#inspection in production line

[intsofttech]

Intsoft Tech optical character recognition apply to production line

[anonymusbosch]

work was so bad the last couple days tho. disregarding the fun readings it was like 90% trying to fix problems that other people were just breathtakingly unwilling to fix

[fxstpace]

☆ kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ domestic fluff, established relationship au. 0.57k words.

“this is a bad idea.”

“this is not a bad idea.”

“i’m going to ruin everything.”

“you’re not going to ruin anything,” mingyu assures, turning to look over his shoulder at you, even though his hair is sectioned off, and your gloved hands are already poised with a streak of dark blue dye.

you groan, throwing him a half-hearted glare. “stop moving! this is already stressful without you wiggling around.”

your boyfriend obediently stills, turning back around and letting you carefully work the dye into his bleached hair. the colour looks ominously dark against the bright blonde; you freeze for a moment, heart pounding.

“what if it comes out patchy? or green? or worse—what if i miss a spot, and you have to walk around looking like a dalmatian?” you say in a rush, trying to focus on evenly coating the strands.

“i think that’d look good, actually,” he teases, but when he notices the tension in the line of your jaw, his voice softens. “seriously, though, you’re doing great. even if it turns out bad, i don’t care. it’s just hair.”

you huff. “you’re saying that now, but wait until it’s done. then you’ll be begging me to shave your head.”

“bold of you to assume i absolutely wouldn’t rock a shaved head,” mingyu says, grinning as he looks at you in the mirror. you shoot him a warning look, and he faces forward, adopting the expression of a chastised child. “sorry, sorry! i’ll stay still.”

“thank you.” you exhale, leaning closer to ensure every strand is thoroughly saturated. the gloves crinkle while you section off another chunk of his hair, carefully applying the dye.

he hums a soft, aimless tune under his breath to fill the silence, the melody curling around you both, gentle and warm. his eyes follow every movement of yours, and his lips curve upwards into a tender smile. “you’re really focused on this, aren’t you?”

“of course i am!” you reply, brows knitting in determination. “you trusted me with your hair, mingyu. your hair. the thing you spend half an hour styling every morning even if we’re just running out to buy milk.”

“first of all, it’s only twenty minutes, not thirty. second, i trust you.”

“yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable. i’m not a professional,” you mutter, though your cheeks heat up at his words because it’s such a mingyu thing to say—unabashedly sincere, the kind of sweetness that isn’t sugar-coated because it simply is. 

“that’s okay. professionals are boring. you’re much better.”

you roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “you’re such a flirt.”

“can’t help it. my girlfriend’s cute.”

“flattery will not save you if this goes horribly wrong,” you warn, reaching for the dye bottle to squeeze out the last bit of product.

he tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “good thing i’m not worried, then.”

with one final swipe, you finish applying the dye and step back to inspect your work. mingyu wraps his blue-tinged hair in a plastic cap and peers at his reflection in the mirror. “well?” he asks. “am i handsome yet?”

“you always are.”

“and you say i’m the flirt.”

grinning, you poke his cheek. “sit down and don’t touch anything. i don’t need blue stains everywhere in our apartment.”

“got it, boss,” he says, plopping down on the edge of the bathtub. his expression turns contemplative. “next time, we’re going pink.”

“absolutely not.”

⇢ a/n: everyone say thank you to skye for sending me a series of blue-haired mingyu pics yesterday night that prompted me to lose whatever small amount of sanity i had.

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

say yes to heaven

how spencer and you deal (or don't deal) with the fact that he doesn’t want a baby anymore after coming home from prison, and you really do.

MDNI | angst

word count: 2226 warnings & tags & stuff: bau!reader, avoidant reader, avoidant spencer, no happy ending (wtf), reader wants a baby, one line about reader not having a certain religious belief, they like almost have sex, spencer undresses reader, lots of talk about a condom, they dont really fight at all?, very underdeveloped/bad description of quantum immortality author's note: heyyyyy guyss whats up..... this is a different vibe to my regular stuff and i fear it may be really ooc?? i don't know how to feel but i literally have to post or i'll go even more crazy sooo here we are!! have a delightful day, let me know your thoughts if you have any, ily!!!

