#i get it that hes not everyone's cup of tea

[notlongtolove]

the cup holds the tea

it hits you all at once and you’re out of the booth in a flash, spencer right behind you. you’ve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray you—straight onto spencer’s shoes. the world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that you’ve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: bau!reader has too much to drink and its up to bf!spencer to get her home. and brief mentions of puke... oh reader...

word count: 3k

note: well personally i don't know if i could ever love someone enough where i would lay on my bed in my 'outside clothes' but good on you spence! once i slipped and fell in someone's puke and cried all the way home.

a line: They’ve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascination—books, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this? This is something else entirely.

It is a kind of love, is it not? How the cup holds the tea, How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes Or toes. How soles of feet know Where they’re supposed to be. - pat schneider

The room hangs on your words, the perfect moment of suspense stretched like a tightrope. You let it linger, savoring the pause.

“And they ate every last drop of it!”

The punchline lands, and laughter spills out around the table, loud and easy. You beam. Spencer watches you, his gaze warm, almost reverent. He’s always known you had this gift—how you could spin a story, command a room. If he weren’t so completely in love with you, he might’ve envied it. No amount of books or degrees could teach him your knack for recounting stories with such flair, or your ability to whip up comebacks at speeds that leave even Derek speechless.

Spencer’s lucky, and he knows it. His eyes trace the curve of your smile as you sip from your glass, your third—or fourth? He’s lost count. He notices you’re not wincing at its taste anymore and well, you know what they say when the drinks start to taste like water. The fact that you’re tearing up at something Garcia’s showing you—a sloth video, from what he can tell, doesn’t ease his worries in the slightest either. He's not entirely sure what Emily has been ordering for the table but whatever it is, it’s clearly doing its job.

It’s one of those rare nights out, the kind where the team sets work aside and pretends, for a few hours, that the weight of the world isn’t on their shoulders. Rossi had insisted, his treat he said, but Spencer suspects it was just an excuse for the team to watch you two loosen up, to let your guard down. A carefully orchestrated opportunity for the team to see something they hardly ever got to see. They’ve seen you two in the field, sharp and focused, in sync like clockwork. But tonight it's the way you lean into Spencer’s side without realizing it, the way Spencer gently moves your glass out of harm’s way when you gesture too wildly. This is a glimpse of something sacred, something rare.

It’d only been about a month since you and Spencer had made it official. Everyone saw it coming long before you did, but that didn’t stop the teasing once the news broke. They could barely pick their jaws up from off the floor even tonight when Spencer had his hand resting lightly on your waist, steadying you through the crowd as you laughed yourself breathless, stumbling. At work, you both keep it professional, steering clear of anything that might make Hotch raise an eyebrow. But the dim light of the bar is ever so tempting. The bar is full of loud laughter and clinking glasses and you just can’t help but take Spencer's hand into yours, fingers laced without hesitation. 

Spencer catches the way Derek’s eyes light up at the sight, the subtle nudge he gives Emily. He knows they’re going to bring this up later, probably all week.

But he doesn’t move his hand. He doesn’t let go.

The booth is packed tight as you’re all wedged together, shoulders brushing. Everyone’s smiling, unwinding in a way you rarely allow yourselves to, laughter bouncing in overlapping bursts. Spencer sits nursing his water, content to observe. His eyes are drawn back to you over and over, catching on the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh and the animated gestures you make as you speak.

“C’mon, pretty boy, live a little,” Derek teases, “Just one drink.”

Spencer gives a sheepish smile, waving it off. “I’m fine,” he says, eyes flicking over to you once more.

He can’t keep his eyes off you tonight, it seems. You’re laughing, and It’s unmistakable, the adoration in his gaze, something so un-Spencer-like that makes Derek smile.

He knows Spencer’s not one to drink. You, on the other hand, seem a little too eager, maybe encouraged by Emily’s coaxing, and you’re already on your next drink, cheeks bright and eyes sparkling. You lean into Garcia’s cheers, your glass lifted high. Your laughter is bright and unrestrained, pulling everyone else along with it.

Spencer considers saying something when you're giggling a little more than usual, laughing too hard at a joke that doesn't warrant it. But he knows how you’d take it. You’d wave him off with that familiar insistence, the same as always. It wasn't like you couldn't hold your own, Spencer knows that. You’d held your own at Rossi’s birthday last year just fine, outlasting nearly everyone—everyone except Rossi of course. And that’s probably why he’d already taken his leave tonight, not wanting to get caught in the tail end of whatever chaos this night will inevitably bring.

But that was then and now— Well, it’s different now. Now, the role of boyfriend sits heavier on his shoulders, a title he’s all too happy to hold. And tonight, it’s a card he’s all too happy to play. It gives him leverage, an edge that makes him feel like he has a little more room to step in without you pulling the I don’t need anyone to take care of me speech. 

Spencer sees his opening as lean back into his side a little too comfortably. “Here,” he murmurs, pressing his glass into your hand. “Drink this.”

He hopes you’re just tipsy enough not to ask too many questions, as long as it’s something from the bar. For a moment, it seems like it works—you sit up, eyeing the glass cautiously, then take it from him with slow deliberation.

Almost there, he thinks.

You peer into the glass, squinting at the clear liquid, then give it a small sniff. Spencer’s heart sinks as your expression shifts.

“This is water,” you say, suspiciously.

“Yes, it is,” he admits.

Your brow furrows, the faintest pout tugging at your lips. “I’m drinking vodka.”

“And now you’re drinking water.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, and I’d rather not carry you out of here tonight,” he says softly, the faintest flush colouring his cheeks.

You look up at him, unimpressed, but he stays firm. “Just drink the water, sweetheart,” he says quietly, his voice barely cutting through the noise.

He braces himself for your resistance. Instead, you huff, give him a pointed glare, and drink it. He watches as you sip, your nose scrunching at the lack of a bite. Spencer lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

The night winds on, the team louder than usual, swept up in Derek’s overly dramatic retelling of the prank war that once took over the bullpen. But you’re quieter, Spencer notices, the drinks maybe finally settling in a little too fast. Your smile slower, your laughter softer, head resting on his shoulder now and again. 

And then, suddenly, you’re not looking so well. It hits you all at once. The queasy welling in your stomach, the cold sweat prickling your skin. You’re out of the booth in a flash, Spencer right behind you as you stumble toward the door, your hand clamped over your mouth. 

You’ve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray you—straight onto Spencer’s shoes. The world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that you’ve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.

Of all people it had to be Spencer—germ-conscious, always-prepared Spencer—your lovely boyfriend who at this moment you’re not sure you can ever look in the eyes again Spencer. 

You don’t have to look up to see the team’s reaction as they round the corner, wide-eyed as they process what just happened. Derek’s mouth falls open in disbelief, Emily stares in shock, and Garcia whispers a dramatic, “Oh, no…”

They’re frozen. Because Spencer—Spencer, who uses hand sanitizer like it’s an extension of his arm, Spencer who’s the first to scrunch his nose at anything remotely messy—has just had his shoes christened in the worst way. You know they’re waiting for Spencer’s reaction, the tense recoil, the carefully contained grimace.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Spencer pauses, takes a measured breath, and steps closer to you, his hands steady on your shoulders. “Hey,” he asks, voice low and soothing as he crouches to meet your gaze. “Sweetheart, you okay?” He brushes your hair away from your face, his touch careful and kind.

“Spence—” you mumble, your voice cracking with embarrassment. Your hands fly to cover your face. “I’m so sorry. Your shoes—oh my God, your shoes—”

Spencer shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping as he crouches to steady you. His voice is impossibly gentle, calm in a way that eases the edges of your shame. “It’s fine. They’re just shoes,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face. “Let’s get you home, okay?” 

You nod, eyes shut, clearly mortified but he doesn’t let you dwell on it. He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. For a brief moment, Spencer contemplates asking the bartender for a glass of water to rinse off the mess, but he glances at you—your slightly swaying frame, the way your head droops just a little—and decides against it.

Getting you home safely takes precedence over everything else. Shoes can wait. You can’t.

Emily’s mouth falls open slightly as she watches, “Did Reid just…?” she murmurs, half to herself, as Derek gapes beside her. “Didn’t think the kid had it in him,” Derek says, shaking his head, a grin slowly spreading. Garcia sniffs, dramatically dabbing at her eyes. “I knew he loved her, but this? This is another level.” she says letting out a dreamy sigh. 

They linger, watching as Spencer guides you steadily toward the car with careful patience. He helps you in, crouching to fasten your seatbelt. You’re still mumbling apologies, your voice thick with embarrassment, but Spencer doesn’t falter. Instead, he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders even as the mess on his shoes remains. There’s not even a hint of disgust on his face—if anything, he’s focused, caring, murmuring words of reassurance as he tucks his jacket around you. His hand lingers on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a silent promise that nothing about this has shaken him. 

“I’m so sorry, Spence,” you whisper again, your voice small and heavy with guilt. “I ruined your shoes. And your jacket. And—”

“It’s fine. You’re fine. Besides, I was planning to throw them out anyway.”

You shake your head weakly, your tone petulant even through your embarrassment. “Nooo, don’t throw them out because of me.”

His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do you suggest I do with them, angel?”

“I’ll wash them,” you declare, your words slow and sleepy.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “You’ll wash them?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur, already halfway to drifting off against the seat.

“How about we get you home first and then worry about the shoes, okay?” he says gently.

“’Kay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as sleep begins to take hold.

Spencer stands, glancing back at the bar where the team is gathered. They’re not even pretending to hide their stares anymore, and he knows he’s going to hear about this for weeks. He raises a hand in a small, sheepish wave before climbing into the driver’s seat.

Derek shakes his head, laughing softly. “He’s gone,” he says, his voice carrying just enough awe to balance the humor. “Kid’s completely gone.”

Emily doesn’t need to ask what he means. Neither does Garcia. Because they’ve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascination—books, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this?

This is something else entirely.

The ride home is quiet, save for the occasional slurred apology from you. Spencer reassures you with the same soft patience each time, his hand steady on the wheel and his gaze flickering to you every so often, checking to make sure you’re okay. By the time he gets you home, your protests have faded, replaced by the heavy pull of exhaustion.

His arm remains firm around your waist, steadying you as he helps you inside, careful and methodical in the way he moves. He guides you to the bathroom, where you try to freshen up, fumbling with the faucet and splashing water on your face. Spencer steps in without hesitation and takes over when your movements falter. His touch is featherlight, but there’s no mistaking the care in every movement. The closeness makes your cheeks flush, though whether it’s from lingering embarrassment or something else entirely, you’re too tired to decipher.

“You don’t have to,” you murmur, your words sluggish but sincere.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his voice light but firm. “I want to.” 

He guides you to the bedroom with careful steps, his hand steady on the small of your back. Once there, he sets a glass of water on the nightstand, the gentle clink breaking the quiet.

“Drink,” he coaxes softly, his tone patient but firm.

You take the glass without protest, sipping obediently. Spencer watches, a small smile tugging at his lips. He considers making a playful comment about how quickly you’re drinking it now—so much easier than earlier—but he decides against it.

You’ve been through enough tonight, he thinks.

When he finally tucks you into bed, you’re too tired to resist. You mumble something incoherent, your hand brushing his as he leans in. Spencer pauses, his gaze lingering on your face—peaceful now, the traces of the evening’s mishaps melting away. He presses a light kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Spencer steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear you if you call out. He lingers in the hallway for a moment, his shoulders sagging slightly now that the night’s adrenaline has begun to wane. He glances down at his shoes—still damp and stained. With a resigned sigh, he makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a plastic bag. He slips the shoes inside, tying the bag tightly before heading outside. The cold air bites at his skin as he steps toward the dumpster behind his building.

He stands there for a moment, holding the bag. The sight of the shoes, oddly enough, makes him smile. It’s ridiculous, he knows. They’re just shoes. Ruined, stained, completely unsalvageable. But they’re also a reminder of tonight—a reminder of how he’d taken care of you, how you’d let him take care of you. 

With a soft thud, the bag lands in the dumpster. Spencer dusts off his hands, turning back toward the building. When Spencer steps back into his apartment, the soft hum of the heater greets him, a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting inside. And there you are, standing in his shirt in the doorway of his bedroom. Spencer thinks it's a sight he'll never get tired of.

There's a pout tugging at your lips. “Where’d you go?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep and just a hint of a whine.

“Had to throw out the shoes angel,” he says as he steps into the kitchen to wash his hands.

Your gasp is exaggerated like he’s just committed an unspeakable betrayal. “I thought I told you I’d wash them!” you exclaim, your voice rising. 

“And I thought I tucked you into bed,” Spencer counters, his laugh soft and full of affection. “Why are you out of bed sweetheart?”

You shuffle closer, blinking up at him with drowsy eyes. “Missed you,” you say simply, your earlier outrage regarding the shoes already forgotten. “Wanna cuddle.”

