that made your eye twitch. “Can you blame me? Your only real friend isn’t here, and now you’re just moping around HQ. Moping around with your head down, and your ass up.”

“Do not say that,” you snapped, your irritation spiking.

Violet grinned like she had just won a prize. “Really? You draw the line at a simile?”

Your brows furrowed. “A what? That’s a metaphor, you slow beet.”

Violet should have been offended. I mean, you had just called her slow, but instead, she froze for half a second, her expression shifting to something almost amused.

“…Did you just call me a beet?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned. “A beet-root. For a choppy haircut, you’d think you’d at least change the color to redeem yourself. You look like a damn beet.”

Audrey’s lips twisted into a half-smirk, half-grin.

“Wow, (Y/N),” she murmured. “Did you just make a joke?”

Your stomach dropped.

Your pride plummeted.

She thought you were joking. Violet—Violet fucking West—thought you had joked with her?

The realization made your grip tighten around your soda can, your lips pressing inward as if disgusted by yourself. You wanted to grab the words back, throw them out, insist that you meant that as an insult, not a joke.

But you couldn’t.

And that grin on her face? That damn grin? (that damn grin...😼)

It made you want to rip your hair out.

“Never-fucking-mind.”

Violet undid the cuffs of her button-down, rolling up the sleeves until the fabric no longer restricted her movements. Tattoo work peeking out. The uniform was fine. Professional, sleek, practical, but nobody actually liked wearing it. Not in the HQ.

Across the office, Jayce’s voice rang out, louder than necessary, pulling her attention. She glanced up briefly, watching as he bantered with one of the techs. Jayce was easy to get along with. Smart, good with computers, and a complete slacker when given the chance. She had no issue with him personally. When the two of them worked together, they wasted time more often than not, but when Jayce worked with you? Somehow, he managed to joke around and get things done. Maybe that’s why Caitlyn didn’t mind having his desk right next to yours.

Violet exhaled in amusement but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t in the office much, her job kept her busy elsewhere. Restocking gear, replenishing ammunition, training the interns who wanted to join the department someday. It was a privilege, but it was also pretty exhausting. Still, she knew she was the favorite around here, and that privilege came with its own set of complications.

Caitlyn had once commented on it —on you and her— during a routine weapons inventory.

“Everything good between you and Thorne? You don’t seem close, but your work styles mesh well. You’re both dedicated.”

The statement had been so off-base she almost laughed. Close? Not even remotely. But that wasn’t on Violet.

You had been different lately. More distant.

No spilled espressos on her desk, no mysteriously shredded files, no petty, one-sided beef getting in the way of the workday. Odd.

Then again, you had been odd lately in general.

The banter had lessened. Sure, a few snide remarks here and there, but the tantrums, as Violet fondly called them, had also significantly decreased. She wasn’t sure if she found that concerning or relieving.

Casually, her gaze drifted across the office until it landed on you.

You sat with your legs crossed, the tip of your heeled boot absently twisting under your desk. Your trench coat hung over the back of your chair as it normally did. You only wore it when the building’s heater was busted or if you had gotten caught in the rain.

Pencil skirt. Off-white ironed button-down. Navy tie. Black pantyhose.

Mel didn’t always bother with the extra layers or formalities, but you did.

Violet huffed at the realization. You had fashion preferences, apparently.

Funny. And a little uncanny, imagining you caring about anything other than being annoyed, irritated, or outright pissed. That’s all you were to her: a tightly wound ball of something pent up and ready to just snap.

Though… she did sort of pity you at times. Emphasis on 'at times'.

You turned in your chair, handing Jayce a stack of printed files, speaking lowly to him before refocusing on your own work.

Violet continued watching, still as an observer. Bored. You, Jayce, Mel, and Viktor held the office together while she spent most of her time outside of it. She only came in once a week, just enough to notice that, despite all your efforts, you were stretching yourself too thin.

You made things harder for yourself. She knew that.

Her gaze dropped, almost unconsciously, to your legs.

She blinked.

Weird.

She had never really looked at you before, not past all the other stuff; the petty rivalry, the constant need to one-up her, the way you made every little thing a competition.

It wasn’t exactly easy to look beyond that.

And yet, she hesitated before glancing back, this time without moving her head, just her eyes.

You weren’t… unattractive.

Her fingers tensed slightly against the armrest of her chair before she shifted, leaning into her palm instead.

You had good facial symmetry. Nice skin — tired, sure, but even Jayce had made jokes about you cosplaying a grumpy vampire lately. It was funny, but to you? You were furious, but hey, you started to apply chapstick more often throughout shifts. Your makeup was always neatly applied, and your uniform fit well—not too tight, not too loose.

You also cared about appearances. Not just your own, but others’.

Violet silently grinned at the memory of your voice echoing through the office just a few weeks ago:

“So unprofessional. It’s embarrassing. Don’t wear a badge and walk around in saggy pants. You went to university for what? To not know how to measure your own waist? Gosh.”

You’d aimed it at Jayce after he had opted for a more relaxed fit, but your commentary extended to everyone who slacked off in dress code.

Violet exhaled slowly.

Then, unfortunately, you caught her staring.

Her body tensed as your gaze flickered to hers, and she immediately cleared her throat, shifting to cover her mouth like she had just zoned out. Definitely not like she had just been looking at you for longer than necessary. Longest than she had ever looked at you, really.

You furrowed your brows, shook your head slightly, then returned to work.

Violet sighed, pressing further into her palm.

Her eyes shifted to Mel as she strode across the office, posture perfect, heels clicking at a steady pace, files balanced in one arm. A sweetheart. Objectively, Mel was a beautiful woman, but Violet didn’t know her too well. Certainly not as well as she knew you.

When Mel passed, she caught sight of you again, now looking down at paperwork with those stupid reading glasses perched on your nose. Looking like you were gonna pop a blood vessel.

They looked ridiculous on you, far too big for your face, because Jayce had so helpfully gotten you the wrong size.

“Didn’t know they’d be big on you, man. Relax, relax.”

Indeed, you did not relax. You had thrown a fit.

It was… kinda cute.

Violet blinked, her lips parting slightly.

What? No.

She must be losing her mind. She straightened in her chair, biting the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t blind, she could admit when someone looked good — but this was you.

You, of all people. The epitome of stress and irritation in her damned life. So what if you were pretty? Every woman was pretty in their own way. It didn’t mean anything.

Violet forced her gaze away, focusing on the stack of paperwork she had been handed—a rare task for her, but one she had to do nonetheless. Maybe she was just stressed. Maybe her cycle was about to start. Definitely not you.

Another week passed. Your workload was heavier than usual, keeping you out of Jayce’s business, out of Mel’s, even out of Viktor’s. Caitlyn had given you a detailed to-do list. You. Not Jayce, not Ekko, not West. Agent Thorne.

You had come into work on Thursday morning already exhausted, having snoozed through all three of your alarms. You almost knew this week was going to end badly. Your track record with jinxing yourself was near flawless. But for once, it didn’t.

Your hands hovered over the case file on your desk. A fresh case. Not one of Jayce’s hand-me-downs, not something already combed through a dozen times. The seal along the side was still intact, a loud, physical reminder that no one had read this yet. Your heartbeat thrummed against your ribs.

Your fingers tensed as you looked up, scanning the office. Everyone was busy.

Was this actually meant for you?

The doubt crept in before you could stop it. Was it bad that you questioned this? That you questioned being given your own case? Mel's voice echoed in the back of your mind — “You’re too hard on yourself. Just take the opportunity.” You wanted this. You had been waiting for this. Caitlyn was trusting you with the first glance, the first look, the first opinions, the first impression.

You exhaled, shaking off the nerves as you sat down. The file was thin, because you were the one who would be passing it around, not the one receiving it after five other agents had already picked it apart.

“Soft tacos,” Jayce whistled in pure delight, stretching his legs out under his desk.

You didn’t even have to look up to know he was grinning like a damn idiot. No one but Jayce would be eating soft tacos at eight in the morning. And not even the good kind, these weren’t the ones he brought back after holidays at his mom’s house. These were microwaved, doused in sour cream, and inhaled like he was running late to something.

Jayce plopped into his chair beside you, lifting the taco to his mouth, but he barely got a bite in before his body jerked forward, his eyes going wide.

You turned, brows pulling together. “Jayce, it’s a Dollar General taco. You—”

“No way! You got a case?”

Jayce cut you off, speaking through the mouthful of scalding hot taco, eyes glued to the file in your hands. You grimaced at the sight. He hadn’t even swallowed before rushing the words out. But then, you realized that’s why he had burned himself. He had been so excited to say something that he hadn’t waited for his food to cool.

Pride? Your heart picked up slightly at the thought. Jayce, your desk partner, your closest ally in this damn office, looked genuinely excited.

“Oh, yeah. I— I think I did?” you said, unsure. “I mean, Caitlyn could’ve meant to leave this on your desk for all I know.”

Jayce raised his brows, leaning back in his chair. His taco hovered in his left hand, airing out now that he’d learned his lesson. “Mel was right. You are a pessimist.”

“What?” You put the file down carefully. “It’s not pessimism. It’s called being realistic.”

“That sounds boring as hell,” Jayce mused, clearly amused. He was a realist too, but unlike you, he had an open mind when it came to cases. You treated every file like it was life or death, like one wrong note would collapse the entire operation.

“Whoever highlighted the third section word for word is an absolute idiot. No one is reading that. It doesn’t support the evidence or the tax fraud either.” You had once scoffed, tearing open a fresh pack of sticky notes.

Or: “Let me guess. Whoever started this case let an intern do the honors. Jesus. What is happening.”

“I’d rather be boring than wrong,” you countered, turning back toward your desk, firing up your computer. You draped your coat over your lap for warmth. Your office chair was always too cold in the mornings.

“You’re often both of those things.”

“Sorry—? Oh. It’s just you.”

Your voice flatlined the second you spotted Violet standing behind Jayce. Your face dropped, irritation slipping in as she leaned against the back of your chair, one hand perched on her hip.

Jayce twisted around, his face lighting up at the sight of her. “West! Cool to see you, as always. Even if Cait put us on opposite ends of the HQ.”

You blinked in confusion as the two of them exchanged a ridiculously complicated handshake, your stomach twisting slightly.

Of course Violet was buttering up Jayce. He was your closest friend in HQ, and yet here they were, shaking hands like they had some kind of inside joke you weren’t a part of. Not even you had a handshake with Jayce.

“Yeah, yeah,” Violet brushed it off. “I’ll talk her into putting me right between you and grumpy over here.” She nodded toward you.

“You wish,” you scoffed, clicking through your unread emails. The blue light from your screen reflected on your face, making your eyes narrow slightly as you read. Your legs pressed together under your coat, absorbing what little warmth you could get.

Violet teasing you in front of Jayce wasn’t new. Not even close. But something else was.

This wasn’t the first time you had caught her looking at you differently.

It wasn’t just the usual watching to make fun of you anymore.

It had happened in the lounge, on the training field, even when she thought you hadn’t noticed. She was good at eye contact —everyone knew this— but lately? Lately, she had been slipping.

Apparently, you had also grown an extra pair of eyes on your uniform. Violet had been staring at you more than usual.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Unfortunately, Jayce kept talking.

“Thorne got her first case,” he grinned, pointing at you with his thumb. You felt your fingers tighten around the mouse. Jayce. Seriously? Why was he telling her of all people?

Violet tilted her head, attention shifting fully to you. “Cool. I can give her a few tips and tricks, as someone who’s gone through a dozen or so.”

The last thing you needed was Violet West handing you advice. If she did, she’d rub it in your face for weeks. She’d take credit for half the investigation. She’d never shut up about it.

You snapped your gaze up, meeting hers.

“I’m good,” you said, your voice flat. “I don’t need your help.”

You barely moved, but there was a twitch, something small, something almost unnoticeable. Violet’s eyes flickered from yours, down to your tie. Your fingers moved automatically, adjusting it. She reached for her own and tugged it into place like she was mirroring you.

Was she taunting you?

“My desk has enough room for two,” Violet said, pivoting on her heel. As she turned, you caught a glimpse of that Roman numeral tattoo under her left eye, barely concealed beneath a thin layer of lazily blended concealer. It didn’t concern you. Why would it? Who the hell got a tattoo on their face?

So unprofessional.

“Yeah, I bet it does. Call a therapist.” You muttered the words just loud enough to be caught in the silence of the HQ. Violet didn’t miss a beat, letting out a laugh that shook her shoulders slightly. Your eyes flickered to the way her body moved with it, a ripple of motion.

“Not what I meant, but alright, Thorne.”

Jayce, still chewing, raised a brow and looked between you and the door as Violet exited, then turned back to you.

“Is there something going on, or…?”

“Always,” you said, voice rough but not nearly as irritated as it should have been. That realization bothered you. Normally, you’d be clenching your fists, itching with irritation, but the usual sneer wasn’t there. Jayce definitely noticed, blinking at your quick response.

“…Ooookay then.” He dragged the word out but shrugged, returning to his disgusting breakfast taco.

Still nasty.

Never in your life had you thought you’d enjoy working on a murder case. It sounded strange from an outside perspective, but getting your first solo case had been something you had wanted —had waited for— for three years. And it was worth it. You had spent overtime in the office, completely immersed.

Highlighting sections, sticking tabs on documents, writing down key notes. By the time you finished, two markers had dried out, and a busted pen had leaked ink all over your palm from how hard you had pressed it against the paper. But it was done. You finally dropped the completed file on Caitlyn’s desk before clocking out.

Walking outside alone, the night air was cold, biting at the skin of your legs despite the sheer pantyhose you had layered under your knee-high boots. Practical, comfortable. You weren’t a fan of showing too much calf, it just felt better this way.

By the time Monday rolled around, you were dead on your feet. No one enjoyed a Monday morning, especially not in early March when climate change was kicking everyone’s ass. Walking into the HQ, the air inside was warmer than the entrance, and shrugging off your trench coat felt like a small relief.

“Finishing an entire case file in a day. That’s impressive.”

You almost jumped out of your boots.

Some idiot had breathed down your neck, not literally, but close enough. You whipped around, half-asleep daze completely shattered.

West.

Again.

You exhaled sharply, so close to snapping. “Can you not go around scaring people half to death for once?”

Violet didn’t even look sorry. She stood there, perfectly smug, like she had just told the funniest joke of the century. You wet your lips, easing the sting from the cold. Your jaw tensed before you finally said what had been lingering in your mind for the past two weeks.

“Are you okay?”

Violet tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Yeah, I’m all good. Perfect, actually. Woke up today, had breakfast for once. It was delicious. Had a cup of coffee, and—”

“I don’t care about your damn coffee,” you cut in, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Or how perfect and sparkly with unicorns your morning has been, West. You know what I’m asking. Don’t act dense.”

You weren’t the only one who had noticed.

The way you two spoke had changed. The fights were less. The banter was different. You had stopped arguing over stupid things; eye contact, for example. It had stopped feeling taunting and started feeling like…

Like something else.

Something you hated.

You scolded yourself for it, constantly. In meetings, when Caitlyn said something that involved Violet, your eyes automatically found her. You expected her to look back.

It made you uncomfortable.

And now, here she was, grinning like this wasn’t a big deal at all. “I think unicorns are pretty cool, though. Can’t lie.”

You inhaled sharply.

“This isn’t about unicorns—! You’re actually going to give me a headache.”

You dragged a hand down your face, exasperated. Violet laughed, the sound light and unbothered, as she toyed with her lanyard. Her ID badge swayed slightly, catching the overhead lighting.

You hated that grin.

Mostly because you had no idea what it meant anymore.

The air felt different. It wasn’t just the stares that carried a new weight — it was the shift in body language, the subtle shifts that were hard to ignore. Your temper had settled, your instinctive irritation toward Violet dulled. Her jokes still grated on your nerves, but the feeling in your chest wasn’t heavy anymore.

Humiliating. That’s what it was.

Not liking Violet was what kept you going. As terrible as it was to admit, hating her pushed you, forced you to be better, to work harder, to be faster than her. But now? Now, that loathing had soured into something sickly, something different. Interest. God, even thinking that word made you feel ridiculous.

You shouldn’t be this hung up on whatever unspoken thing was happening. It was probably a joke. Another way for her to get under your skin. Or maybe she was just bored, looking for entertainment at your expense. You needed to cut this off, now, before it spiraled into something even worse.

You turned, walked back to your desk, and dropped your bag beside your chair with a sigh that rattled through your chest. You weren’t stupid. You were looking for something, some kind of reassurance, confirmation that Violet wasn’t thinking the same things you were. But it wasn’t there. She was still watching. And when she got up, taking something of Caitlyn’s to the lounge, your body moved before your brain caught up.

Jayce didn’t even bother questioning it. You’d been making excuses to leave all week. Tugging down the hem of your skirt, you inhaled deeply and stepped out, boots clicking steadily against the floor. You swiped your ID at the lounge door, pushing it open, already knowing exactly who you’d find.

Violet did a double take.

She hadn’t expected you to follow. A conversation in the office? That was normal. You coming to her without Jayce nowhere nearby? Not so much.

“Had a feeling you’d follow me here,” she lied.

“Sure you did,” you deadpanned, dropping your ID onto the counter and leaning against it. Violet eyes flickered, hesitated. She was staring again, and you noticed. You both noticed.

This wasn’t the usual hostile tension between you two. It wasn’t irritation or resentment. It was something else, something you didn’t want to name. Something that made your skin burn.

“This needs to stop,” you cut in before she could say anything.

Violet's brows knit together, feigning confusion. But you knew she understood.

“Never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth, Thorne.” Her voice was slow, calculated. “You started this. All of it, I mean... picking fights, sabotaging me, making this job feel like a competition.”