Antique shops, you and Spencer have decided, are the hidden gems of this nation yet to be appreciated enough by the general public. 

Each town or city you visit is bound to have one, and going to them has become a little celebratory tradition. In the early mornings after cases are solved, right before the plane ride home, you take a look around. You’re typically the first and only ones in the store, wandering with intertwined hands and sipping on ‘2 extra foamy cappuccinos with an additional shot of espresso, please’ and occasionally, but not necessarily, choosing something to take back to D.C.

You’ve been trying your absolute hardest to fill your home to the brim– sometimes with objects, and other times with words, or touch, or the ever so valuable and fleeting concept of shared time– in effort to replace what had been lost in that three month long period when it was completely devoid of tangible, fresh love.

It’s today you’re wandering through a quaint, very cluttered shop in western Oregon, the Pacific visible from the store’s windows. 

Wheels up in an hour. Don’t be late. Hotch’s text buzzes in your pocket, but you barely glance at it– there’s something about the Oregon coast that reaches into your heart and gives it a gentle massage, enveloping you in a refreshing lack of urgency.

Spencer, in his own peaceful world, is staring at a tall wall of books. He reaches out to pick up a dusty rendition of Moby Dick, carefully cracking it open to the first few pages to check the publication date, brow scrunching as he reads. You go to peer over his arm to check as well, when something catches the corner of your eye. You let go of his hand to inspect.

A bassinet. Dark wood, surface polished to a faint sheen, with intricate little waves engraved on the sides, like the ocean’s misty outreach had come all the way into the shop and placed this here for you to see. 

You weren’t exactly sure when this now familiar ache had started; this deep, internal desire felt in your stomach for a little hand to be gripped around your pointer and for tiny onesies to fill your laundry basket, but you’re sure, with every fiber of your being, that you want it to be there.

“Spence,” you say softly, voice jarring in the otherwise stillness of the shop. “Come look.” He carefully closes the book and puts it back where it was and pads over, looking down at the bassinet. His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Wow. It looks like it was made in the 80s, maybe even earlier. You won’t find any level of detailing more recently than that, it’s too labor intensive for modern production methods. Good find.”

“I know. Should we get it?” you ask, biting a smile. He quickly meets your eyes, brow raising slightly.

“Do you want to?” he asks, voice even.

“I mean, I just think it’s really cute, with the waves and stuff.” you say bashfully, nudging it with your toe so it rocks back and forth. Spencer swallows, adam's apple bobbing.

“Yeah, I just…” Spencer hesitates. “I don't think we’d be able to bring it on the jet. It would probably snap in half if we held it in the wrong way,” he says, making your brain race even though he hasn’t said a single thing that should cause it to do so.

“Oh.”

You blink.

“No, yeah, you’re totally right. It’s too inconvenient. You should get that copy of Moby Dick instead. That edition looked cool, with the forward explaining all the names,” you say gently, pushing a smile, nudging him back towards the shelf. He goes, shooting you one last glance as you move to observe a few clocks hanging on the wall.

Spencer doesn’t reach for your hand again when he comes back.

…

The house is quiet when you arrive back home, hours later. Spencer sets his bag down by the door, and yours goes next to his to be dealt with later.

Exhaustion from the case is heavy in your limbs; the long flight and the sleepless nights are seeping into your bones, but Spencer seems perfectly intent upon kissing it better. You rest your forehead on his chest, exhaling softly, contentedly, as he presses kiss after kiss into your hair. He gently rests his hands on your waist and pushes you against the door– not as an act of dominance, like if someone were viewing you two from afar might assume, but one of simple convenience.

His hand reaches up to tilt your chin to the position he wants. Before leaning in to your neck, he pauses. 