Spencer’s expression softens, but he gestures to his clothes. “I’m dirty,” he reminds you gently, “Outside clothes, remember?”

“Change then,” you reply stubbornly, tugging at his sleeve as though that’s the simplest solution in the world.

“I need to shower first,” he says, his voice patient as he begins to guide you back toward the bedroom.

“I didn’t shower either,” you argue, leaning heavily into his side as though that somehow strengthens your case.

“Because you’re drunk,” he replies with a small smile.

“Am not,” you insist, though your tone is far from convincing.

“Wanna tell that to my shoes?” Spencer teases, raising a brow.

You ignore him, brushing past his comment with a huff. “You’ll take too long,” you complain, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you too,” he replies, his voice tinged with amusement as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then cuddle,” you plead, your tone slipping into that sing-song quality you know he can’t resist. “Pleaseee”

Spencer hesitates, the logical part of him warring with the sight of you—soft, vulnerable, and looking at him like he hung the stars. He knows you’re usually the enforcer of the outside-clothes rule, a stickler for order when sober. But right now, you’re anything but sober, and he can’t find it in himself to deny you.

“Pleaseee,” you say again, drawing out the word for emphasis, “I’ll buy you new shoes,” your eyes wide and imploring.

He knows you probably will.

“Enough about the shoes,” Spencer rolls his eyes fighting back a smirk, “Just help me change the sheets tomorrow,” he relents, his voice warm with affection.

He knows you probably won’t. But he lets you drag him toward the bed anyways.

You beam, looping your arms around his waist in triumph. “Knew you wouldn’t say no,” you mumble into his chest.

Spencer laughs softly as you settle against him, burying your face in his chest with a soft, muffled sigh. He feels his heart swell in a way he can’t quite put into words. He’s never been one for mess—for dirt, grime, or anything out of place. Heck, he hadn't even wanted to shake your hand the first time he met you. It’s in his nature to keep things neat, orderly, clean. But now, with you?

His shoes could be ruined, his clothes crumpled, and the night an absolute whirlwind. And still, all he can think about is how peaceful you look now, your eyelids fluttering shut as sleep starts to claim you.

Spencer presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles along your back.

For you and only you, he thinks, he’d make an exception every time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[bananayuyu]

all tied up {part 1}

Pairing: Yunho x f reader

Genre: angst, eventual smut

Word count: 10.5k

Summary: You never thought you'd have such an awful rivalry with a coworker. How is he so mean, so petty, so under your skin...?

Warnings: smut, MDNI, mentions of reader wanting to die and past traumas, dub con/non con, reader is physically bound against her will, mean yunho, nipple play, fingering, unprotected penetration, after care of sorts (all the smut happens in part 2)

A/n: Well I had the goal of making this maybe 2k words initially, and now it's 22.4k so I decided to split it into two parts (please read the warnings and don't read this if you aren't in the right headspace <3)

Read part 2 here

Read it on ao3

"Morning."

Your coworker's tone is cold as ice, as if he swallowed the winter air on his way to the building and was now spitting it at you. 

"Hi," you grunt, not bothering to look up from your desk. 

It was a biting, harsh morning, and the headache you were nursing wasn't doing any favors to your mood. Only minutes into your work day you already felt bleary, your legs still shivering from the short walk between the subway station and the twenty-story building your office rested in. In the mornings you woke it from its slumber; the lights in the lobby blinking on, even the heater rumbling awake as you walked through the door, as if it took a break from its job all night, too. It certainly felt that frosty in here, especially at 7am sharp, when you stumbled in before everyone else. You preferred this early shift and were thankful to be walking out the door so early each day, early enough that even in the dead of winter the sun hadn't yet set. The early mornings never bothered you; the solitude was tender and warm with you, even if the air was cruel on these freezing winter mornings. 

The intrusion of your steely coworker was unwelcome, to say the least.

"Why are you here so early?" you ask, a sharp edge to your tone. You're bitter that you won't have your usual hour to yourself, especially given the meeting you are set to have with your boss in just a few hours. You'd needed this time to mentally prepare, and here he was ruining your plans, yet again.

"I figured I'd come in early to get work done before our little meeting with the boss," he replies, a slow sigh leaving his lips and betraying just how tense he is. Well, at least it wasn't just you. You had been dreading this morning since last Friday, when the two of you had your worst argument yet, prompting your boss to demand a meeting with you both. You had no idea what would happen; you'd never had your boss demand a scheduled meeting with you in the six years you'd worked here. Things were different now, now that you worked as a grant writer and not at the front desk, but still it was concerning. He always just met with people spontaneously, and the scheduled bi-weekly meetings for the entire administrative staff were the time where conflicts and confusion were dealt with. He'd never called just two people into his office like this; then again, no one at your company had ever butted heads like you two, so badly that it left the whole office simmering with frustration, everyone dreading the sour expression that permanently settled on your features by the end of each day. You were so different now, so changed from the calm and happy woman they all knew.

You stood to make your way to the kitchen, passing by his desk as you went to turn on the kettle, boiling water for your first tea of the day. This morning called for multiple cups, your throat scratchy and dry from nerves, your body depleted from your lack of sleep. You'd stayed up far too late with your best friend last night, rambling about the meeting, begging her to help you come up with an excuse to stay home. She'd laughed with you, throwing out a few random ideas, but she knew as well as you did that you'd be here today. As much as you dreaded it, you would only miss this meeting if you were on your literal death bed, your job meaning too much to you to lose it.

From this angle he had a perfect view of you, your face scrunched up in concentration as you set the kettle to temperature, placing other employee's dirty dishes from the sink into the dishwasher. You were too obsessed with organization, in a way that made him irrationally angry, but he couldn't stop watching you every day, watching the way you adhered so severely to your little routines, watching the way his interruptions cast your face in worry and made you snap at him. Today, like every Monday, you wore your favorite shoes, the black platform Mary Janes. Up your legs stretched your thigh-high wool socks, also black, held up by a ruffled stretch of gray lace at the top. Over your hips lay a gray tartan skirt, reaching almost down to your socks, leaving an inch of bare thigh exposed in a way he thought wasn't really work appropriate. And then there was your black turtleneck, tight and accentuating your obviously braless chest, the curves and shapes of your body not hidden in the slightest. He was watching you intently, waiting for you to finally notice, and boy was he not disappointed when you finally did.

"You've hid my mug, haven't you," you spit, slamming the dishwasher harder than you needed to. You hadn't seen it in the cabinet, so you'd gingerly searched through the dishwasher too, desperately hoping someone else hadn't used it the previous week and neglected to wash it. Not finding it in there was a relief in some ways, but immediately you knew who was at fault for its disappearance, and his dark chuckle in response to you confirmed your suspicions ten fold. "You're such a dick," you grumble under your breath, reaching for any other random mug in the cabinet, needing something to house the tea you desperately need.

"What was that?" he asks, his tone mocking you, knowing exactly the sentiment of what you'd said even if he hadn't heard you clearly. You sigh and roll your eyes, ripping open your tea bag and plopping it in the mug, gently pouring the steaming liquid over it. "You just love to blame me for everything, don't you, even if you have no proof." His voice is low, dark, and it makes a shiver run through you even as the steam of the water warms your face. "You're cruel y/n, so cruel." His tone of voice makes you feel trapped, even all these feet away, and you just freeze for a bit, your tea steeping a bit longer than it should have. A creak of the building snaps you out of it, and you fling the tea bag into the trash, gently blowing over the mug and taking a tiny sip, testing the temperature.

Finally you turn, catching a glimpse of him. Jeong Yunho, the newest addition to your little office, hired about six months ago now, you realized. The date hit you in the gut this morning; the year had flown by, especially the last half, and in days it would no longer be this year anymore, no longer be the ending of an adventure but rather the start, when you'd have to plan again, think again. His suit today is stone gray, the color only barely darker than his wool overcoat, his tie a dark navy that really just looked black. His shoes were dark navy too; which you only knew because of the difference in the toe box from his other black shoes, the ones he normally wore. It must be a special day, he must be heading to something important after work. Some sort of meeting? No, that wouldn't really make sense, you all didn't work in a field where meetings were held outside of work hours, in restaurants or bars. Unless the meeting was about getting out of here, finding another placement. Maybe a date? Who'd want to date such an asshole, though?

He was rich and good-looking. Even you could recognize that. And boy did it irk you, that he looked so good in his suits, that he wasn't too masculine or too feminine, that his nose sloped in just the perfect way, that his smile was soft and bright and so endearing. You hadn't met many people in your life who were so captivating at first glance, and sure, when he'd first started here a part of you hoped something might happen between the two of you. You'd eat lunch at each other's desks, excitedly discussing your newest grants or talking about your favorite shows, which of course, were the same. It was a blissful few weeks, a beautiful honeymoon of sorts. Of course it couldn't last forever; you landed your dream job, everything you'd been working towards finally coming true last year, a new perfect apartment with your best friend being the cherry on top. Of course this year a man appeared and tried to ruin everything.

The two of you work in silence until 7:45, when everyone else starts arriving for the day, led of course by Dr. Acharya, the supervising psychotherapist. Next is Tally, who gives you a short wave as she heads to reception, her horn-rimmed glasses peeking over the window to blow you a kiss when she finds the mug of tea you'd made waiting for her. Soon many others scramble in together; Marnie, Amir, Rua, and Keisha, each making their way to their individual offices to ready themselves for their first clients. Soon Jongho, in charge of billing and accounting, walks in too, sitting down at his desk next to Yunho. And finally Eliana stumbles in just before eight, her giant coffee in hand, her eyes slightly dark with panic like they always are as she rushes into her office. Your boss, Mr. Kangsoo, won't be in for another hour at least and the day lurches forward as the first clients of the day are brought back for their counseling sessions, the office breaking into a low hum that will stay with you until you leave.

Your digitizing task today is boring but necessary, and that headache isn't leaving you, even with the tea warming your throat and your favorite piano concerto comforting you through the morning. You always loved Rachmaninov in the winter. But even so, your mood was sour, too sour. Yunho and Jongho's comfortable chatter was making your blood boil, making it hard for you to focus on your stupid, tedious task. In a huff you stand, heading straight for the reception office, papers in hand.

"Hi hi," Tally greets you as you open her door, gently closing it behind you.

"Dude, I'm dreading this meeting," you say immediately, sighing.

"Why? I'm sure nothing bad will come of it, Mr. Kangsoo loves you," she says, canceling an appointment on her screen and typing out a note.

"I know, I'm just already pissy today, not exactly the best mood to be bringing to the boss's office," you chuckle, setting your papers on the corner of her desk. "I kept neglecting digitizing this pile and now I can't stop obsessing over it. And Yunho came in early today, and hid my fucking mug. Again."

"Did you see this?" she asks, grabbing a sticky note from the corner of her computer and holding it out to you.

Can you please let the pretty one know she's never driving me from this job, no matter how hard she tries?

"God he's such an ass," you whisper, making Tally giggle. "Thank god for you girl, I don't know what I'd do without you here."

"You're 100% sure it's Yunho?" she asks, eyeing you.

"Who else would it be?" you reply, rolling your eyes, making her laugh again. 

"Well, I guess now 'the pretty one' has been told," she giggles, rolling her eyes too as she crumples up the note and tosses it in the trash.

"Like I said, he's an ass," you reply, not as quietly this time. A parent obviously waiting for their child snaps their head up, looking in your direction. They're maybe twenty feet away, and the window between the lobby and the reception desk is small, so you doubt they really heard you. But you balk in embarrassment anyway, silencing yourself.

"I should get back to my desk, I guess," you say, sighing as you pick up your stack of papers once again.

"Just ignore him," Tally says, smiling kindly.

"I'll try," you sigh, earning a disapproving look from Tally. "I will, I promise. You're right, I know, I should just ignore him," you answer, looking over to see the back of his head, his large hands crossed over each other and resting there on his jet black hair.  Fuck him, you can't help but think. Everything had been going so well, and you'd never been someone who got into drama at work, ever. It was a point of pride for you for a long time, a huge reason why your boss gave you the position he did and trusted you to be a part of his team. Now it had all been ruined, by this fucking asshole, in his perfectly tailored suits.

The day dragged on, your mind spinning with anxiety. It wouldn't leave you until that dreaded meeting, you knew that, so you busied yourself with scanning and organizing the files, not bothering to try to get any writing done. There was no way you would, not in this state.

Finally your boss arrived, his heavy footsteps sending waves of dread through you, your stomach a fluttering mess. You hadn't been able to eat this morning, which was very unlike you; you could feel how weak you were from the lack of sustenance, the adrenaline making you shakier than it normally did. You stumbled on wobbly legs towards his office once he called for you, Yunho's presence dark and foreboding behind you, and you swore you heard him whisper 'behave yourself' as the two of you passed into the office. Your blood was boiling as you sat down, the two chairs facing the front of your boss's desk, your face a permanent scowl as you stared Yunho down, watching him settle himself down in the chair and spread his legs farther than he needed to, looking all too comfortable.