You didn’t have an ego. That’s what you told yourself. But your pride? It had always been fed by approval. A nod from Caitlyn, praise from the department, respect from your coworkers.

But none of that ever filled the hole, did it?

You exhaled sharply, shifting your weight, irritation slipping into your tone. A familiar reaction. One Violet was used to by now.

It shouldn’t be her attention that made your chest tighten. It shouldn’t be her opinions that made your skin tickle. And yet, here you were. A few days ago, you had actually questioned whether thinner tights would make your legs stand out more. Whether a thicker lash would make your eyes more striking during those lingering glances. Whether she had noticed the slightly darker tie you had worn that day.

She had noticed all of it.

Violet’s gruff voice cut through your thoughts. “Do you hate me?”

Your breath caught. You stiffened. Yes. Yes.

But your lips pressed together.

“No,” you managed.

“No?” Violet repeated.

“Yes, I do,” you corrected, but your voice wobbled. It sounded weak, like even you didn’t believe it. Violet head tilted slightly, her maroon hair slipping over her face the way it always did.

How was she not dying in a suit like that every day?

“Yes, no, yes, no,” she mused, her tone deliberately teasing. “You’re stuttering.”

Your legs pressed together instinctively, your pencil skirt suddenly feeling too much, too tight, too revealing.

You were a pain in the ass. That was the best way to describe you. Someone who knew exactly what to say, what to do, to get a reaction out of you.

Violet was someone who never needed approval, who carried herself like she owned the room. And now, that smugness was focused entirely on you.

The room felt hot. You reached for your collar, but before your fingers could slip beneath the fabric, Violet voice stopped you.

“You don’t have to wear that tie if you have to keep loosening it.” Her voice was softer now, but still edged with something knowing. “But again, you have tons of bad habits. Can’t expect you to just stop.”

Your fingers froze around the fabric.

Then, she stepped forward.

Her presence was impossible to ignore. Broader frame, heavier stance, rougher edges. Her hands slid into her pockets, the motion easy, casual, like she wasn’t closing the space between you two on purpose.

She was.

You were still against the counter, meaning she had the height advantage now. Even though the difference wasn’t that much, standing above you like this, she felt taller.

Her fingers hesitated before brushing against the smooth white collar of your shirt. Your breath hitched. Your skin burned.

Your eyes flickered, searching for an escape — except you didn’t want to escape. Her thumb traced up and down along your pulse, slow and deliberate. Your stomach curled.

Then, she nudged your chin up. The silence was unbearable.

“Violet,” you breathed.

Her hand faltered.

Three years of strict last-name basis, and now you had just said it.

No one called ever really called her Violet. No one. It was always something shorter, sharper, less personal.

You sounded good saying it.

“Violet? So intimate,” she taunted, her fingers tapping against your cheek. It wasn’t meant to piss you off. But you wanted to piss her off.

Your fingers shot out, grabbing the tie between them, yanking her closer. Embarrassingly, your noses bumped. But that didn’t stop you. One hand fisted around the tie, the other gripping her bicep, steady, grounding. You felt the way her muscles tensed beneath your palm, felt the pause as her breath hitched.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your lips caught hers, firm, certain, and when she didn’t pull away —when she didn’t resist— you took.

You finally felt the scar along her upper lip, traced the curve of it with your own mouth, tasted the hesitation that melted into something hotter, something heavier. Mapping her out.

Violet didn’t know what to do with her hands at first. They hovered at your back, hesitant, but her eyes were barely cracked open, watching, waiting. Either you could stop here, or you could throw everything out the window.

Then you bit her fuller bottom lip, tugging and letting it ripple into place.

Violet groaned.

And suddenly, the second option sounded so much more appealing.

Violet hadn’t expected this ever.

You had always been untouchable. Not in the literal sense, but in every way that mattered. Unreachable, impenetrable, untamed in your own rigid way. You did what you needed to do: woke up, worked, excelled, then left the HQ like none of it ever touched you.

But this?

Violet barely had time to register it before her hands moved, gripping your hips, pulling at your pencil skirt with little care, silently begging, urging for things to move further.

Your knees buckled as Violet backed you against the edge of a table, the cool marble pressing into the backs of your thighs as she settled between them, crowding you and consuming every ounce of space.

Her fingers looped through the knot of your tie —that stupid, fidgeted-with-like-a-necklace tie— and with a single sharp tug, it came loose. Slipping down. Forgotten.

Then, her hand cupped the back of your neck, pressing her lips against yours with something so deep, so thick with years of this, years of tension, of misplaced resentment, of fuck, how did we get here.

And yet, neither of you wanted to stop.

Violet's fingers traced from the back of your neck to the front of your throat, just barely gripping. It was already hard to breathe, but the idea of that, of her taking it just a little further? It had your stomach twisting.

Kissing the woman you had despised for years was going to be hilarious to explain.

But later.

Not now.

“Is the door—locked?” you barley managed out, your glossed lips brushing against hers, voice raw, uneven. Violet shook her head, hummed, lips curling against yours.

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, Her hands moving. She slid one down to your thigh, gripping and propping it around her waist.

Then her mouth descended.

Hot, wet kisses trailed down the slope of your throat, her tongue flicking out just slightly, savoring the mix of sweat and whatever faint perfume lingered on your skin.

Your pulse pounded beneath her lips, and Violet felt something deep in her tighten at the sound of your breath hitching, the way your body gave just slightly, as if caught between pure instinct and resistance.

Her palm landed against the underside of your thigh, firm, not particularly harsh, but a deliberate smack.

A sharp, raspy gasp broke from your lips, your body twitching against hers, bottom lip swollen from the way you had abused it between sloppy, desperate kisses.

Violet’s eyes flickered, catching the way you tensed, how your cheeks were burning, how your hands trembled against her chest.

Everything needed to come off.

Her fingers dragged up your thigh. Rubbing in slow, lazy circles before moving up, slipping beneath the first few buttons of your work blouse.

One by one with one hand.

Meticulously.

You slowly sucked in a breath, your own hands fisting the fabric of her blazer.

Violet let go of you entirely, her fingers deftly working the rest of your buttons open, sliding the blouse off your shoulders before carelessly tossing it onto the chair beside the table. Her gaze swept over you, dark and unreadable, before she bit her bottom lip, teeth smoothing over it as she exhaled through her nose.

She didn't know what was better: finally having you, the woman who had spent years making her job hell, unraveling beneath her touch, or the sheer fact that you looked this damn good doing it.

Her hand moved instinctively, fingers splaying across the lace covering your chest, feeling the warmth of your skin through the fabric. She pressed a kiss between the valley of your breasts, slowly before trailing up, tongue flicking over your collarbones.

The sounds leaving your lips sent something sharp through her, something she had never allowed herself to acknowledge before now. Your legs tensed around her hips, a burning heat building between them. Your pussy was drenched.

Then, she moved. Rolling her hips forward, pressing herself against you, the friction earning a shaky grunt from your throat.

You felt good.

Her hand traced down your spine, unhooking your bra with ease. The straps loosened, fabric slipping from your body, and Violet took a step back to let her eyes drag over you.

She dampened her lips. "I'm so lucky to see you like this. You're so gorgeous.”

Her voice was lower now, rougher, hands returning to you. Thumbs circling your nipples, before sliding down to your waist.

She sat you up, lips grazing your jaw, before murmuring, "What happened to that mouth of yours?"

Her fingers flicked over your erect breasts, and your breath hitched, body arching slightly before you could stop yourself. The sound you made earned a knowing chuckle from her, and before you could snap at her for it, she was moving again, pressing you back against the table.

Her hands slid down your thighs, rolling your skirt up at an agonizing pace.

Violet huffed, giving your knee a light tap.

"Is the pantyhose really necessary?"

You exhaled sharply. "Yes, It is."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something amused behind it, something fond — before her fingers traced slow circles over the thin, black fabric covering you.

And then, without hesitation, she hooked her fingers through the material and tore it.

A sharp gasp left your lips. "Vi! Those were expen—"

She silenced you with another sharp tug, the ruined fabric giving way enough to give her the space she wanted. She could have pulled them down, but this was much better.

The sight of you like this, obedient beneath her, legs trembling slightly, breath uneven.

She wanted to ruin you further.

Jesus.

Her hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting and adjusting them until they rested over her shoulders.

Your breathing hitched, erratic. You knew what was coming, felt it before it even happened, but when her lips finally met your pussy; wet and painfully slow. You gasped, your spine curving inward, nails curling into the marble beneath you.

A broken sound left you, high and breathless. "That’s so good."

Violet huffed a quiet laugh against you. "I haven't even started yet."

She hooked your panties aside, her mouth pressing against you fully, tongue dragging slow, then flicking, savoring, sucking on your swelled clit. She worked like she had time, like this was something to be unraveled piece by piece, something she could take apart and put back together again.

Your clammy hands flew to grip the edge of the table, your body shifting under her touch, her mouth sending sharp waves of pleasure coursing through you.

"Fuhh—ck, Vi." Your voice cracked.

That only spurred her on, hands gripping your thighs tighter, nails pressing into your skin as she curved her tongue, shifting her movements, searching, memorizing what made you fall apart.

She had spent years watching you, knowing exactly how to get under your skin. It was fun to put it to use.

Violet’s mouth worked you over with hungry desperation, her tongue sucking every inch of skin she could reach. Your folds, pulsing clit, labia — every so often, she flicked her gaze upward, watching you writhe against the table. Back arching, lips parting in helpless, breathless sounds.

If she had known this was the key to shutting you up, to finally silencing that sharp mouth of yours, she would have done this sooner.

Her lips curled against you, satisfaction lacing her voice as she murmured, “Good girl. How’s this? Yeah? So good?”

Her breath was hot and damp against your skin, sending a shudder through your sopping core.

Your only response was a whimper, your hand sliding up to your chest; grasping at yourself, desperate for anything to ground you. But the moment you tried to regain control, Violet sucked on your clit once more with enough force to break it.

Your spine arched off the table. Another sharp, wrecked gasp slipped past your lips. Violet’s grip tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer, forcing your legs to stay apart as she devoured you like you were her last damn meal.

The pleasure was too much —too sharp, too overwhelming— but stopping now wasn’t an option.

“So—” your voice trembled, barely coherent, “so, so good, Violet.”

Your hips rocked against her mouth, helpless against the way she was working you over, keeping you open, keeping you hers.

This was insane.

Doing this in the employee lounge? Absolutely wrong.

“Keep your legs around my shoulders,” Violet ordered, voice rough, edged with something close to command. “If you move, I’m stopping.”

Your breath hitched. Before you could protest, she lifted her hand to her lips, sucking two fingers between them, coating them with her own spit. Saliva moved down the digits in thick beads.

Then, she thrusted them inside of you. Wet enough to take them in one go.

Your body jolted, your nails scraping against the table as the pressure spread you open, slick and hot and perfect. You were definitely breaking a nail today.

Violet whistled lowly, amused, before curling them just right—

“My—God!”

The sound ripped out of you raw and shameless.

Violet hummed, the vibration shattering against you, her fingers sinking deeper, curling again, chasing that sound like it was her new favorite thing in the world.

The sound of your squelching pussy that sucked her in and tightened when she moved even just a second too quickly. She loved it.

“You’re a mess, baby.”

Violet’s voice was thick with amusement, her palm coming down to deliver a second sharp smack against your reddened thigh. Before you could react, she spit. A slow gesture. Watching as it mixed with the release already dripping down your swollen, aching core.

Her right hand never stopped, fingers still working in and out of you, dragging along every sensitive spot. Rough, but slow. Just enough to make sure you felt everything — every curl, every drag, every time she pulled out just to push deeper. Your insides protested, torn between needing a break and wanting more.

She smirked, tilting her head. “Look at you.”

She blew a soft stream of air over your glistening cunt, watching the way your body twitched in response.

Your head was somewhere else. Your hips moved on their own, helpless to the sensation coursing through you. Strings of moans and profanity fell from your lips, your body tightening around her fingers, pulsing — begging without words.

“Vi,” you whimpered. Your lashes damp with unshed tears.

She hummed in response, but didn’t let up, her fingers keeping that same relentless, torturous pace. A shaky moan ripped from your throat, your thighs trembling over her shoulders.

“I think—I think I’m going to come.”

Violet’s ashy eyes flicked up to you at your words, dark and heated, before her lips curled.

“Yeah?”

She then went faster.

Your gasp turned into a cry, body jolting at the sharp, intense pleasure flooding your sensitive nerves. There was no way no one had heard you two—not when you were here, back arched, lips parted, begging for her, falling apart because of her.

“No—! I—Vi! I can’t—!”

Your legs snapped shut around her head as your body tensed, spine bowing as the orgasm hit you. Ripping through your system, spilling over Violet’s fingers and dripping onto the marble beneath you.

Your breathing came in heavy. Overstimulation setting in as your body shuddered through the aftershocks.

Violet finally pulled her fingers from you, gaze flickering between your spent, trembling form and the slick coating her hand. Then, without hesitation, she brought her fingers to her lips and gave them a slow and greedy suck.

Your back falls flat on the cool marble.

Vi had won, again.

[quarterlifekitty]

The screech I scrumpt at tramp!soap oh my god I’m unwellllll I love them I adore them they’re everything to me and I greatly appreciate you sharing your thoughts thank you :)

Can I ask and pls ignore me if you want about tramp!soap getting territorial? He’s perfectly happy to let other dogs from the neighborhood come around, even tries his luck at friendliness with price and nik once or twice, but when another stray starts sniffing around sweet innocent lady’s house? Practically glued himself to her side and sleeps in front of the doggy door. Maybe even sneaks along on a walk to the park with lady’s owners, jumping in right on time to keep her (and her owners by extension) safe? Sweet innocent little lady has never heard a growl like that but she’s not sure she disliked it and really how could her owners not start leaving out food and water for the stray who saved them

Keep scrumpting baby!!!

I’m gonna do a bit of twisting on this one, hope that’s ok!

I imagine your owners are a little protective over you, of course. You’re just a sensitive little girl to them, they got you when you were just a puppy! And your breed makes you smaller than street mutts like Soap. So when they notice him hanging around, they do try to chase him off, worried he’ll hurt you. They even think about calling the dog catcher, but ultimately decide against it.

Soap isn’t even a little discouraged. He’ll dig his way under any fence he has to if it means he gets to see his lady again!! Maybe he even calls you lassie. Because I’m unoriginal!!!

And maybe if you return his affections, you start sneaking out later in the evenings to see him. Your owners have gone to bed, and you go through your doggy door, prancing through the back yard to go to your little meeting place where you kiss, and cuddle, and talk about puppies.

But Soap isn’t there tonight. There’s another stray. One that growls. One that chases and nips at your heels until you’re backed into the corner of the little fenced in yard. By now the barking and yipping has woken up your owners, you see the bedroom light turn on.

It’s then that Soap makes it to you, having sprinted from a few houses down when he heard you so distressed. He growls and bares his teeth as he dives between you and the other stray, arching himself in as fierce a manner as he can manage. They tumble in a mass of fur and fangs and wild eyes, Soap managing to sink his teeth into the neck of the other stray as your owners come out of the back door, robes in hand with a flashlight.

The other stray bolts, looking worse for wear. You start tending to Soap— bitten up and bruised in his own right, his hackles starting to lower. You lick and soothe over the sore marks. It’s clear to your owners that the stray that they’d been trying to keep off of their property protected you. And it’s not like they can pretend it’s not the sweetest thing— seeing you curl up with him, nuzzling noses between your comforting little kisses.

He becomes a much more permanent resident in the back yard since they’ve stopped chasing him away. And he wants to stay closer in case that stray comes back. He stays in your doghouse (you’re too much of a good girl to ever really get sent there anyways) for a few weeks, your owners leaving out food and water for him. And you love being able to run outside and see him almost any time you want!!! Every time you get a treat, like a slice of ham or some jerky, you dash outside to share it with him.

Until one day, you coax him inside. He’s wary, and he’s right to be, because your owners are gonna wash the fuck outta him in the bath when he least expects it. But before that? They present him with a collar. A bit bigger and thicker than yours, a deep teal color dying the leather. A silver tag with the house address on it. A new bed— much too big for just you alone. And you take him to show him the fireplace— your favorite place in the whole world. His tail thumps against the carpet when he finally settles fully, in his first real home.

[tarotwithavi]

Random messages for you from your future lover/future spouse

18+ messages in some piles

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.

These pictures belong to their rightful owners.

Masterlist

Paid services

Pile 1

"I want to bite your neck and leave my mark there"

"I love the way you walk"

"you look absolutely gorgeous from behind"

"God really took his sweet time creating the masterpiece in front of me"

"I want to worship every part of your body"

"all the lonely nights were worth waiting for you"

"In your arms, I have found my home."

"With you, love is not just a destination but a beautiful journey"

"I will buy you every book you like, but there's a price you must pay"

"In a world of billions, you're the only that makes time stand still"

"The darkness inside me is really to consume you, however I am scared of the consequences"

"If you had any idea about what I want to do to you, you wouldn't be standing here challenging me"

"I want to know everything about you, your likes, dislikes, what makes you happy, what makes you sad, every fucking thing"

"Your whispered desires set my soul on fire"

Pile 2

"You think you can run away from me love?"

"I crave you, I desire you, I want you. In. every. way."