“Are you sure you don’t just want to go to bed?” he asks. “You didn't sleep last night.” You shake your head, giving his cheek a small peck of your own.

“It’s one of those tireds where I can’t even think about sleep ever again.” 

A small smile grows on his face.

“I bet I can change that,” Spencer offers, knuckles skimming over your waist. You smile and let him tug you upstairs to your room and guide your hips to sit on the bed. His hand cups the side of your jaw, as always, lips moving to press against yours in a soft, affectionate display of his adoration. His other hand moves to your waist, squeezing, and you shiver a little in response, making him hum gently. 

His hands go underneath the hem of your top. “Okay?” he asks. You nod, lifting your arms to help. His eyes take their time tracing over you, but never in a way that couldn't be defined as sweet. His hand leaves your cheek and goes to the bedside table, sliding open the drawer. It draws toward the front left corner, as it always does, when it pauses. He turns to look at you, hesitating.

You, whose legs are now pulled up to your chest, chin resting on them. You stare at the yellow light of the lamp you and Spencer picked out months ago reflecting against those countless little squares of foil. 

Your lips are drawn inwards, between your teeth, unable to help your mind from racing to other realities, ones where every detail is the very same, except Spencer chose not to open that drawer tonight. 

…

Spencer explained the basis of quantum immortality to you a long time ago, in the early stages of your relationship, at a time so late in the night where a regular person would never be able to form coherent thoughts, let alone thoughts like these.

You were slumped over the kitchen island, peering at him as he wandered around, silently marveling at the preciousness of your boyfriend the world seemed to take for granted as he tried to get you to understand how cool this concept was.

“There’s also an interpretation of quantum mechanics proposed by a physicist named Hugh Everett which involves a ‘many worlds’ concept: essentially, it suggests that every possible outcome of an event creates its own branch of reality, meaning an infinite number of parallel worlds exist, each containing a version of events where everything that can happen, does happen,” he starts, widening his eyes for dramatic effect. “So quantum immortality is rooted in the concept that when we die in one timeline, we essentially just move on to the next one where every detail is the same except… well, you don’t die.”

He went on to emphatically talk about some guy’s cat in a box, but how this time, in a thought experiment that demonstrates this theory of immortality, you’re the cat.

You had pretty much lost him when he got to that part.

…

You blink, shoving the memory from your mind. 

“You’re staring,” you point out quietly.

“You’re pretty,” Spencer responds. He sits next to you on the bed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You watch as his other hand fiddles with the condom he grabbed, running his thumb over the edges of the wrapper. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he says, “Did I do something?” You shake your head softly. 

“Mm-mm.”

“Really? Because we’ve been sitting in silence and you haven’t stopped staring at the condom in my hand for the past two minutes.”

You exhale quietly, internally screaming at yourself to just spit it out.

It’s never been easy, being an agent dating an agent. Sure, agreements have been made to not profile each other, but with so many years of experience, small observations and connections about your partner’s nature are an automatic practice. You know that Spencer takes 3 sugars in his coffee just as well as you know he says your name more frequently and shortens his sentences when scared, almost like he tries to instead convey the appearance he’s mad.

You also know very well that you and Spencer have both been consciously avoiding this conversation like the plague, especially since his homecoming. 

You gnaw at your lip, trying to think of something to say, but your mind can only come up with freaky images of cats that are simultaneously alive and dead until observed.

“`M sorry, I was just thinking. Lost in my mind.”

“Thinking about what?”

Relationships that are simultaneously kept and broken until a certain conversation is had.

“Um. Quantum immortality. Who’s that guy? Hugh Jackman?”

Spencer straightens, eyebrows raising a little. “Hugh Everett,” he supplies. His tone is gentle, coaxing. “You’ve been thinking about that? I told you about him months ago.”

He stands as you quietly think of a response, grabbing a hoodie from the closet to tug over your bare torso, letting his hand gently cradle the back of your head after doing so.