"Ok, to start, this is not to scare you, or fire you," your boss begins, already zeroing in on the dynamic between you; the cool and collected look of Yunho, and the angry, stricken look of you, your eyes deep with worry when you meet your boss's gaze. "You both know me, I don't really do this sort of thing. I don't need to control you all, to be a good leader." He sighs deeply, looking almost as pained as you do, like he's mulled this over for too long himself. "I just can't let this go on any longer. The conflict between you two is affecting everyone, and it's clearly affecting your own work, too. I can see it in the quality of your writing. You are both very smart, very good grant writers, and even so you've been doing a good job, but I know you both can do better. And this fighting, it really needs to stop." He sighs deeply again, shaking his head subtly, like his subconscious is trying to rid itself of the stress you two have caused him. It makes so many feelings bloom in your guts, but the overwhelming one is guilt, the feeling so entirely consuming that you have the urge to jump to the floor now and start babbling out apologies. But you stop yourself, stop the tears from coming, and taking a deep breath you regain some composure. You know your boss, and you know his cadence, so you know he has more to say.

"So, we're figuring this out today. I don't care what it takes, we're settling this. So tell me, why do you two fight so much?" His eyes sweep back and forth, eyeing each of you for any sign, any subtle movement that could give him some idea of what was going on. He had his own theories, but he really couldn't be sure, and due to his laid back nature with his staff, he hadn't been monitoring you two enough to really know. With a sigh he leans back in his chair, letting the silence hang in the room until one of you is willing to break it.

"Sir, I don't think she's liked me from the moment I started here," Yunho finally speaks up, leaning forward in his chair and setting his elbows on his knees, the casual and confident gesture making your skin crawl. "I think she's been trying to make me miserable, so I'll leave-"

"That is not tru-"

"I think she feels some sort of ownership here, cause she's worked here so much longer than m-"

"That is absolutely not true!" you cry, your shot nerves leaving you unable to control your volume. "I would never try to run someone out of the office that way, that's completely unprofessional! He's the one who started all of this, he's the one who leaves nasty notes for me and hides my things and puts me down constantly in every admin meeting, trying to make me look like an idiot in front of everyone! If we're really gonna go there, I think he feels intimidated by my experience here, by the fact that I have a clearly established relationship with everyone, that you and all the therapists like me, and that even though he has more experience than me I'm still writing better grants!"

"Y/n, please keep yo-" your boss starts.

"I'm sorry, sir, but he left a note for me on Tally's computer this morning! How unprofessional is that! Now he's dragging her into our drama too, which I promise you I've never done! I-"

"Oh sure, you've never complained about me to anyone in the office," Yunho juts in, rolling his eyes. "It's not like everyone here sides with you on everything, always. If it weren't for Jongho I think you would have made everyone in this office hate me by now."

"Everyone loves you here, what do you mean?" you shoot back, your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "I never talk about you to any of them, not even Tally. Because I know it would be wrong. Maybe everyone sides with me on certain issues because I'm right, have you ever considered that?! And by the way, Tally thinks poorly of you because of her own observations, because she doesn't like the things you say to me. So that has everything to do with you and your shitty behavior-" you cut yourself off, slapping a hand over your mouth. Because as comfortable as you are with your boss, you never, ever curse in front of him. It's an unspoken rule in the office, and one you'd never struggled to follow before. Shame washes over you like a wave of boiling water, making your whole body begin to shake.

"I'm so sorry, sir," you bow your head to him, your eyes closed as you fight to keep yourself from bursting into tears.

"She's obviously quite emotionally unstable, sir," Yunho pipes up from beside you, and of all the things he's said recently it's definitely the most hurtful. Your head shoots up, a single tear racing down your cheek despite your attempts to keep it at bay, and you just stare at him, your face betraying everything you're feeling.

"There's no need for that sort of insult right now, Yunho," your boss scolds him. "I need you two to resolve this, not fight even more. So tell me about this note, what did it say? Why did you leave a note for y/n on Tally's desk?"

"I'm sorry sir, I understand," Yunho responds, his perfectly respectful tone and gestures looking so put on. "And honestly sir, I have no idea what y/n is talking about. I didn't leave any notes for anyone this morning."

"Oh, so you're going to lie right to our boss's face?" you ask him, your volume lower but your anger still evident. "Do I need to go grab Tally? Seriously?"

"Did this note have my name on it anywhere?" he chuckles, fixing you with a strong gaze. And if you aren't mistaken, there's some sort of twinkle in his eye, almost like he's enjoying this. Is it seeing you suffer, seeing the anger and sadness in your eyes that makes him feel joy? Or maybe it's just messing with you in front of your boss, forcing you to over-explain yourself to the point of looking hysterical. Whatever it is it makes you uneasy, your stomach feeling like it might fall out of your ass at any moment.

"Sir, it said, 'Can you please let the pretty one know she's never driving me from this job, no matter how hard she tries?" you say, exasperated. "He just said he thinks I've been trying to drive him out. It was obviously him who left that note." You turn your body to face your boss again, not wanting to catch even a glimpse of Yunho anymore, your eyes pleading with Mr. Kangsoo to believe you.

"Sir, I did not write that. I would never say something so inappropriate about a coworker," Yunho adds, and though you don't see it, he's staring right at you. Your boss sighs heavily, your eyes fixed to the way he's staring at Yunho, the lines in his forehead deep with frustration. He looks like he's about to start speaking but then stops himself, another deep breath moving through his lungs, before running his hands through his hair and leaning back in his chair again.

"God, I wish you two would just sleep with each other already and get it out of your systems," he groans under his breath, but you hear it loud and clear, your whole body on high alert.

"What?!" you snap, your response involuntary. You had respected this man for years, admired the way he ran this office with calm confidence and respect for everyone, and you couldn't believe something so inappropriate had just come out of his mouth.

"Y/n, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be gross. I just can't help but wonder if part of the issue between the two of you is, well, the obvious attraction," Mr. Kangsoo responds, sighing deeply. "I do sincerely apologize if I'm reading things incorrectly, or if that last comment made you uncomfortable. I don't in any way want to encourage my employees to sleep with each other, obviously, and that just slipped out of my mouth. It was inappropriate, I know. I just feel like I'm at my wit's end with you two, and I feel desperate to find some sort of solution. Because you both are incredible employees and I don't want to have to get rid of either of you."

"I'm so sorry sir, that this whole situation with us two has caused you stress, but I can assure you there's no attraction here. Only dislike," you reply, letting out a shaky breath.

"No attraction at all, sir," Yunho adds, making you feel disgusted at actually agreeing with him for once.

"Then why the constant arguing?" your boss asks.

"Like I said sir, he's been tormenting me-"

"She clearly has something against me sir, and I don't know what I could do to change tha-"

"You don't know what you could do?? Maybe stop being so mean to me!" you cry out again.

"Y/n, keep your voice down, this is my last warning," your boss cuts in, his face stern. "You know I see you as almost a daughter to me, you started working here when you were what, 17? And now you've finished your degree, made so many strides in the last few years. I'm proud of you and everything you've accomplished, but I'm struggling to feel proud right now, with how you've been acting recently in the office. It isn't like you. I know Yunho is at fault for this too, and I want you to know I've already talked to him about his comments made during our admin meetings. What he said a few weeks ago, insinuating that you didn't understand the "actual point" of your role in this company because you have less experience than him, was uncalled for. So was his comment earlier. But I see too that you are quick to jump on everything he says, to assume that everything he does has ill intent towards you, and I don't think that that's fair either. I know you're more mature than this," he finishes, his eyes soft as he looks at you.

"I don't think I am, sir," you squeak out, your voice breaking as more tears well in your eyes.

"Y/n, I won't have this. I need you to approach this like you've approached everything else in your life, with the goal of actually understanding it. Don't give up on this now," he says, his voice stern but encouraging in that special way only he can be.

"Sir, how am I supposed to feel watching you accept her hysterics?" Yunho asks, his face tense with annoyance.

"God, you're cruel," you whisper, curling into a ball on your chair, not caring that you're wearing a short skirt and you probably shouldn't be holding your legs this way.

"Yunho, you're getting on my last fucking nerve today," your boss snaps, and both of you have wide eyes of shock, Mr. Kangsoo not one to curse in the office, either. "This entire conversation went worse than I expected, and your uncalled for comments show me that maybe you're not as mature as I originally thought you were. You came in with great references, son, and you clearly are very smart, but you must realize you're up against someone who's been working for me for six years, and who has proven time and time again to be basically the perfect employee. This conflict is a blip on the radar for her, but for you it's been happening almost the entire time I've known you. I want to believe the best in you, but you must understand how this looks from my perspective."

You both just sit frozen, like two kids in time-out, your faces different versions of disappointment. Your eyes are slightly red from crying, and your knees are still pulled up to your chin, your arms squeezing so tightly around them that it hurts.

"I've had it with this conversation, I don't think this is going to work. Which I should have known, it's clear that conversation between the two of you always leads to conflict," your boss continues. "I'm sending you both home, right now, and I'm demanding that you figure out this thing between you, or I'm firing you both. You have a week. Do not return to this office until the two of you have sorted out your issues, and can promise me you will not fight ever again going forward," he states, his arms crossed over his chest.

You both gawk at him, your faces looking almost identical, as you try to take in what he's just told you.

"Sir, I-" Yunho starts, but even he's stumbling over his words with just how shocked he is. "I don't think this is fair, sir. You should- you can't force us to make up, that isn't going to happen. This- we- we'll both be fired by next week," he stumbles out, his collected demeanor finally shattering.

"With all due respect, son, this is my company. I can do what I want. And this is what I feel is best. So both of you go, now, I won't hear another word. Out," he demands, standing and nodding towards his door.

You rise without a word, your body shaking dramatically from the heaps of adrenaline still coursing through you. Silently you grab your coat and scarf, packing up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, walking to the kitchen to grab your lunch out of the fridge. You make your way towards the front door, stopping briefly at reception to look at Tally, her curly hair hanging down as she furiously types away at a document. Finally she looks up and sees your face, her own twisting into concern and confusion.

"What happened?" she whispers.

"I- I don't know," you respond, shaking your head. "Ask boss about it, I'm sure he'll tell you," you sigh, wiping another tear from your eyes. "I can't stay, I have to go," you squeak, giving her a quick hug, before turning and walking towards the front door again, nearly bumping into Yunho. You don't give him the courtesy of an apology, instead storming past him, walking angrily towards the elevator.

And of course you take the elevator down together, the silence awkward and tense and indescribable. You know he'll probably be walking down to the subway station with you, and it doesn't even surprise you when he gets on the same line as you, heading the same direction. But when he gets off at the same exact stop and you feel him walking up the stairs behind you, you can't just accept it any longer.

"Are you fucking following me?" you spit over your shoulder, your eyes dark with anger.

"No, y/n, I live up this way," he retorts, pointing ahead of you two in the exact direction of your neighborhood.

"God, don't tell me we're neighbors," you groan, trudging down the street, the remnants of last week's snow still stuck in the gutters.

"You live in Arbol Village?" he asks, almost sounding impressed.

"On Maple street," you sigh, with a nod.

"Me too," he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

"This isn't funny, you fucking psychopath," you retort, angry that he's still here in your proximity, and angrier that there's only one path up into your neighborhood from this side, and the hill that leads up is making you out of breath in a way that's nothing but embarrassing.

"And you say I'm the mean one," he responds, smiling as he shakes his head.

"I really don't get how you can be so blasé about this," you huff out, your footsteps heavy as you nearly crest the hill and enter your neighborhood.

"Workplaces are shit, this is how it goes. If I have to find another job, I will. But don't think I won't go down without a fight. Mr. Kangsoo is by far the best boss I've ever worked for, so I'm going to do whatever I can to keep my position," he says, his breathing annoyingly stable even after walking the entirety of the hill. Slowly you two start into the neighborhood, but suddenly he's turning down a path towards the second house on Maple Street, the large dark one with an almost Victorian structure. 

"Of course the fancy one is your house," you sigh, seeing the ornate curtains covering only part of the front window.

"Come in, we need to talk more," Yunho says, beckoning you with his hands, but you can't be bothered. 

"Fuck no, are you crazy?" you respond, already stomping down the sidewalk past his house, not bothering to look back. The last thing you could bear is his presence right now, and for some reason you feel like you're not totally in control of yourself anyway, your legs moving so firmly they'd probably still be going even if you protested. Yunho just sighs, himself drained from the meeting you'd just left, and not having the energy to fight more. Later today, or tomorrow morning, he promised himself, he'd call you and start sorting this out for good. But for now he just watched you grow smaller and smaller, your hair blowing gently behind you in the winter breeze, your legs looking weak.