"I love the way you look right now. You don't need to change anything"

"You're flawless. People who find flaws in you are blind"

"tie your hair up. Show me your neck"

"Your presence lights up my darkest night"

"You can literally sell me poison and I will buy that in gallons from you"

"Your acne scars correspond to the craters on the moon. They make you even more beautiful to me"

"You look so f-able in my hoodie"

"You can be my black cat and I can be your golden retriever"

"I will never force my beliefs on you"

"You look magical in that dress"

"I don't want other guys to be close to you, to touch you, I know it's selfish but it's something I can't help but feel. You make you go crazy over you"

"You're like a Siren, alluring me with your voice, enchanting me with your appearance and making me want to do things that are not so pure"

Pile 3

"You are so pure so innocent. I feel like I will taint you with my darkness"

"Some things are better as secrets"

"Do. Not. Provoke Me. You'll not be able to handle it"

"I am not that type of person who dreams of getting married on the first date. But something about makes me feel I should wife you up, like right now.

"I want to see a mini you or/and mini merunning around in our house"

"Do you mind if I ruin your lipstick right now?"

"can you see hearts floating around above my head? No? *Gets heart shaped balloons from God knows where, puts them above their head* Can you see them now?

"With you, even the simplest moments become cherished memories"

"I crave the taste of your lips and the touch of your skin, you are my sweetest addiction"

"With you, time flies by like a shooting star, leaving behind a trail of cherished memories"

"Don't leave me. I have loved you too much to be separated from you.

"You make flowers bloom in my heart just from the thought of you"

Pile 4

"I will work hard for you. I will work hard for us"

"To be honest I will let you step on me"

"Our future is so bright together mama"

"In your arms, time loses its meaning, and all that matters is our love."

"How long do you want me to wait for you? 1 month? 6 months? 1 year? 5 years? A decade? I will wait for you if it means that I can be with you even for a minute"

"I will never judge you for your past. We all make mistakes and it's fine. As long as you don't repeat the same mistake"

"You feel like chopping off your hair? Go ahead, do it. I bet on my left nut you will look good in every hairstyle"

"What makes you think that I wouldn't eat your snacks? Am I not human? Or Do I not have taste buds"

"In the heat of our passion, time fades away, leaving only the intoxicating blend of our souls"

"Your touch ignites a fire within me, and I crave the taste of your lips on mine"

"Baby I am preying on you tonight, hunt you down, eat you alive"

[strangespector]

Breathless

Summary: A bad habit that has consequences

Words: 1046

The flashing lights of paparazzi cameras illuminated the night, capturing Jenna Ortega in a moment that would soon be plastered all over social media. The young actress, beloved by millions, was caught with a cigarette in hand, the smoke curling up into the night sky. The pictures went viral almost instantly, eliciting reactions from fans, critics, and, most notably, her family. Jenna's mother was especially vocal about her disapproval, a sentiment echoed by the rest of her family. They knew Jenna had started smoking on set, a habit picked up in the chaotic world of Hollywood, but seeing it publicly displayed ignited a firestorm of concern and frustration.

Despite their pleas, Jenna continued smoking, a habit that became a part of her daily routine. She would often light up at home, the scent of tobacco lingering in the air. I, on the other hand, had never touched a cigarette in my life. The smoke bothered me at first, the acrid scent clinging to the furniture, my clothes, and even my hair. But I loved Jenna. She was my world, and though I disliked her smoking, I endured it because I knew how much stress she was under. I figured it was her way of coping, a temporary crutch in the high-pressure world she navigated every day.

Years passed, and Jenna's star only continued to rise. She became a household name, and with every new role, her fanbase grew. But alongside her success, her smoking habit persisted. By now, it had become second nature to her, a part of her routine as much as brushing her teeth or making coffee in the morning. I often found myself coughing, my chest tightening uncomfortably whenever the smoke hung too thick in the air. There were days when I felt short of breath, but I chalked it up to a cold or allergies. The thought that something could be seriously wrong never crossed my mind.

It wasn’t until I started losing weight rapidly, my energy levels plummeting, that I decided to see a doctor. The cough that had lingered for months turned into something more sinister, a persistent ache that gnawed at my insides. After a series of tests and a tense waiting period, the diagnosis came: lung cancer, stage three. The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The doctor explained that the cause was likely secondhand smoke, a byproduct of living with a smoker for so many years.

When I told Jenna, she was devastated. The color drained from her face as she realized the implications of what the doctor had said. This wasn't just any illness—this was a direct consequence of her habit. A habit she had nurtured and indulged, not realizing the price I would eventually pay. She cried for days, apologizing over and over, but I reassured her that I didn’t blame her. After all, it had been my choice to stay, my choice to love her despite her flaws. But deep down, I knew she carried the weight of this guilt, a burden she would never fully shake off.

The chemotherapy was brutal. Each session left me weaker than the last, my body battered and bruised by the relentless assault of drugs meant to kill the cancer. Jenna was by my side through it all, her eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and constant worry. She quit smoking immediately, the sight of a cigarette now repulsive to her. She did everything she could to make me comfortable, but the cancer had spread too far, too fast. The doctors were honest with us—it was only a matter of time.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I grew weaker. My once-strong body was now frail, a shadow of the person I used to be. Breathing became difficult, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a sigh of resignation. I knew my time was running out, and I accepted it with a calmness I hadn’t expected. I had lived a good life, a happy life, despite the challenges. And Jenna, for all her faults, had made me happier than I ever thought possible.

When the end was near, I made one final request: I wanted to go home. The hospital was cold, sterile, a place where people went to fight for their lives. But I wasn’t fighting anymore. I just wanted to be in a place that felt familiar, surrounded by the memories of a life well-lived. Jenna arranged everything, bringing me home and setting up a bed in the living room where the sunlight streamed in through the windows.

The last few days were a blur of pain and medication. I could feel myself slipping away, my consciousness fading in and out like a weak radio signal. But Jenna was always there, holding my hand, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of my fading life. I remember the last time I opened my eyes, her face blurry but unmistakable, framed by the soft afternoon light. She was crying, her tears falling silently onto our clasped hands.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry for everything."

I mustered what little strength I had left and smiled at her, a weak but genuine smile. "I forgive you," I said, my voice barely a breath. "You gave me a happy life, Jenna. That's all that matters."

And in that moment, as I looked into her tear-filled eyes, I felt a deep sense of peace. I had no regrets, no anger, only love for the woman who had been my everything. I closed my eyes, holding onto that final image of her, my heart full even as my body failed. And then, with one last breath, I let go, slipping away into the quiet darkness, leaving Jenna with the memories of our life together and the lesson learned from a habit that had cost us both so dearly.

Jenna would go on to live her life, forever changed by the experience. She would tell our story to others, a cautionary tale of love, loss, and the heavy price of a moment’s indulgence. And though I was gone, I knew she would carry me with her, in her heart, every step of the way.

[richarlotte]

more things you swear by?

Japanese Lingerie.

I swear by Japanese lingerie, especially if you love detailed sets. My body doesn’t suit American-made lingerie now that I’ve lost so much weight, and I learned about Japanese lingerie from r/abrathatfits on my journey to find what suited me. The bras are forward projecting and give me a much better side view. I love buying matching lingerie sets, and the sets I usually go for are lacy and intricate; they’re incredibly well priced for the quality they are, and they fit me the way I like my sets to fit me. Buying lingerie is extremely feminine to me, and I love finding sets that complement my body. I’m still not as secure in my new body as I’d like to be, and good lingerie makes me feel beautiful again.

French Tips.

French tips are my go-to. They look good, they’re low maintenance, they’re universally acceptable, and they look clean. When done right, they make my hands look longer and thinner than they are, and I love that with a thinner white line, they look and feel delicate. I mostly do French mani-pedis; it’s a habit I got into when I first went to Chicago, and it’s served me well, so I doubt I’ll ever stray from it. The nail salon combo is widely accepted to be DND865 and DND473, and I do an acrylic overlay on top of my natural nails, keep an oval shape, and request a thin tip if I’m not doing BIAB again. I won’t get into the acrylic vs. BIAB debate at the moment, but I will say that when properly done, BIAB looks amazing, is better for helping you retain length, and it lasts longer than acrylic while looking better.

Classic Makeup and Flicky Layered Hair.

I love styling my hair and doing my makeup; it’s like a reward for waking up in the morning. I get to sit down, make myself pretty, and enjoy the entire process. I figured it was time to update my skincare and makeup routines once again, so I took the time to start watching makeup tutorials (Uma Jammeh, amazing) and using what products I already have to adapt certain looks to my face. As for hair, I’m obsessed with Sarmadina de Beaute as of late and layers. I think my hair looks best with heavy, flicky layers (Remington curls) if I don’t have the time to do a blowout, and I’ve really embraced the process of both finding styling inspiration and actually doing my hair. I found my ultimate inspiration the other day, ordered hair immediately, and cut and styled one of my synthetic wigs to get the look in the interim, and I’m smitten.

Minimal Jewelry.

I’ve always worn minimal jewelry; I’m a major fan of Cartier, and I’ve curated a small collection that I wear nearly every day. I love accessorizing, but I don’t like wearing a million things that have no meaning; I prefer to only wear things I love or things that have a story behind them. Gold is my metal and diamonds are my jewel. I prefer this combo over all of the other combos I’ve seen or worn before, but I also occasionally wear mother of pearl when the time is right. I dislike being weighed down by poorly made pieces; I think jewelry can be used as a statement (when needed), and putting thought into what I wear and what I want my jewelry to say has saved me a lot of misery. With the exception of my charm necklace or lavaliere necklace, I try to wear the same sets every day.

Lymphatic Massages and Red Light Therapy.

Now that it’s November and the weather is soon to turn cold again, I’m much more focused on cardio and my diet. Because I’ve filled my weekday mornings with Pilates and my afternoons with the elliptical and stairmaster, I’ve added lymphatic drainage massages and red light therapy to my weekend schedule. I’ll be in Europe, on the slopes, in the freezing cold for the majority of my winter break, and I’m preparing for that now. Lymphatic massages are a lifesaver for me, especially during allergy season, and full-body red light therapy is just an additional benefit. I’ve also switched from studio yoga to hot yoga and from the steam room back to the sauna, stopped drinking coffee, and really started focusing on increasing my flexibility.

Tinting, Tanning, and Toning.

I love having dark skin already, but I do tend to go wild with the self-tanning in the winter. In my mind, there’s nothing more beautiful than dark skin against white snow, and the darker I am, the better I look. I grew up being told that I was too dark, but I’ve embraced it. I’m proud of my skin, and I love the richness of it, and I use tanner as a way to cover up the scarring on my body and contour my face. As for tinting, I tint my brows and lashes darker than I normally would in the colder months because they don’t turn over or fade as quickly. I never ever tint my eyebrows jet black; that color is far too harsh for my face, and I can’t pull it off at all. I use the darkest brown on my brows and jet black on my lashes. When it comes to toning, I spray my entire body with the Ordinary’s glycolic acid and let it dry after showering for the best results. I swear by it for clearing body acne and preventing any body odor.

It’s similar but different.

[softer-ua]

See people frequently hc Bakugo as the top dog in middle school, like he’s got the skills to put his money where his mouth is so obviously kids would suck up to him out of fear or for his potential fame, but I don’t think that’s right.

Not being picked on doesn’t make you popular.

I think his inferiority complex was more than just Mitsukis bad parenting, I think a lot of people did look down on him growing up, it wasn’t all in his head.

I think he was very much the stereotypical bully who’s only friends were his lackeys and he was generally disliked by the rest of his class. Deku kind of hints towards that in the light novels Valentine ch.

For a kid like Bakugo I highly doubt that his encounter with the older kids trying to fight him on his way home from school was his last one. People throw rocks at things that shine.

He was left alone because of his aggression, and he’s agressive because it ensured he’d be left alone.

I doubt anyone beyond his lackeys (and a younger Deku) ever congratulated him on his accomplishments, instead each win was just another reason for the kids to dislike him, partially out of jealousy but also because he’s such a poor sport and a bragger

By the time middle school hit he probably felt like a bit of an underdog because so many people hoped he would fail.

That feeling is only compacted by his treatment in his first few months at UA, because he comes at everything already on the defensive and his defense is offense so he appears as just a spoiled arrogant ass and built the same reputation he had in middle school

What no one but Deku is privy to is that winning is all Bakugo had when he entered UA, he’s developed the core belief that he’s not likable and that being the best is the only reason anyone would ever put up with him, if he’s not the best than he’s not anything

Talent and potential is all he can offer, but those are shallow traits and I think a part of him resents people for praising him, but he also hates it when they don’t

That’s why he gets so flustered when he knows the praise isn’t shallow

When he knows the praise isn’t just for him winning but for all the effort he put in, and because they’re genuinely happy for him; that it’s less about the win and more because they like seeing him do well and are proud of him for his efforts, and that they’d still be there even if he’d lost(which he thinks makes them losers)

It’s one of those things he didn’t understand about Deku when they were younger, he was smart enough to see a difference but didn’t have the context to place it.

Just because Deku was different than others didn’t give Bakugo a reason to believe it was a positive difference, in 15 years of life Bakugo doesn’t seem like he’s ever met anyone other than Deku who was nice just to be nice (his dads nice, but like that’s his dad)

Bakugo seems completely unfamiliar with the concept of unconditional love, of doing something kind in silence with no expectations of return, of wanting what’s best for him with no agenda

Selfless love is always costly; fear can't afford it, pride doesn't understand it. -Bob Goff

The majority of Katsukis experiences of others being kind to him were because certain kids want to be seen with him, because of his potential for fame or to deter other bullies, or they just want to keep him from possibly bullying them.

At some point his mother decided tough love was the only way to go, his dad could hardly stop her, and all his teachers were exasperated with his misconduct. Bakugo has no personal role models who express anything more than simply putting up with him because they have to.

People think he’s admirable in the way they might admire a painting in passing, but scoff when they see the selling price and think it’s unworthy because they don’t understand the skill and dedication it took to make it

Or they think he’s admirable because others do, everyone else thinks it’s a good painting and they don’t wanna look uncultured or stand out from the crowd and risk being asked to explain themselves, but truthfully to them the paintings worthless and forgettable

Deku admires him and understands the uniqueness of each brush stroke, that the technique used was practiced deliberately and took years to master.

He knows that there’s dozen’s of scrapped rough drafts, that it’s true this piece is amazing because of the artist’s natural creative talent, but it’s also true that creative talent couldn’t have brought them this far, this work takes drive and practice.

He knows better than anyone that envisioning a picture doesn’t put paint on a canvas, putting paint on a canvas doesn’t guarantee an idea come to reality. Only practice and patience will ensure results, and even that isn’t always enough to give life to your imagination

You have to know not just how colors play together and how perspective works but you have to know your materials too. How will the paints react to the air, the canvas, other paints? In what ways do your brush strokes show through, can you cover a mistake? Do you have the materials ?

Deku knows this all so deeply and is so in awe of the results, he’s more than willing to save up and pay the asking price because he wants to spend his life reading into the way some colors blend and bleed into each other while others form distinct lines of separation

His old school mates admired but they didn’t appreciate. Deku, and now others, admire him and find something new to appreciate about him all the time. And not just the finished piece but all the steps it took to get there.

The first person other than Deku to do this is Kaminari, because the art itself didn’t impress him. Katsuki’s skill and success didn’t matter to Kaminari in the face of his terrible personality and he says as much, and I just think that’s really neat

He looked at this boiled sewage of a person and went hey that’s kinda fun, and then they were pals for life

[numberonetribble]

That night, Piston snuck out to follow Breakdown home, unfortunately, there were Seekers in the woods and Nova Storm found them first.

Inspired by Depeche Mode: Policy of Truth

You had something to hide

Should have hidden it, shouldn't you?

Now you're not satisfied

With what you're being put through

It's just time to pay the price

For not listening to advice

And deciding in your youth

On the policy of truth

Things could be so different now

It used to be so civilized

You will always wonder how

It could have been if you'd only lied

It's too late to change events

It's time to face the consequence

For delivering the proof

In the policy of truth

My first long form comic!!!! This is canon to Earthspark and how Piston loses their T-Cog. (They live!) Bumblebee loses his voice from crying. Breakdown is resolved to get back to Cybertron for a new T-Cog. There will be a part two! And I also would like to do the Breakdown version that's canon to my Last Mile Marker AU. It's completely different but same vibes.

But this is why I make Piston so goofy, baby isn't even a Cycle old and doesn't know any better. They are my funny little lamb who is happy to be alive. I have alot of things I want to say but I'm really proud of this, I did it over a 3 day weekend so I'm sorry if anything is wonky. (Did you know that the Seekers have hooves?)

Also, I always worry that Bee comes off like he dislikes Piston in my work but I feel like it's more complicated and he doesn't have anyone he can talk to about it. Bee is very much a "I just want to hold my baby" parent but he can't, as Piston is so large and how do you express that out loud? Bumblebee is acutely aware that Piston would've been a child-solider if they were born during the war and it keeps him up at night. He is adamant that Piston never knows what suffering is, and in turn Piston ends up a little too sheltered. Bumblebee and Breakdown argue a lot over raising them. A particularly bad one is when Breakdown wanted to encourage Piston to discover if they had a built-in Stinger like Bumblebee and Bumblebee lost his mind over the suggestion. It doesn't help that Piston wants to be exactly like Breakdown.

In part two I want to draw a poem/musing Ratchet has to himself while repairing Piston's arm. Nova Storm lore in the undercut!

Nova Storm is the Big Bad in The Last Mile Marker AU. She has beef with Bumblebee and takes any opportunity to hurt him. She's a massive hater. Why Nova Storm? I hear you ask. Great question! She's yellow :) With damaged optics and low light, Piston confuses her for Bee at the worst possible moment. But honestly, I wanted a Seeker and I have Megatron and Starscream off doing their own self-reflections and working for the greater good. I wanted someone different with unique motivations and Skywarp is on the Bee-Team. Why does she have beef with Bumblebee? Another great question! During the war, Bumblebee was in charge of a team and one member offlined Nova Storm's conjux. She blames Bumblebee and is out for revenge.