“Yeah. I did a little more reading on it. It’s kind of a nice thought I keep going back to. Obviously really, really scary when you think about it for too long. But nice in the sense that there’s probably a version of us out there somewhere where…” you trail off, suddenly extremely aware of the weight of your words. 

He glances down to the condom he left on the comforter.

The thick silence that follows feels like it stretches across a thousand timelines, each one probably also filled with countless what-ifs and unspoken words and really bad communication, and at the very root of all of it, fear. That deep, gaping hole in both of your souls.

When Spencer finally looks at you, his eyes are so deep it takes your breath away. So deep that it jars you into just saying it.

“Spencer,” you begin, voice so quiet. “Do you still want kids?”

You find yourself shooting up a silent prayer to whoever is out there looking out for you– God or Isaac Newton or Hugh Everett or Jason Gideon: 

Pleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyes.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you continue– a habit probably picked up from the person standing right in front of you. “I just feel like there was a time where we were almost talking about it, but then it… went away.”

He reaches out to gently take the condom you were now fiddling with and sets it back in the drawer, his hand resting on the edge of the table as if grounding himself. His face is soft, almost glowing in the dim yellow light.

“I know,” he starts, voice crackling at the edges.

You stay dead silent.

“I didn’t mean for it to go away,” Spencer says, the crack in his voice causing you to glance up and see his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You nod, shakily, though the perpetual ache in your stomach is sharper now, more like it’s a knife stabbing you through the gut.

“I get it,” you say, even though part of you doesn’t want to. “You don’t need to be sorry.” You can’t even bring yourself to think of the implications of what he just said– all you know is that there is something fundamentally different between you and Spencer that wasn’t there before.

“It’s not that I don’t want it. I do. You know I do. But I can’t. Not now.”

You reach out your hand for him to take.

“Spencer,” you whisper. “It’s okay. Really. We don’t have to talk about it any more.”

His lips press into a thin line, and you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Clearly. It wasn’t a statement said to be believed. There was nothing okay, at all, but this isn’t a fight- there’s nothing to fight about. There's just a quiet understanding. He nods, finally, and steps back. “We should get some sleep,” he says, his voice almost too soft to hear.

You watch as he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, still in his work clothes, leaving just enough space for you beside him. After a moment you curl up next to him because, despite everything, doing the alternative would be so much worse.

Spencer's arms wrap around you, his breath warm against the nape of your neck, and you close your eyes and let the silence settle over you both, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your back. Something you would have given anything to have not so long ago.

[zkg2318]

Blood on Fire ~ pt. 1 | LHS

A/N: this is part 1 of the BOF series! I have decided to divide this story up by who's sex scene is in it, but in order to fully understand the story, you must start with part 1 and finish (if you want). they are plot driven, and context will not make sense if you start with part 2, etc...

genre/tags ✶ MDNI reverse harem!hyung line x afab!reader, angst, smut, gore and violence, supernatural themes, (sirens, werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, phoenixes, frost elves, dragons, witches, and more…), underground betting, alcohol use, blood, verbal and physical violence, murder, manipulation, death (no major characters, lol kinda), government themes (not political), fight club au, ot7

synopsis ✶ In a city where the supernatural are arrested on sight, the only refuge for their pent-up rage is “The Enha Arena”- an exclusive, hidden venue where creatures engage in brutal, blood-soaked battles with one another. Concealed beneath the unassuming exterior of “Dusk and Dawn,” a gym that serves as the front of a totally legal business, this underground fight club acts as the epicenter for this violent world where supernatural beings not only fight for dominance and pride but for the sheer thrill of it all. In dire need of some money, you find yourself drawn into the fight club when you come across a black market job posting- an offer for a new trainer at the gym. Desperate for new ways to keep your own abilities under wraps and even learn about other supernatural beings, you accept the position, completely unaware of the dangers and complicated relationships that await you