Once you were home, two and a half blocks from your asshole of a coworker, you collapsed on your bed, passing out in moments. In the late afternoon you woke to the sound of the front door slamming shut, your roommate, Yunji, calling, "shit, sorry! The wind is crazy out there!"

"You're good!" you called back, but your voice made it apparent to her that it was one of those days where you needed to be left alone, so she didn't come into your room. You picked yourself up and stripped off your work clothes, finally freeing your thighs of the tight elastics that held up your socks, two red rings now visible on your skin. Automatically you brushed your teeth, grabbing your comfiest hoodie and sweatpants, and passed out in your bed again, not even eating dinner, not checking your phone. The sun had already begun to set, the sky outside rearing for another stormy night, and your body was lulled to sleep within minutes, your head buried deep into your pillows as you pulled your comforter over your head.

You woke in what felt like minutes, your room eerily quiet. The light looked bright outside, very bright; it was disorienting, both the quiet and the light, and you lifted yourself up, squinting around in search of your phone. You'd forgotten to plug it in last night, so it surely would be almost dead. You found it still in your work bag, hanging on for dear life with the battery at five percent. The time astonished you, 9am, and you gawked at yourself. No wonder you felt so disoriented; you'd been sleeping for nearly sixteen hours.

And as you finally sorted through your notifications, your shock over the time left your brain entirely. Because the shock of having a missed call from Yunho, having two missed calls from him, floored you, literally. You sank down to the ground, furiously clicking to see the times. One was last night, at about 7pm, and the other was this morning about an hour ago. This morning he'd left a voicemail too, presumably right after you hadn't answered. With shaky hands you clicked on it, holding the phone tight to your ear so you wouldn't miss a word.

"Y/n, I know you don't like talking to me, but we really should try to sort this out earlier rather than later. Please call me back as soon as you get this."

Well, fuck.

He sounded disappointed, and frustrated, and perturbed to even be leaving the message. But god was that voice convincing, even to you, the way he worded things so eloquently and politely, like he's genuinely a good and thoughtful person. It hit you hard while listening that maybe your anger wasn't justified, maybe you'd been unfair to him like your boss had said. The sneaking feeling had graced you many times over your months of conflict, but now it felt too strong to ignore. Did he really want to sort this out? It sounded like it. Why, why, why was this so damn confusing for you?

Your mind raced as your stomach growled, as you tried to get ahold of yourself. Still sprawled out on your carpet you felt exhausted, your body somehow still feeling pulled towards sleep despite the hoards of it you'd just been allotted. You peeled yourself up, standing carefully, moving towards your window to get a view of the backyard. Looking at the garden always calmed you, even in the winter when most of the flowers were gone. And as you opened your blinds you realized why things seemed so bright this morning, and why you were barely hearing a sound.

A thick blanket of snow covered everything, flakes still falling gently from the sky which was dotted with clouds. The sun shone through a gap in them, reflected bright off the entirely white ground. You breathed out a sigh of relief, knowing that everyone had been forced to stay home today, so your missing work wasn't really a disruption to the office. Whoever was miffed about having to take your early shift wouldn't have to, after all. It was like the world was granting you a favor, as you often felt that she did, and you were so thankful. Because this, too, was a great excuse to avoid Yunho longer. There was no way you could leave the house with so much snow outside; it wasn't safe. You breathed in a sigh of relief, shaking it out as you finally connected your phone to charge, slipping on some thick socks and gliding your way out to the kitchen.

After breakfast you popped back into your room, shooting off a quick text.

Y/n: I just saw the snow, I don't think I can come over. Let's see tomorrow.

Almost immediately a call comes through from him, but you let it ring out. There was no way you were going to waste this beautiful snow day talking to him, and you had a whole week to resolve this anyway. It gnawed at you, in the back of your mind somewhere, but presently you just couldn't find it in yourself to voluntarily speak to him.

Yunho: We can still talk on the phone. And we really should. Y/n: We should take a break from talking and cool off. For today.

That was how you were justifying it to yourself. You needed a break, deserved a break from him. You wouldn't be able to really resolve anything if you were still pissed, and with the shock of the morning's weather and your body's obvious need for even more rest, you just couldn't take it today. Plus, everyone else was getting a day off, why couldn't you?

Yunho: I disagree

You flip your phone over, setting it on your bedside table, and you walk away. You'd had it with him arguing with you over text too, and the idea of curling up on the couch with Yunji, sipping hot cocoa and watching your favorite movies, sounded too enticing. You were not going to think about him anymore today. It was decided.

And surprisingly you were mostly able to keep your promise to yourself, the day passing in all its wintery glory, your favorite tradition with your roommate leaving you just as content as it always did. With a gentle sigh you both finally stood up, moving to the kitchen to wash the dishes you'd made all day, finally putting away the snacks you'd covered the coffee table with. As you both walked past the window in the hall you stopped short, eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before you.

"Holy shit," Yunji said, grabbing onto your arm. You both were used to the snow here, having grown up in the next town over. But this snow, that now seemed to be three feet deep, was something you hadn't seen since the one glorious winter more than a decade ago. You were eight that year, and the day after Christmas it snowed furiously, continuing all the way until New Year's Day when the ground was so covered that everywhere you looked outside all you saw was white.

You hadn't realized it was snowing all day, that the sky had turned dark in the early afternoon with all of the cloud cover. You were both too engrossed in your fun to notice.

"Well, I guess we're not going back to work for another few days," she laughed, sighing at how lovely it looked.

"Thank god," you replied, sighing in relief.

"Has Yunho been giving you trouble again?" she asked, and you turned to her with a downturned smile.

"When is he not," you sighed, laughing.

"Hey, how did your meeting go, yesterday?" she asked.

"Fucking terrible," you reply, a frustrated hand running through your hair.

"What happened?"

"Boss said that if the two of us can't resolve our differences, he's letting us both go," you answer, sighing harshly.

"Oh my god, that's crazy! How could he do that to you??" she replied, eyes wide.

"Girl, I know. I don't even know how it got to this point."

She moved to hug you, knowing just how much this situation had weighed on you, and just how much your job meant. She'd seen it in your eyes, even if you hadn't always told her exactly what was going on. She knew how sensitive you were, and she couldn't believe your boss would say such a thing. Especially given the years of dedication you'd given to that office, that you so genuinely cared about.

"What are you gonna do?" she asks, pulling back. 

"Well I guess, try to resolve it. I don't know how, though, every time we talk he just pisses me off and we fight. He's not reasonable about anything. He's always joking, nothing is ever totally serious. I saw him stutter for the first time yesterday, when Mr. Kangsoo gave us that ultimatum, but earlier in the meeting he was way too casual about everything. He was calling me hysterical and unstable, and, just, how the fuck does my boss think I'm going to solve this? That man is fucking impossible," you say, shaking your head.

"He sounds like a sociopath," she replies. "If I ever see him I will wring his neck, I swear to god."

"Well, you might. He lives in this neighborhood." Yunji's eyes go wide at your comment, her mouth hanging open. "Yeah, I know. He lives on our street, too, you know the fancy looking house that's second in from the road? Like if you're walking from the station this direction, the second house on the right? Yeah, that's his. I found out yesterday when I was walking home."

"How the fuck does a single guy in his twenties afford that?" she asks, baffled.

"He clearly has family money, he must. I'm sure he's made decent money for the past few years, but not enough to afford that. And all of his stuff, his suits and his briefcase and everything, looks expensive. And it's not like, shit that just looks expensive or name brand stuff. It's subtler than that, it just seems like everything he owns is so high quality."

"Fucking rich boys. I guess it isn't surprising, given how he's behaved. Like he's always gotten his way and never been told no."

"It really seems like it. Everyone always loves him, it's so annoying," you roll your eyes, thinking of every other staff member's reaction to meeting their shiny new coworker, and his easy demeanor, always saying what people want to hear. Except to you, it seemed.

"Well you can't really meet up and talk right now," Yunji says.

"No, but he said we should talk on the phone. I missed two calls from him, and he left me a message. But I can't bear to speak with him on the phone. I don't ever talk to my coworkers outside of work, no matter how close we are," you reply, shaking your head. "It just feels weird. I don't know what I'm gonna do, but I'm ignoring him for the rest of today."

"Understandable," she responds, squeezing your arm for a moment. "I should try to get some work done on my thesis, I guess, but you rest this evening. You deserve it."

As you both retire to your rooms, you sigh into your pillow. Despite the lazy day, despite the sixteen hours of sleep last night, you still feel tired. It must be mental, it's the only explanation at this point. And you know that means you should probably avoid your phone. But you reflexively check it; the anticipation brewing in your head isn't letting up.

You find two more missed calls from Yunho, and another text.

Yunho: How are we going to solve this if you keep ignoring me?

You suppose it makes you feel a little bad, a little guilty. Still, you can't be bothered to respond. You don't know why; you can't explain it. That feeling like you're not totally in control of your actions, like someone else is calling the shots, is back, and it really doesn't feel like something you can fight, or should fight. There's an eeriness about it, but it's so far in the back of your mind that you don't give it a second thought. After turning over your phone you climb into your covers, the light barely there outside as the evening approaches, the sky still covered in dark clouds and the snow still falling.

And just like that, two days pass. The snow has stayed heavy, making it unsafe to leave, the whole city quiet as few feel brave enough to venture outside. A desperate run to the grocery store calls a few, but thankfully you and Yunji have plenty of food in the pantry to last you a few days. She's taken the opportunity to really focus on her work, and you thought maybe you should, too. You never worked on grants at home, but you could bet Yunho was also taking advantage of the quiet time. You didn't really have anything better to do, yet you couldn't bring yourself to work at all, not when your head and gut were rolling with anxiety and fear and a crushing hatred of yourself. That first day avoiding Yunho had felt, well, not good, but justified. But the past two days, more missed calls and texts unanswered, you felt straight up guilty, and stupid. Not really for ignoring Yunho, as much as letting down your boss, which you knew you would. This couldn't be resolved; no matter what the two of you did you'd never get along, and it was clear that there was something in Yunho that made him unable to leave you alone. You hadn't particularly liked the last guy in his position, either, but the two of you had basically ignored each other, easily. But since his entrance to your office, Yunho seemed unable to not bother you, not leave notes, not piss you off every chance he got. And now you couldn't help but ignore him, even though you knew that doing so was fucking you both over, making it certain that you'd never return to that beloved office and your dream job.

You felt stuck. The literal fact of not being able to leave your apartment was eating you alive, making you feel scared and paranoid and vulnerable in ways you knew were illogical. Every little sound started to make you jump; you were losing it, slowly but surely coming apart at the seams. You swore you started hearing your mom's cat meowing for you, and once in the kitchen it sounded so real you spent minutes furiously searching the hall and your bedroom for her. You collapsed on the floor, waves of anxiety rolling over you as you held yourself in the fetal position, not even crying, just hyperventilating.

Yunho: You're being really immature and unfair by not responding to me. Not even giving this a chance of maybe working itself out

You hadn't responded to him in days, but something in you finally broke. It was in the way his words reflected how you felt about yourself, and the severe guilt that it brought you alighted in flames and suddenly felt like nothing but red, hot anger.

Y/n: Fuck you Yunho: Oh, so you are alive

Breathing heavy you stared at the screen, a sudden realization washed over you. You knew it was over; you'd maintained at least some level of professionalism up to this point, albeit not much, with him. Even when you fought in the office you didn't say anything personal or unnecessarily nasty. You only cursed at him under your breath, never loud enough that anyone could hear. But now you had said something nasty, in writing no less. Even if you both somehow made it back to work on Monday, he'd no doubt show your boss what you had said. And even with your long standing relationship with Mr. Kangsoo, you doubted he'd be willing to keep you on after seeing that.

So that was it. It was over. Logically you knew that you could find a new job, that this wasn't the end of your life. The new year was right around the corner, which was always a good time to find new placements. But you had studied communications and psychology specifically for this job, had dedicated years to learning everything you could about funding and mental health care and the ways your boss ran the office. Though it'd never been said directly, you had a feeling that one day you'd become his second-in-command, and maybe even take over running the place once he was ready to take a step back and retire. You loved this part of the city, loved living with your best friend here, and the commute was easy. You'd planned everything so well, yet it still was about to crumble in your hands. And with every passing minute, it felt like you were waiting for your life to implode, which made not being able to leave all the worse.

The next morning you woke to a call from your mom.

"Good morning," she answered, after your muffled and confused, hello? "Happy New Year sweetie."

"Hi mom, Happy New Year," you responded, rolling over to tuck yourself into the covers again. It had gotten bone-chillingly cold with the perpetual precipitation, and pulling the covers off in the morning felt torturous.

"Since you can't come down to see me today I thought I'd call. Are you two doing okay? Do you have enough food?"

"Yeah, we're doing fine," you say through a yawn. "We've got plenty of food, as long as this lets up in a few days."

"God, it better. I'm glad I got to see you on Christmas Eve."

"Me too."