[melodic-haze]

Arlecchino with a dom filthy rich reader. Reader showers her with lots of gifts on a daily basis. Jewelry, clothes, you name it. Reader would buy it all for her. Arlecchino is spoiled rotten by reader. Arlecchino would always say how reader doesn't need to give her gifts everyday. She finds it unnecessary but the way Arlecchino would wear those expensive outfits and jewelry as Reader fucks her says otherwise.

[Sorry for my bad English]

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!afab!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Reader with a strap

☆ — NOTES: NOOO DON'T BE SORRY DUDE❗️❗️ It's easy to understand and it got the point across, this is actually pretty good english :333 gonna tell you rn it's so much better than the english from people where I'm at 😭 actually atrocious

Arlecchino would ABSOLUTELY try and refuse your gifts at first, saying that she has no need for such material things when she already has you :333 (could not be my ass I'm so money-oriented it's so bad LMAOOO)

You have money to burn though—you can so easily buy your lover whatever she may want without needing to look at the price!!! You wanna spoil this woman in a way that she had never been spoiled before, so you pay attention to her likes and dislikes, take notes on her preferences, buy things that link with your observations and/or remind you of her

Eventually though Arlecchino would come to accept that buying her things, especially when they're so expensive, is one of the many ways that you show love. Far be it for her to reject your gifts when you've taken the time to pick them out with her in mind, even if yeah she says it's unnecessary. If it's coming from you then why would she refuse???

I think she'd initially like. Not wear them though 😞 not bc she's ungrateful, but bc she personally thinks whatever you've bought her doesn't suit her unless it's something practical. This ESPECIALLY applies to jewellery bc like. It's. An accessory. She doesn't really need it in her life, does she???? But she warms up to it :33333

The jingle of the precious necklace around her slender neck definitely helps with convincing that perhaps such gifts were okay.

It was a custom-made gift crafted using the finest metals, notably the highest-quality starsilver one could find in Dragonspine's unstable landscape. Perhaps you could have bought something much more.. easily produced such as gold, but you didn't—couldn't—settle for less when it came to the prime target of your bountiful affection and the person who was in need of true love.

Though you admit, it wasn't because of the item's worth that had you wanting for a custom gift for your paramour, no. Rather, your thoughts had often wandered to the crafted image of a red glow illuminating pale skin, along with how beautiful a sight it must be.

And when you see the magical jewels reflect its crimson light on Arlecchino's naked skin, when the chains clink quietly as the pendant bounces on top of her chest, you pride yourself in being right as you smirk and continue to fuck her with your faux appendage.

Your hand went to graze her neck, fingers trailing down as you slowed your efforts. It would have been nice to overwhelm her, to fill her over and over until she forgot herself, but you adored the view you were blessed with right this very moment. Despite how formidable this woman was, you still managed to leave her grasping for breath, glistening chest heaving as her necklace followed suit.

Such a thought itself had prompted you to reach for the camera on the bedside table before taking a quick picture. She would often question your want to capture her visage in such an unruly state but really, you can't help it!

After all, she looks positively delightful, all dressed up and gilded with your money.

My GOD being rich would also mean you can do that thing where like you rip the clothes off bc you got way too excited. She'd ask you why you did that but then you can easily tell her that you'll buy her another one and more 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ full disclosure heat shot up to her very core at the display ☺️

This is like the greatest sort of ask I've ever had bc I LOVEEEEE jewellery just saying

I read something somewhere about how if you buy your partner a necklace or smth then it's like you're binding them to you. Like a collar but a lot more innocent unless yk you WANT it to be less-than-innocent

Buying her all these things being not just a way to show your love but also to show ownership is kinda crazy in a hot way, and really why wouldn't you?? When she's this formidable and Beautifully Handsome figure, why wouldn't you want to show off the fact that she's fully and utterly yours???? Just clocking onto how perhaps her children point out that the sparkles make her look brighter, or how random people may stop and stare at the shimmering pendant on her neck and knowing that you've given her whatever bounties she could ever ask for (if she wanted to ask) is!!!! Definitely A Feeling 😋😋😋

BONUS if the necklace itself is sturdy too. You'd have to think of how she would much prefer practicality, so you've made sure the metal is STRONG and REINFORCED enough to withstand force........esp when you go to tug on it harshly like a collar. Bc really at the end of the day, that's what this is—the only difference is an actual collar would be thick and would wrap around the neck while a necklace is thin and hangs loosely

In any case you tug on it harshly, bring her even closer and more personal as you start drilling into her again, and it lifts her up instead of breaking thank god ☺️☺️☺️ and she does NOTHING but take what you give her!!!!! She hangs there like a ragdoll, eyes glazed over as little grunts and quiet moans escape her lips before you hit that One Spot at that certain and then suddenly her hands are grasping onto you frantically :3

And at daily life THEN that's when she starts fully accepting your gifts and wearing it without feeling like she's extorted you somehow. When people ask her about it, she'll say that she got it all from her lover before looking at you with a tint of red on her cheeks, remembering the times when you've fucked her to the point where she felt like an object herself 🫶

[macravishedbymactavish]

Hugging Headcanons (TF141 + König x GN!Reader)

Turns out, I'm better at full paragraph writing then headcanons, but we do our best in this house.

TW: Light swearing (like 2-3 words at most), little bit of cheeky adult(ish. Major ISH) behaviour, and mentions of anxiety/overthinking

| Blog HQ | Ghosts Version | Modern Warfare 2 Masterlist | 18+ MDNI | Taglist Open |

Soap:

If he had it his way, he'd be hugging you constantly. Loves (and I mean LOVES) physical contact and just being close to you in general.

He is also very vocal about this. From the beginning of your relationship he's made it known that he L I V E S for physical contact.

His favourite way to hug you is from behind, especially when you're not expecting it. The little jump then relaxing when you realize it's him brings him so much joy.

100% content with holding you from behind like this, chin resting on your shoulder as you do things.

Cooking? He'll be there, likely stealing some of the food before it's served (and laughing when he gets smacked with the spoon).

Paperwork? He'll try to hold you with one arm and write with the other, until Ghost or Price gives him shit because you're both now working at half your normal pace.

Anywhere, anytime. He's going to try to hug you.

If at any point you stop and think: "does Soap want a hug" the answer is yes. Always yes.

Soap always wants a hug, please hug him.

Ghost:

Would either be 100% hesitant and unsure of what he's doing, or 100% confident and assertive. No inbetween for this.

I feel he doesn't dislike physical contact (quite the opposite actually), but rather just hasn't had any physical or emotional connections in quite a while. So long in fact that he's grown fine without it. Until you came around.

Like context pre-hug aside, he probably did the cliche "tense right up then relax once he realizes he's safe" the first time you hugged him. Now he's hooked on the warmth of your body, the way you feel pressed into him, and how automatically relaxed he gets while being hugged.

Since he strikes me as someone who isn't huge on PDA (he's a rather private person) as much as he wants to hold you 24/7, he reserves this for moments when it's just the two of you.

The exception to the rule being stressful missions or any time when he was concerned for your wellbeing. He will gladly hold you close to remind himself that you're okay. No matter where you are, just a reminder that you're still here. You're still his. He pays no mind to anyone else in that moment outside of you and him.

He would NOT be open to questions or explanations the first time this happens, especially if it's in front of the guys. Yes, he's proud of you. Yes he's happy your his. No, they don't need to know every detail of your relationship.

Price:

I can see him being the "little bit obnoxious but a lot of love bear hug" type. Like you can't breathe but that's okay, he loves you a lot.

Much like Ghost - not huge on PDA. Partially because he likes to keep his personal life and work life seperate. But also a professional thing.

He leads a team, he has to keep up appearances. He also doesn't feel like dealing with his sergeants teasing the life out of him for being a softie.

He's also not a teenager anymore, his "I need to touch you at every minute of every hour" days are over. He's perfectly content holding you when appropriate/when he can.

He tries his best to balance work and home. Hugs and loving talks before bed are a MUST in this household. Of course you'll cuddle up in bed, but he makes a point to love up on you a bit more while you're both awake and can remember it.

Like everyone on this list: long hugs before he's deployed and when he first comes home. But I feel like his are more worth mentioning? He's been in the military either the entire time or majority of the time you've been with him. So because of that, you've sacrificed so much for this relationship so he could pursue his career/what feels right. The least he can do is set aside time for just you, to let you feel even a whisper of closure before he goes/when he returns.

I just imagine in the kitchen, tight hug. Ready to say goodbye, as he whispers stuff to you. Like whether it be bits of your vows, quotes he knows you live by, or just how much he adores you for everything. He would make an absolute point to give you another piece of his soul to treasure before he leaves (we can get into this more later if wanted)

Gaz

Another very playful soul. Not outward on PDA, but won't give up a chance to hug you quick or keep a hand on the small of your back.

You rank pretty high on the better things he has in life (if not on top), of course he's going to show you off. He landed a partner who is gorgeous inside and out.

As shown in game, he is a cheeky mf. So expect this to translate into the physical contact.

Mid-hug he may grab a handful of your ass, or start peppering kisses to your neck if hugging you from behind - then pretend like nothing happened (obviously in private. Time and place for everything folks).

I can see him being big on having his arm around your shoulders quite often. Like in resuraunts, resting his arm on the back of your chair, or doing the same while sitting on the couch with you. Just casual contact, a small flex of "they're mine, crazy right?"

Expect to be pulled into a tight hug, then dipped during your first kiss at your wedding. A little bit of flair and spice on your big day. Especially considering he got so flustered after your second or third date, that instead of going in for a goodbye/goodnight kiss he chickened out and opted to hug you close instead.

You melted when he told you that one night, when recounting the many stories and memories from your relationship.

So hugs, needless to say are pretty symbolic in your relationship

König

(Side note: I live and breathe the fact that his social anxiety is canon. I've never related to a character faster)

As anyone with social anxiety knows: it's not about whether you like physical contact or not -- it's normally the overthinking about "Do I initiate? Do I not? Do I pull away first? Am I hugging them for too long? Is this weird?"

He's very sweet overall, but quite awkward and overthinks hugging you initially. But wishes so much that you'd hug him over and over again.

He almost melts the first time you do, but is another "cliche freezes then relaxes" because he's so nervous. He really enjoys your company, he doesn't want to mess this up. He wants this to feel as nice and loving for you as it does for him.

Needless to say, it takes a little while and a lot of reassurance for him to get comfortable hugging you first. But when this day comes, oh boy watch out.

He will hug you at any opportunity. From behind hugs, side hugs, bear hugs, quick hugs, hugs where you do that little sway thing, hugs where you lightly rub the other persons back. He loves them all equally.

He especially loves hugs where you rest your face against his chest, and relax into him. Letting all the stress from your day fade for even a moment (because that's how he has always felt when you hugged him)

He found it both comical and endearing when you dragged a chair from across the room to in front of him to stand on so you could either (depending on your height and the chair)

1) Press your face into his neck without him having to bend right down

Or

2). Let him rest his head against your chest and relax.

Not that he'd ever admit it out loud, but that's the memory he finds himself thinking back to when he can't sleep during a long deployment. Or when he needs a quick pick-me-up after a long day.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[akko-kagori]

I was in the bath when I had this eppiphiney so before I forget it

Let's talk about Diluc's voicelines, specifically, ones people refer to as "edgy." At first glance, these both seem like him being super edgy and brooding, but it's not, it's so, so much deeper than that.

Crepus always said to Diluc that life would never turn it's back on the faithful, but on the night Crepus died, it did so, so much more than turn it's back on him. It violently ripped away everything he loved, everything he thought he knew, and tossed him aside away. More specifically, the actions of evil, cruel, corrupt people did. All Diluc wants is to ensure that no one has to go through that again, that no one has to have what they love ripped away from them again, that no one has to be hurt like that again. But, in order to do that, he must get rid of those responsible for such tragedies, the "darkness that seeths with evil", the "corrupt souls of this world."

This is why he speaks so much of dawn, why he's named dawn in Latin. he wants to chase away the "darkness" of night so that others can bask in the light of dawn, he himself is dawn, the one that lives alone facing the cold harsh dark of night, so no one has to. But it takes more than a blade to purge that evil, and he knows that no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much he desperately does, that he will never be able to truly get rid of that darkness, night will always come, and it terrifies him. Those voice lines aren't him brooding, it's him expressing his frustrations, his anxieties, his insecurities; that he isn't strong enough to save those around him.

if only, he wishes with all his heart it could be so simple, that if he just worked hard enough he'd be able to slay the dragon and save the kingdom, but this isn't a fairytale, it's real life, and when one monster falls, two more rise in it's stead. He's knows he's fighting an impossible battle, that no matter how hard he tries, he can't prevent what happened to him from happening again. He knows that out there somewhere, there's someone just like him, someone just as innocent and bright eyed that's being hurt like he was, that's having their eyes forcefully ripped open to the cold, cruel reality of this world, and it eats him up from the inside out. He says this as a way to comfort himself, it's a sweet little daydream, it's comforting to picture a world where it was that simple, where something as simple as the weather could purge the sin out of man. Keep note of his voice while he says this line too, it's filled with longing, gentle, quiet longing for something he knows can't be.

it's largely the same for this too, but I think this line in particular helps highlights why he dislikes the knights so much (besides his unfortunate past with them and thinking they're inefficient): it's because they're corrupt, and he can't do anything to stop it, he can't fix them. In Dawn Winery, he runs it, he has complete control over the business, and thus is completely able to ensure that Dawn stays completely ethical and just. We see this in his 5.4 antidotes, he actively does not raise prices when the demand for his wine exceeds his supply despite his distributors urging him to, he does not give into the peer pressure.

But with the knights? He can't do anything, he's long since left the knights and has severed all association with them, and even when he was a knight, he was the cavalry captain. Yes, it's a position of power, but not nearly enough to call the shots. If he wanted to systematically de-corrupt the knights he'd have to be the Grand Master, and I don't think Varka is going to give up his position permanently just like that. He's just one man, he can't be every leader for every organization in all of Teyvat, let alone manage or systematically alter them.

This voice line isn't him being all dramatic and brooding to seem cool or mysterious, it's him subtly admitting that he knows he's fighting an unwinnable battle, that in the end, he's dedicating his life, every single facet of his existence to a goal that can never be accomplished, this isn't just him expressing his "troubles", it's him expressing his demons, the things that eat away at him, the things that keep him up at night (besides the ptsd)

[theweepingangelofcas]

I am aware that you are very busy, and I wish you ease!

I had a request, the reader who has just moved to the apartment cannot get along with Sherlock at first. (Since we know that Sherly doesn't like women) he doesn't want to accept her existence at first, but as time goes by, he gets used to her existence.

From time to time she would go into his study and pick it up, and sherlock was uncomfortable with it. but after a while he starts to like making this and such gestures-

YESSS I've been needing inspo to write for my dear Sherly!!! I hope you like it! Like our dear Sherly in the show, canonically, Sherlock has always been moreso awkward and distrustful of women rather than purely disliking them. He's not one to disrespect or demean a woman just because of gender, moreso that he just doesn't like female company. Victorian era feminist, I guess? This starts off from Sherlock's perspective, before switching to the reader's. Hope you all enjoy!

***********

Flatmates, to Enemies, to Lovers - Sherlock x Reader

He. Needed. Cash.

Or, more accurately, he needed money for rent again. Ms. Hudson had raised the price on him, saying that if he was to cause so much ruckus at such ungodly hours of the night, then he should compensate her for it. As always, a lengthy argument ensued, that she inevitably won, and that left him with few options.

Getting more money was an issue, right now. His most recent case had left Lestrade a bit miffed at him, so it was unlikely he'd get another one until at least another week or two.

Going to John wasn't an option either. If he found out about all this, especially since it was all Sherlock's fault? He'd never hear the end of it.

That left him with only one last option.

They had a spare bedroom.

A new flatmate was in order.

Though Ms. Hudson approved the idea of a new flatmate, she made it very clear that her, and her alone would be the one choosing them in the end. He just had to find the right person.

It had been a major miracle that he had stumbled upon Dr. Watson when he needed him. Surely another kind soul would help him out, right?

Wrong.

None of his connections brought him any luck, and not a single one of John's friends needed a place to stay. It was like every possible person he could have picked had been plucked up into the heavens.

Rent payment was getting close. It got to where he had a measly 48 hours to find someone to help him, or goodness knows how much Ms. Hudson would abuse him.

So, when you knocked upon the door, it felt like whatever cruel god there was had finally given him a break.

Finally, his ad in the paper had been answered.

But, there was one problem. He knew it before he even opened the door.

The knocks were light. Dainty. The shoes walking up to the door sounded exactly like low heels. And, he could smell a faint hint of floral perfume.

The person who would come to live with him was a woman.

It wasn't the societal taboo that irked him about the situation. After all, since when had he cared what other people thought? But it was the idea that he'd have to share his flatmate with someone he'd be absolutely rubbish at tolerating that he loathed.

If he wasn't so desperate, he would have shooed you away. Lied and said that the room wasn't available anymore. But, he could feel Ms. Hudson's furious gaze through the walls it seemed, since he ended up letting you inside anyway.

***********************

You were fine enough, he supposed. You mostly kept to yourself, though you did seem to pick petty fights with him about the silliest of things.

After all, how was he to know it was uncouth to keep some spare human eyes in the fridge? It was for an experiment!

He wouldn't say he enjoyed being around you. But he tolerated it. It was for the greater good, after all (the greater good being the roof atop his head). It didn't come without it's problems, though.

The sound of your humming in the morning used to annoy him to pieces. The way your heels would click against the wooden floor sounded too piercing for him. The way you applied your rouge made him look at your lips for far longer than he found comfortable.