"Are you doing okay? You sound off," she asks you, making your heart sink. She has no idea what's been going on; you've done an expert job of keeping it a secret from her, as you often do with your struggles, because you know she can't really handle it. You know she has too much to deal with on her own, and you never really feel like she gives you good advice, anyway. But with how you've been feeling mentally, hearing someone ask that has you panicking internally.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine, I just woke up is all," you lie, yawning again to punctuate your point. "I'm not really enjoying being stuck inside, I guess."

"That's not like you," your mom laughs, and you know she's shaking her head side to side the way she always does. "You used to always love when you were stuck inside, or stranded somewhere. Do you remember when you got lost at that theme park in Ocean City? When we found you at the ticket booth you were happy as can be. We thought we'd find you crying. The teenage boy who was watching you said you were quiet as can be, just sat in that little nook in total silence. You were such a funny kid." There's a mystical air to her tone telling the story, because she loves to reminisce in that way, and unfortunately you really, really don't. Because that was the time of your life when your dad was still around, and despite the years of therapy you still can't move past it all. 

"Yeah, I remember," you placate her, sighing. You wish you could travel to see her today, just to calm her nerves and make her not worry, because her worrying is the absolute last thing you want. As you stare out the window you see the sky is a bit clearer, and there don't appear to be many flakes still falling. But the snow is still thick and there's surely ice everywhere. You're not even sure if the three separate subway lines you have to take to reach her house are still running.

"Well, sweetie, the weather report said the snow's finally supposed to let up today, so maybe you can get some fresh air soon."

"That sounds good," you mutter, rolling over in bed. "I should go make some breakfast, I'm feeling really hungry. Thanks for calling, love you," you finish the call.

"Okay, love you too sweetie. Talk to you soon," she replies, before you hang up the call.

New Year's Day. You'd forgotten yesterday what day it was, and had been sort of avoiding your phone because of Yunho's texts and calls. You hadn't stayed up till midnight, hadn't welcomed the New Year in any way. You were surprised Yunji hadn't said anything, but then again neither of you really were the types to party or celebrate holidays much. You both had bad memories of them from growing up, or good memories that had turned bad once you'd matured and looked back without your naiveté. And your face and posture were probably screaming 'leave me alone,' Yunji always able to tell if you were upset. You were thankful for that, thankful that she knew how to leave you alone when you needed the space. Really, what did it matter what day it was? New Year's was like any other day of the year, it just had the honor of being first in the lineup. So why was your head spinning so much? Why couldn't you stop thinking about what your resolutions should be?

The morning was strange, even with a delicious bagel and a warm cup of Jasmine tea. It felt strange seeing the sky after it had been covered for days; it even felt strange looking out your living room window to the front yard, the snow on the street gray and muddy and pounded down by the tracks of the few brave souls who'd trekked out or driven in this weather. You saw one neighbor diligently shoveling snow off her driveway, bundled up head to toe in a giant puffy jacket and boots that looked too big for her. Her head snaps up, and you walk towards the window to see what she's seeing; a snow plow was making its way down your street, the drivers finally able to start their work today now that the worst of the storm was behind you. Even the sidewalks looked not so bad, as the clear day had allowed the sun to begin melting the thick snow, the air hot enough that it might not be too icy out there. Something in you called at you to go outside, but the second you thought about it a wave of dread hit you, and you knew you'd be too scared. It would be another day stuck in here, another day avoiding Yunho's texts and feeling so guilty, and you weren't sure if you could take it.

It had gotten to that point now. It had been so long since you felt like this, like you'd rather die than live another moment. Now, just like the first time, you felt so ridiculous and shameful for feeling that way, looking around to see the physical evidence of your privileged life. Your safe and cozy apartment, the food filling the fridge, the brand new washing machine you'd both bought yourselves as a Christmas gift. How could this be so awful? You had all sorts of entertainment, anything you could need to keep you busy while you waited for these snow days to end. You could be updating your resume, starting the search for a new job. You could be calling Yunho back, and trying to find a way through your conflict. You could be doing yoga, meditating, making soup from scratch, reading, writing, learning a new language...

It all sounded horrible. Your mind was collapsing on you, but this time you're not a kid, this time you don't have a great excuse. You'd let some petty drama taint your every waking moment, and you didn't have anyone to blame but yourself. You were too scared to do the right thing, you could see that now, that back when this conflict had started you'd assumed your boss and everyone else would side with you, just because they already knew you. You'd let Yunho get under your skin, to the point that every word he uttered made you angry, letting him in so deep that there was no way out. Not now. You knew this wouldn't be resolved, because you couldn't do it; you could never admit these things to him that you'd just admitted to yourself. You could never apologize, never acknowledge that you played a part. You'd sat yourself staunchly in a position, the innocent one who'd been wronged time and time again by the aggressor, and stepping down from that pedestal would hurt you more than you thought you could bear.

It was the shame of fucking up. Of not being perfect. A conversation from therapy, from almost ten years ago, ricocheted to the front of your mind. 'You're quite a perfectionist, y/n. Do you realize that? It makes you avoid doing certain things, even if you know they're the right thing to do.' You can still see your old therapist's face, her glasses near the tip of her nose as she eyed you. How could you still be right where your fourteen year old self was? You looked like her too, your skin burning with embarrassment at how you hadn't realized that yourself. It felt humiliating to have to be told, because that in and of itself proved you were imperfect. That you weren't totally and completely self aware. The biggest shame you carried was knowing that despite how hard you tried, you never were very good at knowing yourself. 

You laid face down on your bedroom floor. You didn't have the energy or motivation for anything else. You knew clinically speaking, this looked like the start of a depressive episode. But you hadn't had one in years now and were out of practice. What were you supposed to do now? All that felt okay was sinking more into your head, letting the darkness envelop your mind and take you on a ride through your worst memories, your heart racing despite your complete lack of physical exertion.

By early afternoon you'd had enough of that horrifying roller coaster. When you sat up your neck ached, your body screaming at you to never collapse in that position again. You felt jittery, restless, but nothing at home sounded appealing still, not in the slightest. Your eyes catch on your winter boots in the corner of your room, too big to fit on the shoe rack by the front door. And suddenly your mind is made up in less than a second. It was time to go for a walk, to get out of the house. Maybe the cold air would clear your mind.

"Hey, I'm gonna go grab some snacks at Smith's, do you need anything?" you call through Yunji's bedroom door.

"You're going out in this weather?" she asks, opening it.

"The snow let up a lot today, and I'm running low. And I'm feeling too cooped up. It's only five blocks, I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Ok, well, I don't think I need anything. I stocked up on Pocky last time we were there. Are we almost out of toilet paper or paper towels?" she asks.

"No, I just checked," you respond.

"Okay. Be careful," she says, smiling.

"I will, I promise," you say before walking toward the front closet, grabbing your big winter coat and zipping it up.

The outside air is a shock as it greets your face, making your cheeks turn pink almost instantly. The world is still bright, the sun shining the warmest it will all day, but you can see darker clouds off in the distance. You hope they aren't moving too fast; there is only a slight breeze in the air, and mostly it's just so quiet, even with a second snow plow heading down your street. It does feel relieving, a least a little, to finally be outside, and a part of you feels proud for actually going out, given how scared you were this morning. You feel like you're maybe proving to yourself that you aren't such a wuss, that you aren't so prone to avoiding things that one day it'll ruin your life. You walk briskly, your nerves buzzing as your heart rate rises to keep you warm.

It feels nice to be buying your favorite snacks, and you're able to get lost in the normalcy of it for a few minutes. The store is almost empty, so you try making light conversation with the one cashier working, his long hair covered in a beanie. Strolling back outside you're met with the chilly air again, a gust of wind nearly knocking you off your feet as you make your way through the small, empty parking lot. You could have sworn you were only in there for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, but the sky looks almost completely different now, those dark clouds having descended on your area. You start your way back up the hill, bracing yourself against the growing winds, when the sky lets out a low rumble that shakes you to your bones. Suddenly it's raining, the air warm enough to turn the snow into sleet, and it's soaking your face and your hat and your gloves faster than you can believe. The paper bag holding your snacks is disintegrating in your hand, and you shove it under your coat to try to protect it, the cold bag on your stomach making you shiver.

"Fuck, this was a bad idea," you mutter to yourself, shakily making your way finally into your neighborhood, crossing the street that separates the houses from the row of commercial buildings. Your whole body is shaking, your head turned to the ground as you try to avoid getting sleet in your eyes and try to avoid falling. You're moving much slower than you were on your way to the store, carefully planting your feet one in front of the other as you hold your snacks against your stomach. Your brain feels fuzzy, the wind whipping past your ears, and all you can manage to think is, 'just make it home, just make it home.' It's only about three more blocks, you should be able to make it just fine, if you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, if you just keep going, keep goin-

Suddenly someone has grabbed you, your body thrown up like a rag doll, your upper half thrown over their shoulder. You let out a guttural scream, the sound hoarse and weak and getting lost in the storm. You're furiously flailing your legs, wiping the water from your eyes to try to get a look at anything, your lungs heaving as you scream again, this time, "Let me go!!"

The grip on your legs only tightens after your outburst, and then you're hearing a door whooshing open, warmer air greeting you as you enter some house, your eyes able to make out hardwood floors and the large boots of whoever's holding you hostage. You're breathing ragged, trying to get ahold of yourself and figure out where the hell you are, and when you catch a glimpse into the front closet of this house you see those navy blue shoes, with that very unique toe box...

Part 2

Thank you sm for reading! <3

[imthenextrobin]

a fic where the batfam travels through multiple universes, aus, random stuff like that.

they end up in batman beyond’s universe, where they first meet Bruce, and only Bruce.

Tim: So you’re just Bruce but way older? Nothing else is different?

BB!Bruce: Well not quite. I never adopted so many kids in this universe. I only “adopted” Richard, and Timothy, but neither currently accompany me.

Jason: Damn, so no me, Steph, Cass, Duke, or Damian huh?

BB!Bruce, like the liar he is: I cant say I recognize those names, no.

Dick: Wait, so you’re all alone?

Steph: That’s kinda depressing, no?

Bruce: Hes not all alone.

Jason: How do you know?

Damian just silently points his sword to a dark corner, where a Terry McGinnis walks out, holding popcorn and a cup of tea.

Terry: Yo, how’s it going- oh hey new people wow

Almost everyone groans at the sight of him

Damian: Seriously Father? Another boy you’ve adopted?

Terry: Woah hey, i’m not adopted? Bruce is more of a boss if anything

Jason: Oh god, he hasn’t even realized he’s a wayne now.

Dick: So, what’s your name? And how’d ya get adopted?

Terry: I’m-

Tim: I’m guessing he got adopted Jason style

Terry, starting to feel his eye twitch: Wait-

Steph: No, i’m gonna say he joined in Tim style!

Dick, ignoring the spluttering boy: Nah, this Bruce dropped out of Batman for a while now. No way he could have figured out his identity.

Cass: let him talk

Everyone goes quiet as they turn to Terry

Terry: geez, you’re my favorite. Anyways, my name is Terry, and im NOT a Wayne. That’s it. Now if you will, i’m going on patrol. Bye!

Silence.

Jason: He’s not adopted? talk about self control.

Damian. Wait. Who is he going on patrol as.

More silence.

…

Duke: Was it just me or did he not look a bit familiar.

[bg3daydream]

Breakfast (Lucanis x Rook fanfiction)

Lucanis x Female Rook one-shot.

Summary: Lucanis makes breakfast for Rook after they spend the nigth together once she's back from the Fade-prison, relieved to have her back but still worried about her. Short (2285 words) and sweet.

Lucanis woke up feeling rested for the first time in…he didn’t even know how long. That he'd been sleeping in Rook’s arms sure was the reason for it.

They were scrunched together on the couch in Rook’s room, with barely room to move, but for Lucanis it was perfect, with his head pillowed on Rook’s chest and her arms around him. Even Spite seemed to have calmed down, he hadn’t annoyed him once. His only regret was not having slept like that before that night, the distance he’d made himself keep for reasons that seemed important once but not anymore.

He was all too aware of how close he’d been to losing Rook. Since she’d been trapped in the Fade, Lucanis had been consumed not only by fear but also by guilt and regret. He’d let it happen, he hadn’t been quick enough, smart enough, and Rook had been taken from him. She had needed him and he had failed again.

He’d been searching non-stop for a way to get her back, even Spite had been agitated, driving him crazy, and he knew he had to be grateful for the team that they’d found a way to get Rook back.

After that, he’d known there was no way he’d let his fears and insecurities keep him from being truly Rook’s any longer. He’d kill the gods, the blight itself, anything that threatened Rook’s again, no matter what, he wouldn't fail her again, and he wouldn’t deny himself the comfort of her arms any longer.

Mindful not to wake her, Lucanis pulled back from Rook’s chest. She was still fast asleep, and Lucanis wondered if she’d slept at all those weeks she’d been trapped in the Fade, if she’d even needed it. 

She didn’t seem more tired than usual, neither did she seem hurt, but Rook hadn’t really elaborated on what had happened to her, and Lucanis hadn’t pushed her to tell him. She seemed more worried about what’d been happening while she was gone and how to fix it, and Lucanis knew it was important, but he wished Rook looked out for herself more. If she didn’t, then he’d be the one to watch over her and care for her.

Lucanis brushed his knuckles ever so softly over Rook’s cheek. He didn’t feel there was much he could offer her, besides his knives and his skills as an assassin, in which he felt he’d been failing abysmally.

It seemed Rook was going to sleep longer, and so, Lucanis decided to get up and get her breakfast. Feeding her was, at least, one thing he could do for Rook without failing her.

He carefully covered Rook with a blanket, pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, and got dressed quickly.

Walking out of the room and down the stairs, Lucanis found Emmrich already awake, sitting down on the armchair next to the coffee table, doing research, with a cup of steaming tea in front of him, while Manfred hovered near. Emmrich looked up from his papers to give Lucanis a tired smile.

“Good morning. How is she?” He asked as he glanced upstairs.

Lucanis sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. Not bad I think, but she hasn’t told me much of what happened to her. She wants to focus on what we have to do now.”

“Understandable so,” Emmrich conceded. “I know everything we lost, everyone…and everything we have to fight now. But we got Rook back, enjoy that.”

“I plan to. Thank you, Emmrich.” Lucanis was aware of how, without the Fade expertise of Emmrich, he probably couldn’t have gotten Rock back to him.

Emmrich nodded graciously and went back to his papers.

“Manfred,” Lucanis addressed the skeleton, who hissed a yes. “If you see Rook getting up, you come running to find me before she can”

“Yes!”

Once in the kitchen, Lucanis tried to decide on what to do for breakfast. He didn’t want it to be something overly complicated or that would take too long, afraid that Rook might wake up before he was finished and find herself alone.

Finally, he settled for orlesian pancakes. 

The kitchen felt cold and abandoned. Lucanis had been in no mood for cooking during the last couple of weeks, his mind was desperately looking for ways to bring Rook back, when he was not mourning their potential loss and blaming himself, and having to deal with Spite’s own commentary and franticness.

Trying to ignore the nagging thoughts of their missing friends, everything that had gone wrong and could get worse soon, and the still lingering fear of losing Rook, Lucanis focused on making breakfast and on the thought of a sleeping Rook, back to him.

He cooked swiftly, and once everything was ready, he placed several servings on a trail and walked out of the kitchen and back to the main building.

Emmrich was still in the armchair, studying the papers, while Manfred stood as a lookout on the staircase, watching the door of Rook’s room. When he saw Lucanis, he hissed and did a thumb-up, and Lucanis couldn’t help his smile.

“Thank you, Manfred,” Lucanis said while placing a cup of coffee and a plate of pancakes on the table in front of Emmrich.

“Oh, thank you Lucanis,” Emmrich smiled at him over his papers. “This was most kind.”

Lucanis shrugged and made his way back to Rook’s room. She was still asleep. Lucanis placed the tray with the pancakes and coffee on the table and  knelt down next to the couch, looking at Rook. He reached to trail his fingers down her cheek, ever so softly.

“Doesn’t. Wake,” Spite said, unhelpful.

“She needs rest,” Lucanis muttered, trying not to let Spite’s agitation get to him.

“She. Is not. Waking up,” Spite insisted.

Lucanis never thought the demon could care for anyone, but there they were. Still, he didn’t need Spite putting more fears inside his mind and going frantic again, it wouldn’t help anyone.

“Rook’s tired, she’ll wake up when she’s rested enough,” he tried again, although Lucanis wasn’t very sure if he was convincing himself or the demon. “Go play with Manfred.”

“Pff.” Spite brisked. “He. Thinks. He Is. A mage. Now,” the demon pretty much ranted. “He. Thinks. He. Is. Better.”

“I doubt it,” Lucanis answered, but truly, what did he know…he just hoped Manfred didn’t decide to try and teach Spite magic now. “Go with Manfred or shut it and let Rook sleep.”

Spite didn’t say anything else, but Lucanis could feel his unhappiness.

He watched Rook’s face, caressing her cheek ever so gently again, trying not to entertain Spite’s thoughts of her not waking. There was no reason for that, she was just tired, even if she was in the Fade in her sleep, she was not trapped there any longer, it was just normal dreaming…right?

Lucanis’ heart had begun beating faster, Spite’s unease was growing too, and so he tried to stop that train of thought. Rook was back, she was alright, she was just resting…but if she didn’t wake up by herself soon, he’d wake her. 

Moving even closer, Lucanis leaned over Rook, still kneeling on the floor, until he could rest his head over her chest. He closed his eyes, listening to her heartbeat, feeling her chest rising and falling as she breathed, and he tried not to let worry and overthinking take hold of his mind.

Eventually, Lucanis felt the change in her breathing as she began to wake up, and relief washed over him. He pushed back to look at her as Rook’s eyes opened, and she gave him a drowsy smile that made something in his stomach flutter and twirl. She was there, she was awake, she was fine…and she was smiling at him, her sleep-lidded eyes looking at him so lovingly that it was hard to believe she was looking at him.

“Hey….” Rook reached to cup his face and Lucanis leaned into her touch. Her smile turned into a frown when she noticed he was on the floor. “Did I kick you off the couch? Shit, I’m sorry.”

“No, you didn’t,” Lucanis rushed to explain. “I was up already. I made you breakfast.”

There it was again, that soft smile and that love in her eyes, making Lucanis’ heart skip a beat. “Of course you did.” 

Rook’s voice was quiet, content, while her hand cupping his face caressed his cheek, and Lucanis turned his head to kiss her palm. Rook’s smile grew wider at that and she leaned to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was gentle, chaste, yet it made Lucanis feel like he might melt. 

Rook pulled back, reaching to take her shirt that somehow had ended up hanging from the back of the couch, and she put it on. Then, she reached as if to take her cup of coffee, but Lucanis was already handing it to her.

“Thanks,” she smiled again and reached to take his hand. “Come here.”

Lookanis got up from the floor and sat down on the couch next to Rook. Ignoring his own cup of coffee, he looked at her as she contently sipped hers while she looked at the fishes swimming in that odd aquarium. Lucanis had felt uneasy about that part of Rook’s room before, it reminded him of the Ossuary, but it didn’t anymore, not with Rook there next to him.

Rook caught him staring at her and gave him a small smile, leaning to kiss the side of his head. “I’m fine,” she reassured him. 

Lucanis wasn’t sure if it was true, but he didn’t want to push her. She’d be fine, though, he’d make sure of it.

Rook leaned to place the cup back on the tray and cut a piece of the pancakes, bringing it to her mouth. She closed her eyes with a delighted hum and Lucanis felt something in his belly stir at it.

“This is so good,” she said as she took another bite.

“I’m glad.” Lucanis was pretty confident in his cooking skills, more than in his assassin skills right now, but it was nice to have confirmation that Rook was enjoying her breakfast.

Rook looked at him over her shoulder. “Did you have something besides coffee?” she didn’t let him answer. “Of course you didn’t.”

She cut the rest of the pancakes in small, bite-size pieces, and leaned back on the sofa again, taking plate and fork with her. “Here.” She reached the fork with one of the pancake pieces towards Lucanis.

“It’s your breakfast.”

“It’s enough for us both and more…come on,” Rook insisted and Lucanis gave in, taking the bite that she was offering.

Lucanis wondered if it should have felt ridiculous, letting someone feed him pancakes, but it didn’t, he just felt content, loved even. He wondered when was the last time he’d felt like that, or if he’d even felt like that at all before.

He let Rook feed him another couple of bites before nudging her and reminding her to eat herself, and so she dug into the pancakes with appetite. “Seriously, Lucanis, these are so good,” she said between bites and he couldn’t stop how pleased it made him feel.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been hungry, maybe even starving. How hadn’t he thought of feeding her sooner, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep last night without making sure she was fed, no matter how warm and comfortable her arms had felt.

“Did you eat anything while you were…away?” Lucanis found himself asking.

He wasn’t sure how the Fade worked, how she could have survived those weeks without eating anything, if maybe she didn’t need it while in the Fade…

Rook shook her head and leaned over to place the plate of pancakes, with barely anything left, on the table, taking the cup of coffee instead and leaning back on the couch again with a sigh.

“I know it was weeks for you here but…for me…I don’t know,” she trailed off. “I don’t know how it works, but it felt…I don’t even know…eternal but static at the same time…” Rook shuddered and Lucanis leaned to place an arm around her, regretting to have asked. “I don’t want to think about it now.”

“Of course,” he whispered, pulling her close.

His wings popped out without him meaning to, wrapping around them. Lucanis’d be embarrassed about his lack of control of the wings sometimes, if it weren’t because Rook seemed to like them. He had to wonder if Taash was right when they told him he should get out the wings when he was with Rook, that she’d like it.

“Good morning, Spite,” Rook said, smiling.

“Rook,” the demon greeted, but Lucanis was thankful he didn’t try to control him, seeming content just being acknowledged.

Rook took another sip of the coffee and then offered the cup to Lucanis. He was about to refuse, that was her coffee, he had a cup for himself, but she was looking at him with that soft smile, those caring, loving eyes, in a way that made him feel as if his heart was growing in size, and he couldn’t refuse her, taking a sip of the coffee before giving her the cup back.

Rook leaned against him with a content sigh and Lucanis kissed the side of her head. 

There were gods to kill, people to help, a world to save, friends to avenge, they had to get at it soon but perhaps, perhaps it all could wait just a bit longer.

Perhaps they could stay like that, Lucanis’ arm and wings enveloping Rook, basking in each other, for a little bit, if only until they finished their coffee.

*

NA:

Both me and my Rook have fallen in love with this gentle, caring assassin and we want to hold him and protect him, but sometimes Rook needs to be taken care of too.

I think I want to write more for them.

If you liked the fic, please let me know in a comment, and as always, reblogs are more than welcome.

Excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

TW: Drinking/Intoxication, Drinking Games, Friendly 141, Drunk König, Jealous Ghost, Possessive Ghost, Dominant Ghost, Flirty Soap, Playful Soap

Translations:

"Ye feart of a wee nip?" - Scottish slang for "You scared of a little kiss?"

"Jessie" - Scottish slang for "coward"

...is it too obvious that I want them all?

Reader POV:

The music was already quite loud from outside the club doors. But the minute they swung open, the pounding rhythm of electronic dance music hit you full force. The thrashing beat vibrated through your whole body, instantly making you feel alive and eager to dance. But there were patrons pressing in on all sides as everyone else surged forward with the same goal in mind.

Thankfully, Ghost pulled you along through the crowd and made a beeline for the bar. You reached back and took König’s hand in yours, pulling him along with you as Ghost pressed on through the ruckus. When you finally reached the bar, it was still crowded with people. But the numbers had thinned just a bit and there were a few open seats available. Ghost pulled one out for each of you, but he was content to stand.

"What do you like to drink, Princess?” He shouted, cupping his hand around his mouth. “Tonight's on me."

"Oh, thanks! I like Long Island Iced Tea a lot.."

"Of course? König, you want anything?"

König paused to think for a moment. "A Jagertee, please? If they have it?"

"Alright then,” Ghost said, giving a curt nod. “Sounds good to me."

After a moment, the bartender rushed over to take your orders. Though he was no doubt stressed by the constant drink requests, he had a cheery smile and friendly eyes.

"Sorry for the wait, folks," he laughed, wiping his hands on the front of his apron. "Name’s Elliot. As you can see, we're pretty slammed tonight. But what can I get started for you?"

"Nothing fancy," Ghost said, having to raise his voice over the noise. "Just bourbon. Neat."

"I like it," he grinned, jotting the order down before turning to you. "And for you, miss?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but Ghost quickly stepped in.

"She'll have a Long Island Iced Tea. And he'll have a Jagertee, if that’s something you can make."

Elliot pulled out his phone, looking up the unfamiliar beverage. As he perused, he nodded excitedly. "Yep, I think I can make that work. Are we doing separate tabs tonight?"

Ghost didn’t respond, simply draping one arm over your shoulder before resting the other on König’s. He held the bartender’s gaze all the while, his unspoken response was clear.

When the meaning dawned on him, Elliot grinned and closed his notepad with a snap. "Alrighty, together it is. I'll have those right out for ya!"

Ghost gave him a nod of gratitude and turned away from the bar. He leaned back against the countertop, crossing his arms over his chest and casually eyeing the rowdy crowd of partygoers.

"Thank you for this, Ghost," König yelled, leaning towards him. "It's very kind."

Ghost’s eyes smiled behind his mask. "My pleasure."