It took months before he could stand being in a room with you for more than an hour. Prior to that, he considered you too distracting to his work.

But, you were quiet. That was something he would be forever grateful for.

But that quietness hid so much, as well. He already knew everything he could deduce about you. Yet you hadn't even been phased when he correctly guessed the salon you went to on a monthly basis, or the way you picked at your skin suggesting a former smoking habit. You simply nodded, and went back to your work.

It infuriated him.

He could collect no new data.

This, he supposed, was the reason he wasn't fond of women. The initial deductions were absurdly easy, but anything deeper was much more well hidden than any man's. And it drove him crazy.

***************

"Why did you choose this flat?!"

You sighed, audibly. Sherlock was at it again, asking questions you were sure he at least kind of knew the answers to. This time he was knocking on the door to your room, leaving you no method to escape.

After all, it was taboo for a woman to have an interest in crime. It was a practically a sin for women to learn science and study math.

You had known Sherlock wouldn't care. You had heard about him before, in the papers. An aloof man, living in the middle of Baker street, seen as both a hero and an outcast to the world.

The ad for a flat in the paper had intrigued you. Perhaps you could be near someone who shared your same interests? Maybe, you'd see him while walking to the store some day.

You had nearly keeled over in shock when it was THE Sherlock himself who opened the door to greet you.

But, it seemed true to never meet your heroes. Sherlock was rude on the best of days, and an ass on the worst of them. Dr. Watson was pleasant, but that did little to make up for Sherlock's tomfoolery.

You could tolerate it, though. You kept to your room most of the time, reading and experimenting on your own interests.

And, that was where you were at now, rolling your eyes at the idea of listening to him yelling at you through the door. The man had no social skills, which you were normally tolerant of, but this was too much.

You pulled open the door, a scowl on your face. He had interrupted the newest book you were reading, it was still clutched in your free hand, "Sherlock, I do not have the time for these dumb questions-"

You saw his face. His eyes were wide, brows lifted. Following his eyesight, he was seeing into your room.

Specifically, to the textbooks and experiments on your desk.

"You..." He seemed shocked. You don't think he's ever been shocked before, "Is this yours?"

You nodded, "I was TRYING to study the biochemistry of pigs blood compared to human's, but since you're so insistent on interrupting me, I guess I'll humor you."

His eyes lit up with every word you spoke. Hand slamming against the wood of the door, the man pushed himself past you, happier than you'd ever seen him.

"You even have the blood smear perfected. You have the right kind of charting..." He trailed off, observing your workstation, "Where is your microscope?"

You shrugged, a bit more intrigued than ticked off, "The shop down the street refused to sell me one, something about 'that crazy Holmes lad that keeps breaking each one he gets in stock'."

He grimaced for a moment, before perking up again, "I have a few spare ones in my own room. Give me a moment. I will be right back."

*******************************

From there on, he found he actually enjoyed your company. You were a woman, sure, but you were akin to him, in a way. He found out your liking of forensics had gotten you outcast of your last flat, leaving you nowhere to go. No college of science in the country would accept a woman, either. In a way, his flat was your last hope, one that he wanted to keep safe no matter what.

Likewise, you found that this man gave you opportunities to see and experience so much more than you ever could have before. He supported your interests, instead of shunning them like the rest of the world had.

Maybe this arrangement wasn't too bad, after all.

[causenessus]

present

part 0.3. HOY NO ESTARÉ

“que está pasando (what's going on) / ya no encuentro a los demás (i can't find the others anymore) te hice daño, me hiciste daño (i hurt you, you hurt me) hay un túnel largo (there is a long tunnel) y no se a donde voy (and I don't know where I'm going) / ya no tuve tiempo para decir adiós (i no longer had time to say goodbye)”

life should be about those domestic moments.

those small moments that aren’t really that small.

if you just focused on the present–what was right in front of you–nothing could be considered small. not the breaths you took continuously, one after the other, or a crosswalk sign that gives you the "go ahead" light to walk safely across a street and continue on with your day.

unfortunately, she didn’t have the luxury of enjoying those unappreciated moments.

for her, she lived to ruin others.

her job wasn’t the problem. it was the fact that she couldn't say that she was better off than those who crossed her. she ended her days coming home to a lonesome, tarnished life of her own. 

perhaps she was selfish to think she deserved better; this was the price for living in the darkness. it was a part of her that had been there since she was a child, the ever-winding shadows curling along her skin proof of their persistence.

a haunting reminder that even if she did ever find light in her life, her shadow was always behind her. 

but that night between her and chuuya after dazai had left proved different. that had been a small moment. the blank space at the end of a page of a book, once a chapter has ended but there was still room left for things to be said before the next part began. since then, showing up at each other’s doors late at night had become a common occurrence.

they talked about small things and big things. of things that they may have hesitated to say, but said anyway. and there was never any judgement, only small brushes of the hands, and looks that said more than words. 

it confused her. she couldn’t understand why she kept telling him things about her, whether they be of the past or just something in the moment that was bothering her. it was as if his gaze simply drew the words from her mouth the moment it landed on her and he was waiting for her to speak. she often ignored the meaningless negative emotions and annoyances she felt throughout the day in the event that it caused her to develop a sense of self-pity. yet, the way he listened to her made her feel as if they weren’t measly problems—as if maybe it was okay to sometimes admit something was bothering her.

but it was uncomfortable to be placed in such a foreign situation where she was not only sharing her thoughts but also being validated for them. despite how much she disliked the idea of trying out something new, though, she couldn't bear to pull away from the boy who never failed to show up at her doorstep the next night no matter what they had discussed on the previous one. it was an intangible feeling that underlay what she understood to be a feeling of safety she associated with him, allowing her to trust him with her emotions. there was so much she couldn't understand about what she felt she almost wanted to tear her heart out and be done with all these complex paradoxes called emotions—

“whaddya thinking about?” olive green eyes came into view, a boy’s face inches away from her own.

she swatted his face away, the ruminating mood she'd drifted into ruined, “don’t worry about it.”

he huffed, falling back into step next to her before she heard the faint sound of his teeth chattering. he crossed his arms around his body while turning his head to look at their surroundings, unable to stay focused on the task in front of them for longer than a second. “it’s cold, are we almost there?”

“it’s just up ahead. you’ll be fine as long as you don’t make snarky comments in front of the man we’re meeting, earnest,” she sighed, seeing her own breath appear in the cold air as she exhaled. working with earnest was like having a child of her own, which she didn’t say happily. she couldn’t tell if mori actually wanted her to train him or if he just needed a babysitter for the boy.

earnest was sweet, but as a new member who had come all the way from america, it was to be expected. he was reckless and naive, not quite yet understanding how the city of yokohama worked nor was he patient enough to wait to figure it out. he had worked for a criminal organization before, but his affiliation with them had ended with him in prison and then on the other side of the world. so maybe she couldn't be entirely angry at his immaturity; he simply didn't know any better, and perhaps that's why mori had placed him in her care. but that didn't mean she'd take pity on him just because he'd had a rough start—they all had.

they entered the building, shutting the door silently behind them. “they’re on the third floor,” he whispered from behind her.

“just as planned,” she responded, scanning their surroundings before taking another step forward. “nothing else?”

“nothing out of the ordinary so far,” he shook his head, eyes still closed with his palm pressed to the wall of the building. like her's along with many others, his ability had practically been made for criminal activities.

she lifted the silver briefcase in her hand higher, starting to climb up the flights of stairs that would bring them to the meeting spot. she hadn’t bothered to check what was inside (she sincerely hoped she wasn't wrong to trust that earnest had done the bare minimum of double checking the contents of the briefcase before showing up at her door like a puppy who'd just been told he was going for a walk— in which the only real difference in this situation was that he'd heard the word "job" instead of "walk" and it still elicited a reaction all the same) but whatever various objects were inside clinked quietly as they fell to one side of the case.

“this is so stupid,” she heard behind her, “exchanges are so–”

she hushed him, her free hand not holding the briefcase reaching back to where he was following close behind to swat at his face again. sometimes trade jobs were boring, yes, but sometimes they could get heated. his complaints could wait until after they had finished the transfer.

arriving at the third floor, only illuminated by the moonlight spilling through the windows on the side of the building, she waited for earnest to finish making it up the stairs before she turned the corner.

a table waited at the center of this hallway too, the blue shine of the moon outside framing it in a sort of spotlight. she placed the briefcase on the table with the handle and locks facing away from her, stepping back just as a stern-faced man stepped out from behind a wall near the table. his light brown hair reached just past his ears and was slicked back, framing an ordinary face. he was nothing special or crazy intimidating, he was most likely just a simple runner for his organization. what caught her off guard in the next moment was the accent he spoke with, saying something she didn't entirely catch. it was heavy and could barely be considered japanese, leaving her to wonder who'd let this poor man show up to an exchange with the port mafia all by himself when he could barely speak their language. but she couldn't say much with an american of her own standing a few feet away, so instead they nodded to each other and she waited half a beat before turning around. 

earnest continued to stand still, eyes on the man who had taken to opening the briefcase to examine what was inside. she brushed past him, giving him a look that told him to follow before walking back the way they came. 

he trailed behind her a few seconds later and they made their way down the first flight of stairs, not before he gave one last glance down the hallway they’d just came from. she looked back at him with a face of concern. “what’s the matter? you’re suddenly quiet and acting all paranoid. did you see a ghost?” it was a lighthearted tease, but she nonetheless paused at the beginning of the next flight of stairs to hear what he had to say.

“i… just thought i knew him,” earnest answered, no longer sounding bored or whiny.

she quirked a brow, “oh? from where?” she asked, turning back to face the last flight of stairs.

“hold on,” he grabbed her arm, placing his other hand on the wall and closing his eyes as he’d done when they’d first entered the building. “there’s someone waiting down there.” his eyes shot open, “we need to find another way out.”

for whom the bell tolls was an ability that allowed earnest to see the layout of any building he was in and single out the best places for ambushes within them. it was a double-edged sword, used both to his advantage and plotting where to sneak up on someone, and also to predict and detect if perhaps anyone was instead waiting to attack him from those same spots.

in the short time she had worked with earnest, it had proven quite useful. he’d been right every time he’d warned her or described a building, sometimes even predicting things that were more specific than she thought could be produced by his ability.  yet, she couldn’t help but question what he’d said, worried that perhaps his shakeup from the exchange minutes ago was influencing his decisions, “it’s just one person, why?”

he’d tugged her arm down a hallway to their left as if he knew this place like the back of his hand, yet they both knew it was his first time in here. but it was her’s, too, and all she could do was trust his guidance. “they’re planning to destroy the whole building– and everyone in it,” he answered, eyes wide and breathing uneven. his grip on her sleeve remaining tight, “there’s an open window this way, the fall won’t be detrimental, and i saw a manhole on the side of the building. we’ll take it–”

the hair stood up on the back of her neck as she felt a presence behind her. quickly pulling the pistol from a holster on the side of her hip, firing three shots in the direction of the feeling. 

earnest flinched at the sound, brows knit with raised anxiety and panic but her eyes were focused on the figure that stumbled out of the doorway where they’d been just been moments ago. while normally she would have stayed to take care of the assailant, she’d never seen earnest so scared and she could feel the unease, too. something wasn't normal about the situation. she should have noticed from the moment she'd saw the man who she'd left the briefcase with; his lack of speech and fluency gave it away; they had been fooled. whatever was in that briefcase hadn't mattered in the slightest. their true objective seemed to be taking the lives of her and the boy beside her.

she spun back around, this time being the one to grab onto earnest and pull him along as they started to run. the window he'd mentioned before was just ahead, the countless closed doors they passed becoming a blur as they sprinted down the hallway, trying to reach their exit. 

this was a building owned by the mafia– it’s why it had been chosen as the exchange point. how had nothing seemed to have been out of the ordinary if these people were somehow planning to destroy it? how had earnest not noticed anything from the start? the only reasonable explanation she could come up with was that it had to be an ability, and they needed to escape this building before even thinking of fighting back.

“[y/n]–”

“hold on,” she cut him off, hearing a shot from behind her, and the whirl of something pass by her ear, so close it grazed her cheek. she fired several more shots back in retaliation through gritted teeth, “we’re almost there.”

she let go of earnest’s hand to run forward, giving her time to check that nothing was waiting outside the window before she slipped out of it, earnest following quickly behind. she watched the window while earnest shakily stood back up from the fall. a dark figure look out the window down towards them, but they didn’t follow.

a hand tugged at her’s, “i think we should leave. it’s not a good idea to try to fight them,” earnest looked her straight in the eyes. he didn’t seem completely terrified anymore and she trusted his intuition after the trap he'd just saved both of them from.

“let’s go, then.”

earnest had been right to suggest for them to leave. the day after, the news blared with pictures of the building that looked alarmingly like the one they’d been in last night. in fact, it was the one they’d been in not even eight hours ago, and now it had vanished without a trace. there was no debris or ash left over; the building hadn’t been blown up or left behind any evidence of destruction, it'd simply disappeared. all the was left behind was the concrete base the property had been built upon as if the building had never existed in the first place. 

earnest found her in the morning, his skin pale and eyes bloodshot. “it’s the guild,” he stammered, “they’re…they’re here.”

she’d only heard of the american organization briefly, from reports and news articles she’d happen to glimpse by and from the stories earnest had told. it was the same group he’d originally come from, after all. “i believe you,” she spoke calmly, looking him in the eyes. “but why would they come here? what do we have that they can’t get in their own country?” she began to guide him down the hall away from her office. she had a feeling he already knew, but mori would want to hear earnest’s explanation if by some chance their boss hadn’t already predicted every outcome.

“it’s because of me, [y/n]-san. i– they framed me. they want this… book. and i helped them– and then they got me arrested once they were done with me. i–”

“earnest, calm down.” his head shot up at the sound his name coming from her mouth, and something in her clicked when she saw the look on his face. she stopped walking, and he followed suit, “don’t do it. you wouldn’t be able to handle them all on your own.” unlike yesterday, his eyes weren’t wide with fear for his safety nor were they lively and upbeat as they were normally. they were instead filled with anger and vengeance.

“they threw me into jail,” he tried to argue, “they came here knowing i was here, too. they’re here to finish what they started with me [y/n]-san. i won’t let them.”

“you won’t survive,” she shook her head. “if you didn’t want to fight even just one of them yesterday, how do you plan to take them all on? come on, we’re going to see mori-san. you’re not the only one with grudges, earnest. the guild tried to kill us and destroyed one of our buildings. the mafia won't let them get away with something like that. wait for a minute, see what both sides plan to do next, and you can fight when you’re more in control of your emotions.”

the fire that had sparked in his eyes seemed to slowly go out as he looked towards the floor. “you’re right,” he took a step back from her.

she hadn’t thought she was speaking harshly too him; he’d endured much worse than her chastising his recklessness this time around, yet she must have struck a nerve if he’d switched up this quickly. “earnest, please.”

“no…you’re right. I just need to think about this,” he said, refusing to look back at her. he was starting to remind her of someone she’d know years ago who’d been too desperate as well. he'd been too impatient to reach for the stars to wait for the right timing, and she knew how that story had ended. she had ended it. subconsciously, her nails were digging into her palms as her hands clenched into fists. she held herself back from saying anything else, knowing it wouldn't help. what he needed now was time. she needed to be patient, and to keep an eye out for him, to make sure he didn’t slip through her fingers the way he had all that time ago.

“think about it,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, and her eyes shut tight as if just continuing to stand there pained her. and it did, a little bit. “and please…just tell me if you go, okay?”

when she opened her eyes again, he was already gone.

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

i'm so sorry i actually lowk don't like when ocs suddenly appear in x reader works I DO NOT CLAIM EARNEST HEMMINGWAY AS AN OC MAKING HIM A CHARACTER WAS THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE BUT NO CANON CHARACTER IN BSD FIT THE ROLE I NEED HIM TO PLAY

never really thought there'd come a day where i was arguing about disowning an earnest hemmingway oc but here i am

don't come at me for anything regarding earnest hemmingway I don't know anything

also i'm so sorry if any lyrical translations are incorrect </3 I am trying my hardest between reddit posts and lyric websites to find correct translations for songs in languages I'm not fluent in but if anyone who knows better than me a better translation do not be afraid to yell at me and let me know :3

thank you for reading!! happy new year <3

taglist: @kameyyy @miiyas @saoirseyun @phoenix-eclipses @writingandmusing @strawberryuri @viovya (form to be added to taglist! <3)

[barefoothighlander]

i loved your simon x sunshine wife can you please do one with konig ? love your work!!! <3

of course, thank you so much!

warnings: none just fluff, mention of anxiety

It was a pretty big shock to the team when they found out you and König were married, he was always quiet, keeping to himself where as you would burst into rooms, chatting with anyone who wanted to.

Contrary to popular belief he was talkative, but only when you were home, he'd tell you about his day, animals he'd encounter on his way home if he saw something he thought you'd find interesting.

He loved listening to you talk, ambling about whatever was on your mind, his eyes practically heart-shaped at the way your face lit up, your infectious smile that he loved.

You'd find things to surprise him with, somedays you'd try to cook or bake something that would remind him of his home considering he spent so much time away.

On his most recent deployment, you made it your mission to try and learn some German to surprise him.

You extended your arms to him as he entered the door, "Willkommen zu hause, meine liebe" You struggle through the words, squinting your eyes as you try to remember them. Even behind his hood, you could see his face light up, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, "Where did you learn that?", "Tried to learn some while you were gone, is it terrible?" You scrunch your face and he shakes his head, stepping forward to wrap his arms around you, "You're pronunciation is off but, es ist perfekt, meine liebling"

He enjoyed how tactile you were, always having your hands on him somehow, his favourite was when you played with his hair after a long day. Every morning before he left for work he'd wake you up to braid it for him, insisting that you did it so much better than him and you happily obliged.

You were a naturally curious and extroverted person, stopping in the street to have conversations with strangers, asking to pet their dogs as you walked hand in hand with him, the idea of chatting with strangers made him nervous, scared they'd be intimidated by him but you always held his hand through interactions.

If he was anxious you'd pull him aside and wrap your arms around him, providing some sort of pressure on his chest to help him relax, reminding him to breathe.

He was utterly surprised when you first began dating, his face flushed as you asked him out on a date, most people crossed the street when they saw him, his large mask-clad form roaming the streets, but not you, you didn't treat him differently than any other person.

It took him a few months to be comfortable enough to show you his face, nervous you'd dislike the way he looks but he practically melted into your touch when you stroked a thumb across his cheek, tucking loose hair behind his ear.

"It's long, your hair, I thought it'd be short" "You don't like it" "I love it"

The wedding was small, held at your home with just a few friends, the team and minimal family, you had let him choose the food for the occasion while you took to decorations. Picking flowers from the garden that the two of you had made, it helped with his stress to tend to the flowers, having to be responsible for something so fragile.

You had gotten closer to the team and encouraged him to do the same, inviting them over on weekends and stopping by the base when they were there, it was no surprise that you got along with the men and it helped him get to know them better, lightly laughing along as you joked with Soap and Price.

"Cannae imagine how big your kin will be, I mean the man is massive" König practically choked on the air in his throat as Soap joked. "You have no idea, Johnny" You laughed, König dropped his head in embarrassment, laughing while you leaned to rest your head on his shoulder.

It was a weekly occurrence that you had to remind him that you weren't made of glass, every touch so gentle and careful like it he pressed too hard you'd shatter.

In public his hands always sought some part of your body, whether they settled on your waist or lower back, you grounded him.

He'd complain a lot about how you'd steal food from his plate but the truth was he thought it was cute, how you'd try to sneak bites away while he wasn't looking, or attempt to distract him while he was cooking so you could pick at the food.

Sometimes when he was really tired or stressed he'd slip back into German, forgetting that you couldn't understand every word and apologizing.

"will dich nicht verlassen" He grumbled, you hummed in response, turning his head to peak an eye at you "M'sorry, forgot for a minute" "S'okay, I like hearing you speak" "You can't understand me" "Your face says more than you think" You smile, kissing his forehead while his arms wrapped around you, tugging you into him.

It was a struggle every time he left home, not knowing when he'd be home, but the wait was always worth it, watching him walk through the door and immediately relax his shoulders at the sight of you, his eyes staring at you the same way they did when you first met.

Willkommen zu hause, meine liebe (welcome home my love)

es ist perfekt, meine liebling (it’s perfect my darling)

will dich nicht verlassen (i don’t wanna leave you)

[heiznx]

BUNDLE OF PURITY

∗༝*◦✦ and they were roommates.

BEFORE READING, woman mc, includes out of character scaramouche, triggering implications and scenes.

|| STAINED HANDS || DEAR KUNI ||

There were times Kunikuzushi stared at what view was above him and everything else, wondering if there was more than what his bare eyes could see—the blending of orange and yellow to a color that was far from the color wheel, purple and blue—and it’s all because the sun was setting.

The hues that matched his appearance were made up from the sky he would look at: dark blue shaded hair and blue eyes, much like the background shades used when nobles ask artists to paint a portrait of them.

“I must be old,” he used to think back then, for having preferred the darker shades like adults do even though he was only in his early adolescence at that time, when in fact, he only liked the hues, because they were the only ones he saw more frequently than the sun.

His perspective about that now was that he was naive.

Now and for the past years, Kunikuzsuhi wonders how he allowed himself to be so easily swayed to do something that he used to think was a burden to his work, but now he would convince himself that it was only rational of him to follow what the other says.

The light was blinding even when he placed his hand over his eyes; it was proven futile as light continued to only slip past his fingers and shone right back on his eyes.

He can feel herself getting irked by it; it was too warm for his liking.

“Where are you?” Kunikuzushi thought as he looked around the crowd of people before him; unfortunately, however, their tall structures blocked him from seeing anything, and they also fortunately blocked the sunlight from meeting his eyes. “That sick—! She’s unnecessarily stubborn! I will lose my mind!”

He dislikes having to be alone in such a place where vendors surrounding almost every corner of the area were yelling to get noticed first for their products, even though most of them were just the same—same fruits, same words, and same prices.

Though the event was yearly, there were occasions where everything just looked the same, and because of that, he didn’t feel any thrill from being beneath the pennant banners connected from house to house.

Kunukuzushi isn’t interested in the celebration, in fact, when he explained this to his companion, he can’t help but scoff; the irony was just there—everyone having to celebrate the birth of the missing child of the Empress that might’ve passed away already.

What’s more was that the Empress seemed convinced the child was alive and was searching for them now since they are supposed to be near the age for having a royal debutante.

Nobles were so irresponsible, and his companion was too forgiving.

If given the time, Kunikuzushi would want to drill in his companion’s brain about his hatred towards people, his experiences about being left, and his disgust for feeling like his companion had been taking everything lightly.

He definitely did confide to his companion about it all except the fluttering feeling that he used to feel disgusted of before meeting his companion; the way his companion thinks wasn’t one that he gets to see too often—his companion might be the only person that he knows that is objective even when having high morals.

“Kuni!” Just like that, he found his companion, who was waving towards his way and then looking side to side before his companion was the one to walk towards him instead. “I bought a calendar—!”

Kunikuzushi wasn’t born luxurious; the moment he learned that he was going to live a hard life started when he was young, when he witnessed being abandoned by a golden carriage that bore a certain crest of a noble family. Prior to that, however, there were things that he couldn't remember.

He lives in a small town, a disregarded one at that; people were cruel, and in his view, it was either he learns how to deal with it lest he gets killed at an early age.

What more was that the place was prone to rumors and there were frequent crimes happening—Kunikuzushi had been living there for two years when the nobles decided to do something about it: by simply placing guards on the place.

The place flourished and more people—kinder ones—started moving in and it became populated to the point it even gained a name: Mikage.

Kunikuzushi doesn’t expect much from it, especially when the heinous crimes still continue; he wasn’t the nicest, and there were rumors of him having a hidden identity for being reserved or closed off in society.

Were those rumors because, despite his small structure, he’s able to be as wealthy as the lower-ranking nobles? They need better proof than that; being a bartender just happens to pay well—ah, the rumors were because he’s able to hurl his fists at people who don’t follow the policies of the bar he works at.

One night while on shift, Kunikuzushi had this customer—a woman, one he hadn't seen before—sure, everyone could have the same [color] hair and [color] eyes as this woman—but this woman wasn’t from Melius or from anywhere at all.

She wasn’t wearing a corset; it was obvious from the way this woman was able to slouch on her seat, or specifically just because of the shape of her body; it was considered an undergarment, yet even without it, this woman didn’t look uncomfortable.

The maiden asked for a simple drink and then never talked, simply drinking on the corner of the seat at the counter.

It wasn’t that Kunikuzushi thought the damsel was frail, but she was definitely weak—she wouldn’t survive this place before it became Mikage.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked the maiden.

Not that he was interested in the comfort of the customer, but he doesn’t want to be removed from a place that pays well and secures his identity as an employee.

“It’s actually... colder here than I thought,” the maiden responded as her fingers fiddled with the drink, and it was there Kunikuzushi noticed he was right about the woman being a maiden—unmarried. “Oh, and how much is this drink, by the way?”

Soft spoken but not scared; the maiden didn’t stutter in his presence, not like she has a reason to be scared; as long as the maiden doesn’t defy the rules of the bar, she has nothing to worry about.

Not like the regulars, men, who started a brawl on their first time.

Kunikuzushi only realized that he wasn’t able to reply quickly to the maiden when he met her [color] eyes, looking at hers with a tint of curiosity; the maiden was waiting for his response.

“It’s on the house.”

The maiden was feminine; she has that sweet, soft voice that doesn’t have a tint of fear or uncertainty, and even her eyes don’t have a speck of judgment in them.

Even the way her eyes widened a little in surprise, a bit of warm hue rising up to her cheeks as she suddenly averted her eyes from Kunikuzushi, almost embarrassed—or the better word for it: shy.

“Thank you...” she uttered to the bartender before looking up to him again. “Just... Just so you know... I’m planning to be a regular, so you shouldn’t do this too often.”

Kunikuzushi probably hit a nerve there, but he chuckled: “Is that supposed to be a warning?”

“I was just saying...” the customer, soon-to-be regular, muttered, loud enough to be heard by Kunikuzushi, who now just noticed the calloused index finger of the maiden. “It’s just that I drink a lot.”

“Turns out, she’s not perfect,” the bartender thought as he remembered his previous thoughts. “I thought she’s a perfect bait.”

With the current society, men preferred easily manipulated wives who are soft-spoken, those who would never question their husbands, or those who indulged in their husband’s dirty fantasies.

Kunikuzushi knew that much, which was why he never bothered with romantic relationships; he can never have a good perspective on the world.

It’s not like his stained hands can even hold something so pure; the reason why the maiden stood out was because she was a beam of purity—it was quite ironic that Kunikuzushi met her at the bar, though.

How can someone who drinks a lot have such pure energy?

To be sitting there without any trace of malice or even a trace of intoxication.

Kunikuzushi didn’t know she had this kind of complexion until he came face-to-face with one; not even the clergy in the temples could ever go against this maiden.

The bartender wasn’t obligated to watch over the maiden as she left the bar after drinking; he’s not obligated to look out for her safety to make sure she arrives safely at her destination.

It was only when Kunikuzushi got to his residence that he realized how shaken up he was to meet a human like that; the maiden looked weak, and it felt worse to know the maiden was soft-spoken—possibly nice.

His emotions were mixed up; he barely met her and he’s already making assumptions about the maiden’s mannerisms, age, and delight.

He remembers what she wore: the usual dresses commoners would wear—a ruffled white top and a dark-colored skirt that should have reached all the way down to cover the ankles—but the maiden wore a skirt a few inches over her ankles.

Why did it bother him so much? Why does he remember?

He’s met children who were unaware of the meaning of many words—they count as pure humans too, but children irk him.

He didn’t even know what being pure was or what the requirements were in his mind that he needed to see in something or someone before he labeled them as such.

What made that person so different? What was this lure that kept pulling him to the maiden?

It felt disgusting, like insects crawling inside his stomach that he wanted to claw out.

That maiden wasn’t the brightest, but she wasn’t dim either—she was just that—she looked soft, kind, and everything Kunikuzushi never faced when he started living a hard life.

“That isn’t just that,” Kunikuzushi thought as he placed a hand on his mouth, having felt foul towards the thoughts of that maiden.

It was as if he couldn’t process his own feelings of envy, but Kunikuzushi would know if he was truly feeling that way after seeing people live better than he did for years—he would know, but what he was feeling earlier was not jealousy.

“Tomorrow.”

There will be tomorrow.

Another shift. A restless shift.

It wasn’t that the work of being a bartender was too much for Kunikuzushi, but he was the restless one looking forward to seeing the maiden who said that she would start being a regular just the day before.

When the door opened to the bar, there was the [color]-haired maiden; she wore the same as she did before, but it had different hues, and this time, her hair was covered with a head cloth.

“What’s with that dreadful thing on your head?” the bartender can’t hide his distaste towards the cloth that hid the length and color of the damsel’s hair.

“Being [color] is apparently too noticeable for men’s eyes,” the customer responded as she rolled her eyes and then tried to adjust her head cloth to cover even the bangs. “Oh, and I’ll get the same that I did prior.”

“It’s not my business...” the bartender had to repeat in his mind as he turned away to get her the alcoholic beverage. “Not my business.”

The beverage was quickly placed down on the table, where the maiden was pulling out papers from her leather bag and a feather with an ink bottle.

Reading and writing were things only the privileged could do, and not even Kunikuzushi was able to gain access to those; he hadn't even seen a noble’s private library in his entire life—or perhaps he did.

He watched the maiden, who apparently was literate, tap the table in search of her cup before she held onto it and took a sip—that was where her ruffled sleeves showed a bit of her, revealing a purple-ish shade wrapped around it like an accessory.

“I don’t like that,” Kunikuzushi muttered, making the damsel raise her head from the paper, confused at his words.

“Are you talking to me?” the damsel whispered, a bit confused about what the bartender was talking about. “What do you not like?”

“That,” Kunikuzushi responded, pointing at the head cloth, which made the maiden place a hand over the cloth. “Why not let it down?”

“You like [color]?”

The bartender was thrown off, and the damsel laughed at him before looking back down at her papers, not even taking off the head cloth or asking for answers.

“I do not have any preference,” Kunikuzushi snapped.

“Sure you don’t,” the other replied sarcastically.

“I was merely asking—!”

“Oh, could you get me some ice?”

“The ice is thirty-one feet down,” the bartender replied, frowning. “As I was saying—”

“So you like [color]?” the maiden teased as she looked up from the papers, revealing scribbles that the bartender could not understand. “Just say so, and I’ll let my hair down for you.”

“You are getting on my nerves,” Kunikuzushi replied with a frown, yet did not feel offended by their exchange.

Being cut off when talking was supposed to be hurtful, yet it felt more like playful banter than both of them trying to be prideful and overpower one another—Kunikuzushi liked that.

Both their schedules worked like that, with the bartender’s shift being from night to dawn and the damsel would bring her work to the bar and work at that time until both of them had to leave; the bartender noted that the damsel liked to drink while working.

[name], that’s what the damsel’s name was; the quantity of how much she drinks heavily depends on the work she does—not only does she write, she can also draw—and that was what her work was; she calls it: blueprints.

Kunikuzushi also learned where she lives and they lived beside each other; when they realized they lived beside each other, [name] started muttering around her house while working past dawn.

The artist seems to get very little sleep.

She was loved by the neighborhood; Kunikuzushi couldn’t help but ponder on the reason why he hadn’t heard of her until now.

What he thought once about the damsel was gone, as they got closer, the more it sank in that [name] wasn’t any of the things Kunikuzushi made up in his mind.

She didn’t have some hidden identity and was secretly a noble—no, she was a commoner making a living by helping and saving pennies enough to afford a drink.

[name] wasn’t being mysterious; she openly laughed at her presence and would give satisfactory answers whenever Kunikuzushi asked about the maiden’s personal life.

“I work at the underground market, they pay a lot,” she whispered that day to Kunikuzushi, who was thrown off, and she moved away from the artist.

Just after that was revealed, on the same night, Kunikuzushi also had to save her from being taken by familiar black clothed mercenaries from an underground guild because they wanted her capabilities to draw structures; Mikage flourished because of [name]’s work.

“How much more are you going to drink?” the bartender asked as he looked outside the bar, assuring himself that the ‘closed’ sign she placed outside was making the regular customers disperse.

“Enough for a gold penny,” the artist responds, her nose red as she hiccupped after—she was horrified by the incident. “Oh, yes, and take... ten gold coins in my pouch, apparently that’s how much my life was worth, and since you saved it you can have the coins.”

“You have a sarcastic mouth for someone who was just clinging and sobbing earlier,” Kunikuzushi responded before he looked away from the artist. “I prefer it this way.”

It was bad enough that [name] clung to him earlier and Kunikuzushi didn’t know how to respond; to preserve a bit more of Kunikuzushi’s dignity after having frozen up that time, it would be best for him if [name] doesn’t seek that kind of comfort from him.

The poor maiden’s source of income turned their back on her for a reason that she can’t control, which was being knowledgeable—Kunikuzushi’s not sure of the extent but if that specific guild became greedy, it must’ve been more than he currently knows.

Still, in his eyes, [name] was innocent.

“I can keep it if you don’t want it,” the artist huffed as she wiped her cheeks that had a few red splatters. “How much are your services?”

“Two gold pennies.”

“And your house tax?”

“Sixty-three sil—” the bartender had to pause in his words. “Why are you asking about my house?”

“Let me live there,” [name] sniffled. “I’ll pay your house tax and services every day. I don’t want to even be away from you for more than a meter.”

“You don’t sound serious.”

“Do you want a blood pact?”

“Are you a witch?”

“I’m very human, thank you.”

[name] was strange, because the damsel made a fuss about sleeping on the same bed with very little shame, exaggeratedly murmuring and grumbling about being scared.

The same damsel sobbing and crying earlier easily fell asleep, but that was only because she disturbed Kunikuzushi by clinging to him for comfort.

[name] made Kunikuzushi’s arm numb.

He, however, looked up to his ceiling, his mind wondering how it came to be how it was then; he was awfully disgusted at her just a few weeks back then.

Insects being in his stomach were still there and it doesn’t change the fact that he hated their existence, still wanting to claw them out yet he doesn’t move.

He thinks back to the incident earlier; [name]’s words towards the mercenaries were harmful, and though she was in clear panic, she was able to get Kunikuzushi’s attention by simply kicking his door, though weakly.

The artist wasn’t triggered by the aftermath either; she feared her situation and specifically only that, not minding if Kunikuzushi’s hands were blooded from having to save her.

He was right; [name] was weak.

But she was saved because of her quick thinking.

As the victim continued to remain asleep, being in the comfort of someone who remained as the victor over three men, he wondered if it was not a bit hypocritical of [name] to feel safe with someone who could easily overpower her?

Perhaps she felt safe because, after all, Kunikuzushi did save her, but wasn’t his strength intimidating?

Not to mention he was also a man.

The victor doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he placed a hand behind the victim’s head and cradled her; Kunikuzushi’s hand rising up to [name]’s head before he curls just enough to place his chin over her head.