Once the bartender handed off your drinks, you all returned to weaving through the crowd towards the small seating area. You craned your neck in an effort to spot the rest of your crew. A little ways ahead, you saw Soap waving both arms over his head to catch your eye. He was standing at a table where Price and Alejandro were already seated. And the three of you were eager to join them.

"What took you guys so long?" Soap laughed, taking a long sip from his drink. "Thought we lost ya for a minute there."

"Just needed a chat to set things right," Ghost shrugged, meeting Price’s gaze across the table. "Wanted to keep my word and get rid of any tension between us."

"Oh," Price leaned in, intrigued. "And how did it go? Y/n?"

"It went great," you said, shyly. "I think we can finally bury the hatchet. Ghost’s not a bad guy after all! I like him."

Price beamed with pride. "Fantastic! See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Soap nudged Alejandro, motioning for him to scoot over so the three of you could join them on the bench.

"That’s a pure tidy choker ya got there, lass," he chirped as you slid onto the bench beside him. "Real cute."

You felt heat quickly rising on your face, but smiled through it. "Thanks! I think so too."

Ghost quickly settled in beside you, stretching out with a sigh as König sat down next to him. The significance of the collar hidden in plain sight paired with Ghost’s thigh snugly pressed against yours? It gave you a thrill. Smiling to yourself at the naughty secret, you took a sip of you drink. You braced for the sharp flavor of alcohol, but were surprised when there was none at all! It was absolutely delicious! You weren’t fooled though. From the way it instantly warmed your stomach, you knew there was a potent mixture of vodka and tequila hidden within it. You quickly took another sip, reminding yourself to be careful just how many of these you had tonight.

“So,” Ghost began, resting his forearms on the tabletop. “What did we miss?”

“Not much,” Price laughed. “Soap here was trying to explain a drinking game to us. What was it called again? Jinx or some rubbish like that?”

“It’s called high jinks! An old classic.”

You perked up, more than ready for some fun to start. “Oh? I’ve never heard of it. How do we play?”

Soap rummaged in his pockets and produced a pair of dice.

“Here’s how it goes. First, we all decide some dirty deed that befalls the unlucky loser. Then, we go ‘round the table and roll the dice. You read em low number first, higher number second.”

He demonstrated, shaking the die in his hand before tossing them on the table.

“I got a 2 and a 6, so that would be a score of 26. If you get a number higher than your neighbor, you get to take a drink! But if you get a lower one, you either have to do whatever dirty deed the team has in store for you or you're out of the game.”

“And if I was to play. And I said if ,” Alejandro laughed. “How do we win?”

“You win by being the last man standing. That or all of us are too pished to keep it up. So who’s in?”

One by one, everyone at the table began to raise their hand. Rolling his eyes in jest, Alejandro raised his hand as well. You quickly rose your hand and was pleased to see both Ghost and König follow suit. With a full table of willing participants, Soap rubbed his hands together. His eyes sparkled with mischief as his grin widened.

“Right then!” He lowered his voice, leaning in conspiratorially. “What’s our first dare?”

--------------------

It wasn’t long before the game was in full swing. Laughter roared from the booth and the drinks continued to arrive in a steady flow. So far, the antics hadn't been anything too terrible. Alejandro had lost in the first round. So he begrudgingly rose from his seat to ask a pretty girl for her number. Even Soap had lost a round! But if his punishment bothered him at all, he hadn’t shown it. He’d put his whole heart into his performance, dutifully dancing on the table to the delight of his teammates. Price spent a majority of the moment bowled over in laughter and Alejandro had his phone at the ready to capture the scene.

You snorted when he stopped in front of your seat to gyrate his hips in your face. And when you tucked a dollar bill into the waistband of his pants, the clamor rose all over again. Even Ghost and König laughed nearly to the point of tears.

With a flourished bow, Soap reveled in the team’s applause before hopping down from the table and reclaiming his seat.

“I dare anyone to top that,” he beamed, helping himself to another drink. “Now what’s next?”

The table went quiet as everyone plotted the perfect punishment for the next loser. You crossed your arms and sat back, deep in thought. You wanted the next one to be perfect. Who knew how long the game would go? Suddenly, König sat up and raised his hand.

“How about this?” he giggled. “The next loser has to make out with Price.”

You almost choked on your drink. König was definitely drunk or tipsy, at the very least. Because you never would have expected that kind of idea from him. From Soap, it would have been completely unsurprising. But from König? It was totally off brand!

Soap was all for it, giggling and clapping his hands in anticipation. “Oh, I love this already! Ye feart of a wee nip, captain’?”

“If you’re asking what I think you are, I’m not the one to ask. I don’t wanna get a black eye tonight,” Price chuckled, gesturing at you and König. “I’m alright with it if you two are.”

“I’m not a sore loser,” König shrugged, sipping at his drink. “If I lose, I will take my punishment. Maus?”

Your eyes flitted to König and then to Ghost. König’s eyes were full of excitement, so you knew he had no complaints about the proposition. But Ghost’s expression was unreadable behind his mask. You tried to subtly ask permission with your eyes, but he just stared back and crossed his arms.

“Choose,” he murmured in a monotone voice, raising his mask to take a swig of his bourbon. You saw his jaw clench, but he didn’t speak any further.

“Welp, I tried,” you said to yourself with a shrug before turning back to Price.

“You can count me in,” you laughed. But you jokingly narrowed your eyes at Soap, nudging him with your elbow. “But I haven’t lost yet and don’t plan on losing now.”

Soap smirked, sliding the dice across the table towards Price to start the round. “Oho! We’ll see about that!”

Price shook the dice in his hand, pausing to blow on them for good luck before letting them fall.

“Ha, twenty-one. Beat that!” he bellowed, passing them along to Alejandro before sipping his old-fashioned.

Alejandro let them fly and was quite pleased when he rolled a thirty-six. But Soap quickly scooped them up and shook them in both hands. He drew out the suspense for a good while, too. It wasn’t until Price told him to quit stalling that he finally let the dice clatter against the table. And when they rolled to a stop, the team oohed and ahhed at his result. He’d rolled a twenty-two!

“Vaya! That was a close one!” Alejandro shook his head in awe.

“A shame, too,” Soap smirked at Price, puckering his lips. “I was gonna land a good one on ya.”

The captain rolled his eyes with a chuckle. “Shut up and pass the dice.”

Everyone leaned in as you plucked the dice from the table. Taking a page out of Price’s book, you blew into your hand as you shook them. And with a deep breath, you opened your hand and let the dice slip from your grasp. Silence settled over the group as the dice chose your fate.

“Fourteen, eh?” Soap announced with a click of his tongue. “Looks like your luck ran out after all, lass. Pucker up or you’re out~”

“Fine,” you sighed, nudging Ghost to let you out of the booth.

König quickly stood, eager to see your punishment play out. But Ghost took his sweet time scooting across the bench before finally stepping out of your way. You felt your face burn a bit as you made your way over to where Price sat. There was laughter in his eyes as he quirked an eyebrow at you.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Y/n,” he offered, watching your approach. “You can always sit out until the next round.”

“Yeah, if you’re a jessie,” Soap teased. He took another sip of his drink, excitement plain on his face. “Come on, it's just a kiss!”

“Sorry, John,” you said, tugging your dress down before sitting next to him. “I’m too competitive to back out now.”

After Soap's recent performance, you knew you'd have to add a bit of spice to one up him. So, you threw a leg over Price's thigh to straddle his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders. Ever the respectful gentleman, Price didn’t presume to touch you. He let his hands sit idly on the bench as you shut your eyes and leaned in. It wasn’t a bad kiss. And he tentatively kissed you back. His lips were soft and the coarse hairs of his mustache tickled. He tasted warm, like alcohol and cigar smoke. After a few seconds, you backed off.

“Damn, that was sexy as hell,” Soap said with a laugh. “You feeling okay over there, captain? Need to go tug one off in the men’s room?”

Price smiled, patting your leg to signal that you could climb off his lap. “Okay, let’s not go making things inappropriate,” he chided.

You laughed, giving the team a little bow before heading back to your side of the table. König’s eyes were wide in surprise, but there was a spark of intrigue in them too. He giggled again, giving you a nod of admiration as he stepped aside. “Well done, Maus!”

He handed the dice to Ghost, who looked far less amused though. He stood at the entrance to your side of the bench with his arms crossed, blocking your way. And there was a glint of both jealousy and possessiveness in his eyes. The bottom of his mask was still lifted, which revealed his lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure.

“I ain’t kissing my captain if I lose,” he growled, shaking the dice in his hand. “But how about this? Since she’s in such a generous mood, I’ll kiss her instead.”

A collective gasp went up around the table. But you ignored the reaction, keeping your eyes locked on Ghost.

“Fine,” you shot back, boldly accepting his challenge.

Ghost discarded the dice onto the table behind him, not even stopping to look at his score before yanking you into an aggressive kiss. His hands gripped your body, pressing you flush against him as his lips claimed yours with a hungry growl. And you let him, giving in to the brazen display. It was not a gentle kiss. He kissed you recklessly, desperately. He kissed you as if he wanted to wipe every last memory of the previous kiss from your mind and body. And when he finally let you go, you were flushed and gasping for breath.

Everyone else looked on in stunned silence, jaws on the floor. Even König was surprised Ghost had shown his hand so unexpectedly. But Ghost was unbothered. He was smirking, eyeing the rest of the team as you bashfully reclaimed your seat.

“What? If you’re gonna kiss her, at least do it right,” he shot Price a look before pulling out a cigarette. “Need a smoke. I’ll be back.”

“Por Dios,” Alejandro laughed, watching him go in disbelief. He moved to exit the booth shortly afterwards. “After what I just saw, I think I need another drink.”

Price’s gaze flitted between you and König before realization hit him. With a knowing smirk, he downed the rest of his beverage and stood to let Alejandro out. “I think I’ll join you.”

"Could you get me one too, König?" You raised your empty glass.

“Of course,” König chirped, grabbing your cup before hurrying off behind them.

The only person left at the table was Soap. And you half expected him to slip away, too. But he was more than content to stay exactly where he was. He sat there mixing his drink with his straw, eyeing you with increased interest.

“So,” he leaned in, grinning mischievously. “You and Ghost, huh?”

You flushed bright red, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Rubbish, you can’t fool me,” he snickered, poking your arm. “You’re just picking us off one by one, aren’t you? Trying to add as many soldiers to your roster as you can?”

“No! Oh my god," you covered your face with your hands, continuing in a timid whisper. "I-König likes to… share. So now, I'm kinda dating Ghost, too. Please don't tell anyone, though. Okay?"

"My lips are sealed. But after that kiss? I don’t think anyone needs tellin'."

"Fuck, I'm so embarrassed. I don’t want you guys to think I'm a slut or something!"

Soap adamantly shook his head.

"Oh please, far from it! We're all grown here, we don't judge. Personally, I'm impressed,” he sat back, crossing his arms behind his head. “I thought you took the cake this morning. But never in my life have I seen Ghost do something like that. He’s got it bad for you, lass. Real bad.”

You relaxed a bit, relieved you hadn't ruined the friendly dynamic you had built with the team. Soap rubbed your back, assuring you everything would be just fine. Across the room, you could see König headed your way with a fresh drink. And everyone else was right behind him.

"Before they get back," he whispered, waggling his eyebrows. "Ya got room for one more?"

You stammered, completely caught off guard. But your surprise turned to playful annoyance when Soap fell into a fit of laughter.

"Relax! I'm just giving you a hard time. But oh, that face was priceless!" he continued laughing at his own joke before finishing off his drink. "But I'll say this. If duty ever calls, I'll answer~"

"Lovely," you shook your head, giving him a playful shove. "I'll remember that."

[hauntedaeon]

Fandoms in general I feel should be less focused on romantic relationships all the time. Don’t get me wrong I’m a big shipper myself but I also love me a good set of besties. Here’s some platonic friend duos I like a lot! And no hate if you do ship these they’re all valid just not my cup of tea.

Edelgard and Sylvain, especially in crimson flower. I mean come on look at them. They both hate the crest system and wish to change it. Sylvain is also way smarter than he acts and I feel Edelgard would notice, asking him for council occasionally. But also they would be great supports for each other to vent their frustrations. Edelgard would easily be able to see through Sylvain, he probably flirts with her like once and she immediately shuts him down. However they do become friends which confuses everyone else.

Dimitri and Yuri. I think they actually really don’t meet much during the Academy. In fact, Yuri found Dimitri to be just another foolish noble. They actually become friends during the time skip. Dimitri spends part of those 5 years in the abyss and the undergrounds of cities where he sees Yuri. Yuri is surprised about what Dimitri has become and tries but is unable to convince Dimitri to stay. I also hc that he was the one to give Dimitri his cloak and armor (cause how did a feral man find armor like that???)

Mercedes and Marianne. Mercedes is THE mom friend and would totally be super nice and doting to Marianne. They pray together and Mercedes sees how troubled she is so takes some time getting closer. She always tries to cheer Marianne up but if Marianne is having a day where she’s just not feeling it Mercedes is content to just sit there with her. Marianne looks up to Mercedes a lot and slowly starts coming out of her shell around her. I also feel like Marianne would remind Mercedes of Emile.

[bawmbo]

hi, thank you. youve opened a can of worms that cannot be closed

killer is such an interesting character to me. i realized that im not actually too sure where to start but ill start with his timeline;

the idea of a character whose home was slowly destroyed for reasons outside of their control and beyond what they couldve ever thought was real is an incredibly interesting concept to me. i also love psychological horror and reality breaking type of things in relation to it.

to be transformed into something outside of the bounds of definition, and live with the consequences of that, of your loss of autonomy is terrifying. to be named under that total loss is horrifying. to know that everybody will only know your name and never what you went through to get there, that no one would even really care. not that you could get yourself to. theres so much potential with the idea of someone who wants to drain your world of everything for entertainment, and they can forcefully recode it, and they do not care about you because you are just a game character to them. and you are the only one aware of this. and when youre taken out of the timeline by a strange man who can also forcefully shift your control of your situation, everyone will only know you as just as bad as him. as a murderer with no reason. and every time you look at this man (nightmare) all you can feel is the same hatred you feel for yourself. you cant help but feel like youre the same. but this isnt about nightmare as much as i really do love him and writing his character (also super passionate about him)

i have a lot of problems in general with his fandom portrayal and the fact that we either see him as portrayed as either incredibly childish, dumb, very sexualized, etc. and its okay to want to write him how you want to write him, have fun, just not our cup of tea

to us, hes incredibly agile, quiet. hes eerie and incredibly smart and much more aware of whats going on than he lets on. he has lost all respect for anyone who claims theyre more powerful than him, and the way he taunts is by bringing them back to his level (or just doing things he knows pisses them off but not enough to get him killed for it. massive staring problem and wont elaborate on it). and while he can be flirty, where i understand the sexualization comes from.

i think i just crave more in depth characterization from him. how terrifying he is during battles, how he knows the knives he fights with better than the air he breathes and the placement of his feet just as much. how he could be using his magic but its difficult to fight him even without it. the absence of what he could be doing and the presence of how difficult what he is doing showing through. his disconnection from the world around him and how hard it is to realize that everything around you is just codes. that everything is malleable in the wrong hands and everyone lives their lives blissfully unaware of how quickly things can change. and how he could be deeply angry by this but never actually feel it well in his chest like he sees with others. he isnt indifferent, and at some point, somewhere he might express that care. but he cant. and this is it. and he doesnt know how to move on from that.

maybe when he gets close to people his relationships end up showing slow signs of trust. when he does trust people is he surprised if they leave? how scared is he to depend on anyone when no one was ever there to? maybe one day he finally learns to sleep with his chest or back exposed and around people. and his version of hanging out is going "hey i know a spot" and its a 50 minute walk through a closed off forest but its beautiful. and youll probably get some diseases, just gotta hope you dont. the next place is probably a feral cat colony hiding in the sewers hes been feeding and slowly gaining the trust of. hes weird.

in general i really do love complex characters and think about them a lot. and i love seeing how complex characters can be written. i love exploring the possibilities with him and i find that when we either write him or collab stories where we write characters interacting with him, we have a lot of fun and end up thinking about him a lot.

my friend @nullandvalid is a big killer enthusiast too and if you send him an ask you could probably get a big rant too. (also @thaltro. both him and null write killer super well imo. been incredibly fun to listen to them talk about how they write him and engage in writing stories with them) thank you for giving me time to yap about it, ill probably be thinking of more in the meantime but this is all i have atm fhahaha

another one for fun, pretty experimental. this one was one of those "draw regardless of whether or not you think it looks good" things. swore to myself the next utmv character i drew and posted was gonna be fell but here we are. gonna try to get used to posting things that i dont consider my best work. hi killer love you dude

[nikosdaydreams]

im actually cackling some tb fans are genuinely delusional because tell me why i just read a post saying,

"aemond isn't disabled and shouldn't be classified as such because he still has his other eye!"

pardon...?

atp they're trying so hard to justify their ableist jokes

[binah-beloved]

despairful day. remember to take comfort in anything that brings you joy. for me, that is Binah. for you, it might also be Binah. that is alright. she has hugs enough for all.

[venigni]

Lol every time I hear a streamer shittalk Gemini I immediately leave the stream like bro ur more annoying than him stfu 😭😭😭

[beef-brisket]

Charlie was silent for a moment: I'll meet you at your place.

Lucifer pulled the phone away from his ear as his daughter hung up. He sighed and paid for their meal- that Adam didn't even eat.

He was not only embarrassed by everyone staring at him but also that his daughter would have to pick up the pieces. Again.

Lucifer teleported to his mansion. He needed to get everything he needed before Adam got home.

Charlie arrived thirty minutes later, and she basically barged in.

Charlie: Dad! What's going on?

Lucifer: Adam and I... we're doing a separation trail.

Charlie: What? Why? You said everything was going great!

Lucifer: I thought so, too! But Adam was saying that I don't care! I don't listen- I ignore him! Apparently, he had this whole concert thing planned for our anniversary- he never even told me!

Charlie: Wait- you didn't go to the concert?

Lucifer blinked: No?

Charlie: Dad! He told me about it! I told you the date AND location! He even texted it to you-! And you didn't go!?

Lucifer: I just... thought it was nothing- Charlie- I swear, I had no idea!

Charlie shook her head: Dad. Are you even ready for a relationship?

Lucifer: What? Charlie, I'm basically 15,000 years old. Of course I'm ready for a relationship!

Lucifer laughed and started to make them a cup of tea.

Charlie sighed: Just because you're old, doing mean you're emotionally mature enough for a relationship.

Lucifer: Look, Charlie. Adam has had a WAY worse dating history than me, okay? Remember how long I was married for? And it's my marriage to Adam that's going down the drain so quickly?

Charlie narrowed her eyes: What are you saying?

Lucifer: Nothing! I'm just saying that Adam's the one that's had relationship issues- I have a while for nearly 10,000 years, and he hasn't had a steady relationship... well, ever. Lilith didn't like him from the moment they met, Eve was... complicated. So... maybe I'm not the issue here. Ever think about that? Or is this "blame Lucifer" day?

Lucifer waved his hands around before laughing and leaning back against the counter.

Charlie was silent for a moment. She knew her dad could be an idiot but this was ridiculous.

Charlie: ...What colour are Avery's eyes?

Lucifer groaned: Aghh- not you too! Red. Their red.

Charlie: What colour are her cheek circles?

Lucifer: Red again. Obviously.

Charlie: Her eyes are gold and she doesn't have cheek circles- Dad! That's your daughter and you don't know what she looks like!

Lucifer: Of course I do!

Charlie: What color are Adam's horns?

Lucifer blinked: W-What?

Charlie: His horns. What colour are they?

Lucifer: ...I'm fucked, huh?

Charlie: ...Yeah. you're fucked.

Lucifer groaned and rubbed his face. How the fuck has he let it get this bad? He's the king! He can't make ONE marriage work!?

Charlie: But you don't have to be fucked.

Lucifer peaked through his fingers: Huh? I don't?

Charlie: Nope! You can work on yourself! At the hotel!

Lucifer laughed: Oh, Charlie. That's adorable! But I don't need redemption! I'm the Devil!

Charlie: It's not redemption, Dad. Think of it as a wellness center! You'll work on yourself, grow, and learn how to support Avery and Adam! And, you'll learn how to be present.

Lucifer thought about it for a moment. This idea is ridiculous. But he could work.

Lucifer: ...It'll look good, right? With Adam?

Charlie: Really good. That you're trying.

Lucifer: ...even if I don't think I'm 100% the issue?

Charlie: That's a fact, dad. Relationships need both or all people working together. Both you and Adam need to work on each other

Lucifer: ...okay. fuck it, I'll do it!

Separation Trial

@beef-brisket @things-arent-what-they-seem66

Adam tapped his fingers against the table in a distracted manner. He had been there at the restaurant for a while now. Waiting for his...waiting for Lucifer. He needed to talk with Lucifer, he wanted to talk to him at home about it, in private. However, when he asked about meeting him, Lucifer simply nodded his head and said they could meet at this restaurant.

He didn't even take Adam’s idea at eating at home into consideration. Although the place Adam sat currently was upscale and nice it wasn’t what he wanted to do. This wasn’t where he wanted to have…the conversation. He sighed to himself as he saw Lucifer approach. He barely even said hello before Lucifer kissed him on the cheek before seating himself.

Lucifer: Hello my dearest, what’s going on? Why’d you want to talk at a restaurant? You know we could have talked over the phone. You made it sound so urgent.

Adam took a moment to keep his anger in check. Once again Lucifer wasn’t listening.

Adam: What I wanted to talk to you about couldn’t be said over the phone. It had to be in person. Lucifer we have been married for three whole years now.

Lucifer: Yeah I know, last week was our anniversary. Don’t you remember Addie?

Adam felt his breath hitch and he struggled to not cry then and there. Their third anniversary had been a disaster, he didn’t want to go into it. But Adam had would forever hate that day. It was what made him bring this meeting with Lucifer.

Adam: I do remember, and so should you.

Lucifer: But I literally just said that I

Adam: No, I’m talking about what happened that day. Can you please tell me what happened?

Lucifer was nervous at his husband’s harsh tone but answered him.

Lucifer: Well, I do remember that both of us were so busy, I with handling a fortis problem, then Charlie called and she needed some help with the hotel, and I didn’t get back till late at night. Oh and you had that concert of yours, by the way how was it? I don’t think I asked before.

Adam felt his eye twitch.

Adam: It was not JUST a concert Lucifer.

Lucifer: …Did something happen at the concert?

Adam: More like what didn’t happen.

Lucifer: Did no one applaud you? Were they booing you? Honey don’t worry your a great singer, you’ll bounce back.

Adam: No, there were no applause nor cheers. Because my audience wasn’t there.

Lucifer: Oh, Adam I’m so sorry.

Adam: You weren’t there Lucifer.

Lucifer: What?

Adam: You were not at my concert Lucifer, You were supposed to be there. Because you were meant to be my audience. Because that concert was going to be dedicated to you! It was supposed to be my wedding anniversary present to you!

Lucifer: But, but, but it’s not my fault if you don’t tell me in advance!

Adam: Lucifer I told you weeks prior about it. And you always said that you’d be there. But of course you lied.

Lucifer: I didn’t lie! Shit came up Adam this isn’t my fault. If anything you should have told me before I left that day! On top of that what did you expect me to do? Not do my duty as king. Tell the goetia to handle it themselves!? Say no to my own daughter, your own daughter, I shouldn’t have helped her at all?! Geez you can be selfish sometimes.

Adam’s eyes widened at that statement. He was shocked to his seat still. Then slowly he nodded his head in understanding. He was an idiot for ever even considering giving Lucifer a second chance. Taking a deep breath, Adam looked directly into Lucifer’s yellow, red eyes and said,

Adam: Lucifer, I want a divorce

[novathesheltie]

[paperbirb]

definitely omegaverse au (again lol)

some thoughts i had for this:

officially married but sedition happened and so jy is a widow for now

blade comes back but the marriage registration papers have yx's name (you can see where this is going lol)

renewed mating bite

leaning towards a/a but that may change

had thoughts about o!yx becoming a!blade but idk, it's sth i need to ponder on more bcs reasons

blade asked sw to hack the marriage registration system to change the name on the records lol

wedding? what wedding

no idea if they will have kids (who knows, maybe only lan knows) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

we (by we, i mean blade) dont like talking about the scar™ event >.>

[sandersontheside]

the sarcasm, the faux seriousness…Janus energy

[awesomechocolatesauce]

Some dude: "Can someone explain the attraction to the guy [Astarion]? Even with the great voice acting, he comes off as an entitled scuzzball."

Hm, let's see. I find him hilarious and physically attractive, so jot that down. His story as a victim of sexual, physical, emotional abuse and slavery resonates with me, so I completely understand why he is the way he is (honestly, he could've been A LOT worse). His first meeting with the player character where he holds a knife to their throat is right up my "enemies to friends to lovers" trope loving alley. Him being a vampire is a bonus because I consume quite a bit of vampire media. When it comes down to it, he's a survivor who wants someone to care about him and I can relate.

Also, and this is the most important part, he's fictional. So, maybe stop worrying about what people think about a fictional character you don't like and maybe, I don't know, get over it? 💕

[ashenpumpkin]

the key difference between astarion and shadowheart is that shadowheart turns into the sweetest girl ever the moment she meets someone not in her death cult while Astarion(from my experince) is just a bastard through and through yes i know he's traumatized but something you should all remember is that "This character is deeply traumatized and is shaped by their past and environment" and "This character is an evil person" are not mutually exclusive statements