It was so dangerous—to trust and to rely—yet he wished to find solace in the person in his arms as much as the damsel sees in him.

If Kunikuzushi was right about another thing, it was the fact he wasn’t envious of [name]; he felt a totally different thing.

With Kunikuzushi’s security [name] received, he wondered what it would be that he would receive from the latter.

[name] emptied her stomach, felt nauseous, and her entire body was sore the moment she woke up; she didn’t feel any better when Kunikuzushi only laughed at her for having drank a lot the night prior to drown her anxiety for almost being kidnapped.

Now feeling awake, Kunikuzushi became conscious of what he pondered about the night before—about wanting to find solace in [name].

He wasn’t sure if he was in the right mind at that night, because how can he find solace in someone who was exaggerating a cry whilst laying her head on a huge paper on the table; the exact blueprint that was the reason for last night’s incident.

“Oh fiddlesticks, I forgot my quill in my house...” she muttered before she looked back at Kunikuzushi, batting her eyelashes in his way. “P-perhaps on my behalf...”

“I’m charging you for this,” Kunikuzushi hissed his words before he headed for the door.

“You have my gratitude, short man!”

Living with [name] felt unreal, because he had never met someone nearly similar to him in a different aspect—both of them having clothes lasting for a week and having the same style but different colors.

Despite being loved by the neighborhood, even [name] had little utensils, for example: having only two clay cups for drinking, two plates for drinking and a singular bowl.

The reason for having very few items were the same as well: because it was a waste to buy something just because they are pretty—most pretty items were left unused.

Another similarity was that despite having much currency as a lower-ranking noble, both of them prefer to keep their money safely kept until for emergencies or if it’s for work.

[name] was considerably more affectionate than Kunikuzushi had thought; she liked having to act the male part of what Kunikuzushi gives, especially when they lock arms to buy ingredients.

It was like living with a witch, because [name] was simply talented. She can cook and she created the weirdest yet convenient things in Kunikuzushi house with Kunikuzushi’s permission; they have a water dispenser now, and it was clean boiled water, not simply water from the well or faucet.

There also wasn’t a day [name] forgot to pay Kunikuzushi for his services in keeping her secured in his place, but Kunikuzushi had forgotten about it until he would see a bowl filling up with gold pennies each day.

Unbeknownst to [name], when she would work at the bar at the same time shift as Kunikuzushi, when the bartender says ‘my treat,’ it actually means he’s using a gold penny that satisfies [name]’s drinking habits for a week.

Dawn was when they usually rest.

[name] propped her arm on the bed for support to look down on the person that gave her shelter as she whispers, “I realized that you go home by dawn and we sleep, right? Shouldn’t we do something about our upside down schedule?”

“Like?” Kunikuzushi asked, a brow raised while waiting for his roommate's response. “I don’t have to, but you definitely do.”

“Chamomile tea,” [name] suggested.

“What makes you think we can afford that?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Who says we can’t?” [name] asked, a small grin on her lips. “If not chamomile, perhaps a different kind of tea—it’s not like all kinds of tea are only for the high-ranking nobility, we have rights too!”

“Chamomile is the least expensive of all.”

“Just agree with me on it,” the artist muttered as she moved just a little closer to Kunikuzushi, who visibly flinched. “If chamomile tea won’t help us sleep, perhaps medicine would? Scented candles are trending nowadays but they’re not that hard to make by hand... or we can use the money for a comfortable bed, not like we have budgeting limitations.”

“A comfortable bed?” Kunikuzushi scoffed, a smirk on his lips as he placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing her away a bit to create a distance between them. “Are you implying you’re not cozy in my bed? You speak as though you don’t snore.”

“That’s because I don’t snore! You’re just accusing me of doing so!” the artist retorted as she jabbed her finger on Kunikuzushi’s collarbone. “I was murmuring! I wasn’t snoring—I was talking to myself!”

“You want to change a bed just so you’re cozy enough to snore?”

“I don’t snore!” [name] retorted before she gave up on trying to say otherwise and laid back down on the bed. “I don’t know, I thought a bed would mean we’d both be relaxing and all that... don’t you get sore too?”

“Do you?” Kunikuzushi asked, now being the one to prop his arm on the bed, making [name] tense. “I don’t.”

“Well, considering that I’m not used to heavy labor...” the artist muttered just enough to be heard. “It makes sense if it’s just me.”

“Shouldn’t you have... just suggested that you hire someone who is good at massage therapy?”

“And have someone’s hands on me? That’s an absolute no from thy,” she responded, frowning softly before she turned away from Kunikuzushi.

“To be fair, I’d hate it as well,” Kunikuzushi commented.

“And It’s not a big deal either, the next thing we know, our neighbors might send us canned goods and would be under the impression that one of us is sick.”

Kunikuzushi didn’t think much more of it as [name] reached for the blanket, and placed it over herself before turning back to Kunikuzushi with her [color] eyes blinking fast—batting her eyelashes.

“Disgusting,” Kunikuzushi muttered but kept his arms open and his heart at bay to provide more warmth for the artist.

He was getting used to the sight of his companion’s squished cheek on his arm and the coldness of her hand on his waist, or perhaps he was already used to it.

In a span of months, he got used to having someone beside him.

“You’re drinking too much,” the bartender would say and would take away [name]’s empty drink to replace it with a cup of water.

“You’re the one enabling it,” she murmured as she placed the cup of water down after drinking. “I told you to stop treating me.”

Kunikuzushi took the cup and refilled it with water as if telling the artist to drown every bit of alcohol in her mouth; surprisingly, [name] had a tolerance for the beverage she drinks every day.

He became aware that if [name] were to continue her drinking habits as she does now, she will soon grow ill—one that might be irreversible.

It was dawn and [name] continued to work on her notebook, scribbling letters that Kunikuzushi didn’t understand, not like Kunikuzushi took a peek anyways; he was busy bussing the tables.

The artist felt her perspective shift as she stumbled at first upon getting up, much to the surprise of the bartender, who stared at her with a raised brow.

“What is wrong with you...?”

“Well, I wonder what,” the artist replied sarcastically as she held onto the stool she sat on earlier. “My stomach was flooded with water.”

“Even if you drown me, you won’t emit such a reaction from me,” Kunikuzushi said as he placed the towel on the counter. “Nauseous?”

“I’ll admit to it if you carry me home,” the artist scoffed as she climbed up her stool and placed her notebook, quill, and ink back in her leather pouch.

“Since you can answer me like that, I think you can handle yourself,” the bartender said.

“Oh no! My head is in shambles! I think I will fall! Yes, I will definitely pass out in the middle of somewhere! I might get hit by a carriage—!”

“Stop exaggerating!”

“Fuck! That really hurts for real this time! Who hits you in the head when you’re having pain in the head!?”

“What even is that word!?”

It was just a week later when both of them realized it wasn’t merely soreness for having different physique; after all, [name] suddenly stumbled on multiple occasions despite no longer drinking under Kunikuzushi’s watch.

At the time of Kunikuzushi’s shift right before they left, they had an argument about [name] needing to go to a clinic to get herself checked, to which she disagreed.

Standing in the argument: [name] doesn’t want to get checked just because she doesn’t want to and it’s only a ‘minor’ thing that will disappear soon, while for Kunikuzushi it is better to be safe than sorry.

For once, [name] stayed in bed, never getting up to go to the bar to keep the bartender company; Kunikuzushi is under the impression she doesn’t understand what it was like to be cared for.

Even in bed did the artist have her back turned on him, but the relieving yet heartbreaking of that part was that Kunikuzushi, who had came home

after mulling over their argument, realized that [name] was now capable of sleeping alone.

It shouldn’t have stung this much.

“Why are you just standing there?”

“You’re taking up all the space,” Kunikuzushi replied as a reflex to defend himself from having a bit of his dignity broken.

The artist raised a brow at him, but with her half-asleep state, she rolled and felt the empty space beneath her that she noticed first before her heart dropped.

Kunikuzushi grabbed the blanket that bundled [name] just in time before she fell off the bed; he felt just a bit guilty for lying and nearly causing harm to her.

“If you want my soul out of my body, just say so!” [name] said as she moved slowly to get back to her place earlier.

She crashed on the bed on her chest before grumbling about her heart dropping and then she patted the space beside her as she turned her head, cheek resting on the pillow.

Kunikuzushi sighed, “Maybe you should consider our argument earlier.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve done my self-reflection,” her companion replied but her eyes avoided Kunikuzushi’s. “I’ll get that... saddle-goose... whatever check-up.”

“Was it necessary to swear?”

“Kunikuzushi,” she murmured as she laid on her side to face her friend. “Listen, I didn’t want to fight you earlier—”

“But we did.”

“And I’m sorry,” she murmured, her hands obviously shifting from beneath the blanket just by the sound, and her face just flushes the longer the silence goes on. “Can you not stare while I’m talking...?”

“I don’t stare,” the other responded as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re just anxious.”

“Of course I am, I am confessing my crimes!” the artist huffed but she turned solemn quickly. “I... It’s just that I don’t... have currency yet. If I did follow you, I’m not... I won’t even be able to pay... your monthly rent or your services.”

For a year living with [name], Kunikuzushi had now just realized that [name] was starting to run out of money for paying Kunikuzushi’s services every single day without fail.

Not only did Kunikuzushi forget the existence of that, but he also realized

that it was [name] that pays for his rent so they could remain on the same roof—and living with her was something he personally enjoyed.

“What happened to your job?”

“Well... ever since they tried to capture me, I stopped working for them—I mean, frankly, why shall I return to them after trying to kidnap me for what I can do?” the artist said, quietly, ashamed and a bit irked. “So I tried working for nobles.”

“By Jove, nobles?” Kunikuzushi emphasized on the word.

“I wasn’t paid well,” the artist said, frowning softly. “I have it bad.”

“You think you have it bad,” the other responded as he laid on the side of his place and then pressed a finger on [name]’s forehead. “Let’s start compiling our currency together.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Be serious for once,” Kunikuzushi groaned as he covered [name]’s face with his palm, earning a muffled hum of confusion from her. “I never asked you to pay for any of that, I only charged you for asking me to get your quill from the other house.”

“The end of my bargain—”

“You’re my only friend.”

“What does that have to do with... me paying you?”

“I’m doing you a favor, just shut up and mix your pennies with mine lest we start fighting again.”

“I like you, you know?” [name]’s laughter was muffled. “It makes me a little happier that you like [color] enough to take me in even though we knew each other for months.”

“And your type?”

“Bluenettes.”

“Bluenettes?” he scoffed before he averted his gaze from [name] and then to the ceiling. “I like having you around too, but it feels weird to oddly phrase it out loud.”

“By the way, when...?” [name] asked. “When and where?”

“The clinic... I’ll just bring the person to you,” Kunikuzushi responded, chuckling a little. “Oh, and... I’ll bring that person the day after tomorrow, make some time.”

“You know you can’t just barge in the clinic and pull someone aside, right?” the artist reminded as she felt a little thrown off, it was at her expression. “It takes weeks to be called on, as far as I know at least...!”

“You can if you have connections,” Kunikuzushi said, sounding as though he was boasting with the small smirk on his lips, to which [name] scoffed. “It’s not hard to pick and find someone capable.”

“And this person turns out to be a fraud?”

“Might as well just die and never appear.”

“Someone pray for that poor unfortunate soul.”

Because of the decrease of [name]’s health, she has been staying at the house and working from home; he doesn’t allow her to drink anymore and opts to bring her something else.

She asks him to do errands for her, including delivering the ‘blueprints’ that she has to sell to nobles, buying fruits and food ingredients.

They start drinking what [name] calls: Juice—and it tastes exactly like the fruits she asks Kunikuzushi to bring home; he was convinced that it is healthy to drink.

Those errands tire Kunikuzushi, but he doesn’t complain, not when by the end of the day, there’s food on the table, their shared bowl was getting filled up, and he can just crash in the bed and sleep.

He returned at dawn after work, and usually, he would ignore anyone on the way because he doesn’t usually bother with anyone, except for the old lady fidgeting near their door.

His eyebrows furrowed because he knows her, and [name] knows her too; she would talk to the lady outside the house for an hour or two because she was nice enough to help the lady read the newspaper.

“Oh, how fortunate!” the old lady exclaimed as soon as she saw Kunikuzushi. “I wanted to read the newspapers that were handed this morning, and I was about to leave because I thought she was asleep but I heard something fall! I have tried knocking but to no avail!”

“Since when?” Kunikuzushi asked, walking to the door and knocked on it to announce his arrival as he patted his pants for his keys.

“J-just minutes prior to your arrival...”

“For Christ’s sake...” he muttered. “I don’t have the keys.”

“I-is she okay...?”

He was tired; he wanted to lay down to rest to wake up for breakfast momentarily and then rest again until nighttime, but the situation wasn’t allowing him to.

“I’ll take care of it, you can go home.”

There was this twinge of irritation for being impatient when it comes to reaching the bed, but knowing [name] was unwell and learning that there was a loud thud from inside that could be heard from outside, Kunikuzushi placed her agitation aside.

He removed the safety pin from his clothing that she kept despite not needing it all the time, but he always had it for one sole purpose: to pick the lock in case he was locked out.

Kunikuzushi left the pin on the door as he opened it slowly, both wary and worried about who or what could be on the other side, but seeing as it was empty, he fully pushed the door open.

[name]’s name left his lips as he looked at the side, no one, but on the other side, laid [name] on the table, [bright/dark] hair sprawled all-over.

His heart clenched as he immediately rushed beside [name] to observe everything better; a hand on her forehead that went down to feel the temperature on her cheek, while his other hand prepared to carry her.

He took mental notes of her feverish, unconscious state and what the situation looked like; no matter how nice [name] was to everyone, Kunikuzushi’s hatred towards everything and everyone flared up.

Instead of seeking refuge, Kunikuzushi does everything on his own.

From observing [name]’s state, making sure she had a cloth over her forehead, and then wiping the ink splatters on her calloused fingers.

It was already confirmed that she was frail, but the thought of this severity was something Kunikuzushi tried to avoid thinking; he witnessed her stumble, fall, and then get up only to laugh it off.

Why hadn’t he noticed that she was sick before he left the house?

He cleaned the dishes on her behalf while also tending to her using methods he had learned during his early days; he rested [name]’s ankles, pressing a cold item nearby, compressing it, and elevating it every few minutes.

Does he really want to keep such a frail person in his line of sight—moreover, in his life?

It hits her that he can never fight against reality if ever [name]’s drinking habits caught up to her and if this incident was the cause of that.

Kunikuzushi was in the middle of kneading [name]’s fingers with oil in his hands as an attempt to smoothen the callous on the artist’s fingers when she woke up; he can tell that she was in pain especially when she flinched every now and then.

She was aware of what Kunikuzushi was doing yet didn’t utter a word, but she did let out a breath and then looked up at the ceiling; Kunikuzushi can only assume that the reason why the patient shut her eyes so tightly was because she felt disorientated.

He wondered if the patient’s eyes were hazy with the way she squinted her eyes a little to look at her hand that was being massaged by him.

“You should wear.... a mask,” she uttered, her voice dry and quiet, but as always, it was enough to be heard, and Kunikuzushi scoffed leaving to grab a cup of water.

“If you have the time to think about that, what about explaining to me what happened first?” he asked, sitting on the bed with a cup at hand that he placed on the nearby table.

“Won’t be the better question be how I’m faring?” the patient whispered as she attempted to sit up, but ended up grunting instead of actually moving.

“Better question is: how bad is it?”

“I will... out of five... rate it three,” she whispered before she gave a glance at the cup. “Sit me up.”

He helped, he rolled her to her side, pushed her legs off the bed, and then pulls her up to sit before asking, “How’s your forehead?”

“My forehead is doing not-so great,” his companion responded before she groaned. “I want to throw up.”

“There’s a bucket on the side of the bed,” He said as he stood up to support her back while he grabbed the cup of water. “I’ll flood you again with water.”

[name]’s face scrunched up and opened her mouth to retort his words, but Kunikuzushi placed the rim of the cup on her lips and tilted it up, leaving her no choice but to drink.

She wished for mercy.

Kunikuzushi sat on the table he would dine with [name]; his eyes downcast at the lines his companion drew in order to make a living as he heard the front door close shut with a gentle click.

Close—because the person that was supposed to check up on [name] arrived hours ago just left—the procedure to know about her state took hours just to hear news that she never wanted.

His breathing was ragged.

For the past year with [name], he was able to stop delving into his thoughts, in search for definitions and reasons to reasons what he feels and why he feels in such a way.

How can he now?

He was only able to avoid it because he achieved what he wanted: to find solace in the person who invaded his thoughts, his life, his home, and almost everything he had was shared with her.

And he was going to lose her.

He was too late to prevent it.

He choked because he thought that he didn’t try hard enough. All he had to do was to just place the cup of beverage away, to have prevented her sooner, or to have saved her from having her lung infected.

The thought of having to return to an empty house without seeing a single piece of paper on the dining table was taking away bits of his sanity that he preserved from having her.

Alone was he at first, without a single utterance of complaint for being so; used to it, he lived in a house so small that if he opened the front door, all of his items would be displayed before him.

Why now?

A singular human decided to ask for a drink at the bar suddenly became someone he lived with; his memories of what even happened were foggy because all he remembered was that he spent it with her lavishly.

The brown papers did not help him either—these were the reasons why she passed out before [name]’s arrival in the first place—she overworked to contribute to their bowl of pennies.

All of those happening in front of him yet it all slipped away from his observation that he couldn’t place a stop on them until it worsened.

He felt angered by the system.

The system that cheated on [name]: the underground guild for being greedy for her talents, the nobles that paid her less, and the bowl of pennies that she felt pressured to fill.

Kunikuzushi reached for the bowl; it was just made out of clay, but it was filled with his efforts alongside [name], except she had contributed more than he did.

He hated having to look at it, because it makes him think of everything he wished he could’ve done but didn’t.

The gold penny he takes weekly to use on [name]’s drinking habits, but he never thought that if he takes and takes from the bowl, it will keep refilling itself.

If there was someone who could read [name]’s mind, Kunikuzushi wanted to know why she was so determined to fill the earthenware—to fill the bowl that could never match her worth.

Kunukuzushi’s mind blanked and he dropped it, and he immediately cursed in his mind as he successfully caught the bowl before it fell, but he couldn't stop the heavy golden pennies from falling.

The sound clearly woke the patient up because Kunikuzushi could hear her groan and shift in her sleep; that made him stand up to tend to her, however, the clay bowl in his hands broke apart and added to the noise.

“Kunikuzushi...?”

If the bowl hadn’t fallen apart, perhaps [name] could’ve continued sleeping; the patient now tries to sit up, making Kunikuzushi rush to her—he’s not ready to tell her anything.

“Go... go back to sleep,” he tried to convince her as he placed her hands on his companion’s shoulders to force her back to lying down. “It was only the bowl, I... knocked it off.”

“Are you okay?”

Kunikuzushi was surprised; his eyes glistening as he faced the same [color] orbs that he did when they first met—their life has been filled with banter and their conversations weren’t serious that [name] had to revert to her previous tone—the soft and unjudging look.

He felt like the words were at his throat, and [name] had to hold his hands with her now warm hands because of her feverish state; he wanted to scoff, brush her off, and make fun of her as usual.

How come [name] was able to see through everything so quickly? She saw it with such haste, noticed the mood, and opened about it.

The shaking of her hands must be prominent; the tremble and wobbling of his lips at the sight of someone so unaware of her situation—aware of everything, but hers.

His words were forced as he said, “Forget it, and go back to sleep.”

“Kunikuzushi, breathe,” the sickly person had to say that to someone in a better condition than her. “I’ll sleep, but I need to...”

“What are you saying?” he asked, feeling irked that he wasn’t being followed and that he was caught vulnerable. “I said go to sleep, it’s still early.”

“I-I’ll follow you,” [name] stuttered now as she tried to pick his fingers from her shoulders. “But you follow me too, you’re panicking right now, and it’s making me feel the same—your touch... is painful.”

She breathed out before continuing her words, “So breathe... I’ll be here until you’re ready... but don’t stay too close, I’m sick.”

She frustrated him; he wanted to act normal, to act as though he didn’t hear the dreadful news—he wanted to scoff and say that she wasn’t the type to get sick.

In his eyes, she had always been so smart to predict what he could potentially feel in the future based on events that already happened.

The patient’s lips thinned, perhaps because Kunukuzushi noticed it himself that his breathing didn’t calm down in the slightest and his eyes were just staring as if he wasn’t in the same place as her.

He was, but his thoughts are in shambles, because he would never know when was the next time he will ever get to have her like this, or to even be in her presence—there will never be a next time.

It was when [name] had decided to cup his cheeks that he snapped out of the thought and he wanted to be greedy, to have more, to have what was presented, and so his walls collapsed.

His breath remained trembling as he buried his face on her chest and then up to the crook of her neck, much like a cat; he lavished the feeling of his companion’s hands on the back of his neck, pulling him down to her despite his weight.

He muttered what happened; each word was forced, his lips biting back sob per syllable: the alcohol got to [name]’s lungs, and though the disease was well-known by older people who waste their lives drinking, there wasn’t a cure.

There are temporary solutions, but never a full-healing remedy.

“You’ll be okay,” the patient murmured as she brushed the blueish locks of her somber roommate.

Kunikuzushi wondered what she was thinking about when she said that; he wondered if it was a form of self-reassurance or if it truly was to reassure him that she would remain living the same even after what he heard and told her.

There will never be a part of him that will be okay.

He wanted to retort, to yell at her for even saying that, for [name] to assume that everything will be normal—to ask loudly why he’s the only one feeling so strongly about it.

[name] was trembling too.

It was the last straw before the person, who finally found solace, started to sob at the shoulder of the sick who he found solace in.

The world was so unfair to [name].

There was more he wanted to see her do; he wanted to have her talents recognized by the world, to have her name be credited to every structure she planned and drew with her hands.

It was her idea and never theirs.

Change on that day was inevitable—in Kunikuzushi and in [name] as well, after learning her time was limited yet she pretended as if it was all the same if she didn't consider that days after, she was fired from her work despite being useful.

People who lived nearby would hand [name] baskets with ‘get well soon’ cards much to their ignorance; Kunikuzushi did nothing to correct them.

He was barely home anymore; he had a fear of going to his house and seeing another bruise on [name], blood splatter on her clothes, or worse, seeing her not breathing.

He began developing self-hatred for having better immunity than [name], and for being able to do things she couldn’t do because of her situation.

It was something he was proud of, but not it turned into nothing but reasons to hate everything.

He can’t help but clench his first whenever he sees her outside the house, having to hold back from reprimanding her for being outside without anyone watching over her.

His worry was evident, and perhaps the sick [name] could notice it as well, especially when she would follow his instructions quickly without question just to ease his mind.

Kunikuzushi reverted to his previous doings; the previous rumors sparking an idea within him, because, for him, doing it was nothing if it means to keep [name] alive for another second, another day, luckily if another year.

He has to keep you alive, even if his hands, which were used to tend to her, were stained red. There may be no cure, but the temporary remedies are what he needed—he just had to afford it.

When given the time to think, he would think about [name]’s changes: she eats all three meals in the day alone, she also started leaning more to writing than drawing, and she would smile softly at her whenever he bids her bye for the day.

Medicine was only used for the fortunate and people who heal nearby Mikage, a commoner place, barely even know how to read—[name] was fortunate to be able to.

Kunikuzushi had someone ship him medicine that he saved for.

[name] was in the middle of writing when he suddenly dropped the pouch on the table, making her jolt a little and give her an innocent confused look, but her smile dropped after seeing the small globular item.

When it comes to medicine—syringes were expensive, commoners can have access to a few and nobles are available to have all—pills were the harder ones to have, they are created delicately that everyone was stingy to give them away—the royal family are the only ones to have them, including the black market.

“What’s this?” she asked as she scrambled to place the fragile items back in the pouch lest she accidentally breaks one and has to pay for it. “This... this is not part of our budget! We never talked about this...!”

Kunikuzushi was exhausted; he felt hurt to see her scramble to take care of the medicine in the pouch and tried to hand it back to him.

He can see the way his companion’s hands tremble as he placed the pouch on Kunikuzushi’s now-calloused hands; she seemed to notice this and her attention magnified on it.

“Did I mistake it...?” she whispered before she looked up to Kunikuzushi. “Are you sick? Are these yours?”

“Mine?” the other scoffed, his eyebrows furrowed and then he snatched the pouch from her. “You think—this is mine? For what even? Do I look sick to you?”

“I-I don’t want to assume!” she stuttered as she looked thrown off by her roommate’s slight aggression. “Are you hurt?”

“What?”

The more she spoke, the more he was getting agitated.

“I’m sorry for touching it,” she apologized, her mind seemed to be hazy with the way she can’t think about what she’s saying anymore. “I’ll just get fresh air! I’m sorry for touching what was yours.”

“What... are you talking about?”

His hands were clenched as he tried to understand the way she acted; [name] thought the medicine belonged to him as though all the hardship he went through for the week wasn’t all for her.

Every wall he built for the past week after learning [name]’s condition broke so quickly, because her words made it seem like she wasn’t involved in his life anymore, but mostly because [name] sounded like she was resigning to her fate.

Did she?

He opened his mouth to mock her, to tell her that she was as weak as her physique and for giving up early, but he instinctively placed a hand on his mouth because what escaped was a sob.

He is so frustrated.

As usual, [name] turned her eyes on him and immediately tried to console him without knowing why he was shedding tears in the first place: [name]. [name]. Everything was for [name].

[name], whose hands went to Kunikuzushi’s hands, arms, shoulders, neck, and then cheeks with a worried and panicked look.

[name], who Kunikuzushi wanted to tell everything to, about the self-hatred that was eating him alive since last week, and the insects that in his stomach that he learned were butterflies.

[name], who Kunikuzushi kept his burdens away from, because he’s afraid that the weight of his problems would also become hers.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” she muttered repeatedly as she desperately struggled to wipe Kunikuzushi’s never ending tears. “I—was I too heavy to carry? I’ll be better.”

Kunikuzushi had no idea what [name]was talking about.

She said those words as though she wasn’t neglected, like she wasn’t coldly treated, like she hasn’t eaten all three meals without him, and like she hasn’t suffered.

It seemed like [name] was insecure; Kunikuzushi had to get his bearings in order to understand her.

[name], who lost her job for being sick, and who was disposed of despite having an enormous range of talents; perhaps, while Kunikuzushi stained his hands and slaved away, [name] got insecure for never filling the new bowl.

Kunikuzushi felt his frustrations build up again; everything, as always, was in front of him but he missed it all again.

“It’s for you,” he whispered, her hands holding onto his companion’s arm. “It’s for you—I want to keep you alive.”

For someone so insecure, that immediately made [name]’s eyes stung, and now that Kunikuzushi tried to see her perspective and piece things together, he understood; [name] was pressured to fill the new bowl again.

[name] whispered, “But I have nothing to give.”

“There is so much you did,” Kunikuzushi whispered, his hands lowered down to the fabric by the damsel’s hips, his eyes glossy. “You... you are simply too humble to realize.”

“I have nothing but clothing that’s only for a week, my quill, my papers, a cup, two plates, and a broken bowl,” [name] listed all she brought in Kunikuzushi’s house from the start. “But I will believe you. I feel... reassured.”

From that, Kunikuzushi can’t help but feel relieved and he wrapped the damsel in a warm hug, but a sinking feeling now that it’s highly likely that [name] would never find out what he did to get the medicine.

He relished the feeling of the damsel, choosing to forget his deeds, and choosing to continue what he has now.

If problems were to arise, he would deal with it, but for now, he will focus on [name] and try to delve more on the feelings in his stomach—or what people say ‘heart’.

With [name]’s presence; the fact he was still there, Kunikuzushi can bear it all, all the in-coming pain for choosing not to abandon her—he doesn’t have to tear down the world that was so cruel to her yet.

His breathing was shallow when he woke up facing the ceiling of the home he built with his companion; his head pounded, not remembering what it was in his dream that caused his emotions to go wild at such a time of the night.

He felt as though his throat was parched and his eyes stung that made him rub it in order to be relieved, but when he looked at his hands, he realized that they were calloused.

For some reason, he felt suffocated, but hasn’t he felt that way ever since he found out that her time was shorter than his beloved and that he couldn’t do anything about it other than try to extend it for a little?

[name]’s time will never be longer than Kunikuzushi’s—now that he thought about her, he wondered where he was.

The thought of her was suffocating Kunikuzushi oh-so-little, but he had to find her, the one to cause him pain and solace; it was dark as well, where else was [name] supposed to be other than the bed?

He hasn’t seen her since he started recalling everything and getting sentimental; he can feel his heart race at the possibility that [name] had passed out somewhere around the house, he used that energy to get up.

The house was as empty as his stomach, since the time he reassured [name], they have been taking turns in cooking, but he supervises her, who had to hit him with the pan for doing so.

From his place in the tiny house, he caught a glance of [name] dozing off on the couch, but he quickly drank water before walking up to the couch and sitting on the armrest.

He was thrown off by what [name] wore; she was taking up all the space with her small height and white outfit—yet he feels like that's the least of his worries.

“Why are you on the couch?” he muttered as he brushed his finger over her cheekbone up to her temple to brush the stray hair aside.

The feeling of her skin and the way her hair moved felt odd; he felt his heart just kept sinking the longer he stared at the unconscious damsel.

“Don’t you think your hair is a little... brighter?” he thought as he softly frowned. “Are you awake?”

It wasn’t making sense why she was holding her breath.

[name]’s face was something Kunikuzushi memorized; the oily skin and red patches that she was insecure about was gone, and even the ‘beauty mark’ she called that was near her [part] was gone.

Those facts were alarming, which was why Kunikuzushi got off the armrest to kneel by her side on the couch to see her better than where he was sitting earlier.

“[name],” he whispered, his voice laced with a tint of fear as his fingers glided over the white outfit she wore to find the spots that made [name] squirm in the past.

[name] knows that he was sensitive to the subject of her sickness, and he knew she knew, yet it seemed like she still chose to prank him about it.

He panicked as he pressed on her skin, knowing that she’d wake up if he pressed too hard because she was someone who was easily pained.

Was [name] the sort of person to pretend to be so still and motionless to the point of not breathing?

[name] was odd; her skin, her form of lying, and the way she refused to breathe, but she had always been odd because she give and gives—and what it was she takes from Kunikizushi, she returned it all ten times more.

she was never this still; she was full of life, like when she waved at him when she was on the other side of the path—like when her teeth showed as she smiled upon the success of buying a calendar for the new year because it was only out during festivals—like in his dream.

“What dream? What festival?”

As far as he remembered, he hasn’t gone on a festival with her yet; he feels like he’s losing a part of himself whenever he started remembering memories he never wanted to remember.

“You’re being too much now,” his voice cracked unintentionally, making sure to project as much emotion as he could so [name] would understand that her prank was going too far.

[name] was so aware of Kunikuzushi’s well-being and his mental state that she would know that she crossed the line if Kunikuzushi’s tone were ever akin to begging; she would never resist in attempting to console her.

“Joke’s over, you have to take your medicine,” he said as he placed her hands on her shoulders.

Even if [name] didn’t promise forever, she promised that she would try—and that was something Kunikuzushi believed in because he saw her—taking the medicine she deemed expensive, stopping her drinking habits, and taking a lot of time to rest even if she was a workaholic.

He waited for any reaction from her, whether it’d be her stifling her laughter, her lips thinning. or waking up and apologizing—at this rate, Kunikuzushi would take any of those scenarios.

He wrapped an arm around her nape and around on her waist to gently pull her up and make her sit—now, he felt something—a line that ran from [name]’s nape and upwards.

Her back was leaning on the couch, but her head was tilted upwards, leaning on the back rest, and the way her [color] hair was away from her shoulders was when the lines Kunikuzushi felt were exposed.

The truth was already in the back of his mind, but he wasn’t like her, who accepted the pressure together with reality.

[name]’s nape and up had stitches, and her skin glimmered like silk.

He couldn’t breathe as he took the lightness of her body—he couldn’t take it; he wasn’t like her.

He could never accept this.

He’s not ready to face the truth; both his hands moved to rest on her hips that were covered by a white fabric before he buried his face on her stomach.

The fabric wasn’t something he gave to her, he had never seen it in his entire life; he would never buy damask fabric, because that fabric was used for the dead.

He cannot tell what he was thinking; his mind goes into one thought, then another, and then another all at the same time.

[name] was a liar, and Kunikuzushi was delusional—his mind—thoughts—begging for her to cut off the entire joke she was continuing for the past ten minutes.

How could [name] remain so serious while Kunikuzushi was there—touching all he can of her with his head on her chest, uncaring if her body was nearly falling off the couch because he couldn’t resist his attempts to cover up the truth?

He desperately craved for her heart as much as he avoided having a confrontation with his memories.

Was this the compensation of the royal family that ran over her with their carriage whilst in a hurry?

The memory of the festival that happened hours earlier, one he deluded to be a nightmare, the memory of how loudly he yelled after seeing [name]’s body be trampled on and how every light in her faded.

The love continuously given to him was gone, taken away by something that wasn’t related to the disease that was supposed to slowly eat [name]’s life away.

How twisted is the royal family to compensate Kunikuzushi by dressing his beloved in silk and damask? To patch up the face of her and not even put the tiniest details she used to have? How dare they even touch her in the first place?

He cried all she could that day, regret and revenge deeply rooted in him even though all of those were the opposite of what [name] had taught him.

Having lost someone he never got to confess to broke his mind, especially when after [name]’s funeral was visited by a member of the royal family.

He can’t handle the scowl on his face and the way his blood boiled quickly, but all of it dissipated quickly when he learned the reason why the royal family was at the festival.

They were looking for him: Kunikuzushi, the lost son of the royal family that the empress loved so much.

He laughed and laughed as though he was unhinged, and he laughed even if the member of the royal family looked at him as if he was non-human; he laughed even if his eyes became glossy and brimmed with tears.

Kunikuzushi, the one [name] thanked the most, was indirectly the cause of her death.

The empress knew nothing of love, because in Kunikuzushi’s eyes, what would this insignificant woman know?

Not only was she the one who bought all the blueprints [name] made and sold to the black market, she was also the one to take [name]’s ideas and make the buildings knowing well that it was never hers.

Kunikuzushi  had to be patient; he would burn the place down and have everyone by his will—he would be the opposite of everything [name] was—the only good thing recorded in history was that he gave credit to her ideas.

THIS IS HEIZNX, i actually recycled this and made it a OC kinda story, but i still made it inspired by scaramouche. i submitted it to my teacher printed formatted and everything, but there were typos like goddamn i was abt to kms and the TYPO JUST OS HAPPENED TO BE AT THE DRAMATIC PART i WAS IN TEARS. and they were lesbians when i submitted it too. im so sorry i had to make it straight, the mc was a woman in the descriptions so it changed a lot when i turn them gn... while typing this, i kinda realize this is different from stained hands though the original copy was stained hands, i think it's bc this focused more of the development in their friendship rather than getting married quickly.