WC ✶ 16.9k

Part 2

smut warnings under the cut

smut warnings ✶ monster erotica (obviously), blood play/kink, love bites, spanking, dubcon, bondage, unprotected sex, aphrodisiac usage (kinda), degradation, pet names, oral fem!receiving, vaginal fingering

Luxta was different from other cities; it was neither big nor small- large enough that not everyone knew each other by name, but small enough that you didn’t need to make it a day trip to get to the grocery store. What set apart Luxta from other cities was the thriving population of supernatural beings living in the shadows, though their existence was only known by the government and select humans. The rest of the world, including the unsuspecting citizens of Luxta, had no idea that they walked on the same streets as did you so-called ‘monsters’, the ones that should have only ever existed in stories.

Being supernatural was illegal in Luxta and if you were to be caught by those hand-held scanners the government officials in the enforcement division wore around their belt, you’d be arrested on site. They weren’t as far-reaching or accurate as the large, reinforced scanners that were mounted in the back of their trucks or brought to building inspections, but they were enough to ruin your life. So, like everyone else who had the misfortune of being ‘different’, you stayed hidden.

There was one solution to these scanners: suppressants. A sort of perfume that you could use to spray on yourself that would make you undetectable to their scanners. But they were difficult to come by, the production being regulated by one man and their distribution being restricted to underground networks that sold them at sky-high prices. And they were experimental at best, coming with an abundance of long-lasting side effects and malfunctions that didn’t guarantee 100% effectiveness. For the few people that could afford one, they were used as an emergency fall-back.

And for the majority few that didn’t have that luxury, they stayed in The Veil, the black market’s so-called ‘base’ for the supernatural. For you personally, you lived there until you turned three, when a blue-collar couple took you in a few days after your birthday. “Adopted” wouldn’t be the right word- “purchased” would fit the situation better. Given only a handful of humans knew about the supernatural, these types of ‘transactions’ came with a strict clause that if broken, were punishable by death. Even so, 90% of supernatural children grew up as orphans, relying on The Veil for support.

Being adopted in the supernatural community was supposed to be some sort of grand escape from poverty, and in a way, it was. But since meeting your parents, you never stepped foot outside of your home. From the moment you met your parents, you never left your parents’ 800 square foot apartment and its measly excuse for a patio that overlooked the area where people took out their trash.

You existed only to service your human parents- like some sort of bloody commodity. At first, you didn’t know any better. A few healing touches here, a bit of supernatural magic there- it was harmless. But as you grew older, smarter, it didn’t take a genius to know why you were really there. You were just a piece of capital to them, a tool to be used.

As a phoenix, you were an expensively rare commodity. Your regenerative and healing abilities made you invaluable, and many people sought after those traits- but few possessed those characteristics. Your parents, both construction workers, were no stranger to danger in the field. Injuries were a part of their daily lives, and having you around to heal their wounds was an advantage they never hesitated to use.

It was routine- your mother’s strained back from lifting heavy materials and your father’s broken bones from working with heavy machinery. It was the perfect system, your healing touches allowing them to return to their jobs faster than most could manage, like a money making pig. But their injuries were extensive, more than just a mere cut or bruise. Every wound you healed required a certain amount of energy, the more severe wounds drained you of energy for days. As time went on, you felt your body getting weaker and weaker until eventually, you just couldn’t do it anymore.

Whether it was because your body was drained of its own powers or you just couldn’t find it in you to help them anymore, you stopped healing them. So at 14 years old, they kicked you out of their home when they realized they couldn’t extort you of your powers anymore. The realization that you parents had only used you for your abilities hits you hard now, but at the time, it was like a huge burden had been lifted off of your shoulders. And now, for the last six years you’ve been living alone in a poorly lit apartment that’s been funded by The Veil; two years out of highschool and working part time jobs at home all while remaining disconnected from the world outside. Since being kicked out, you hadn’t physically interacted with anyone aside from the person that delivers your groceries to your door. At this point, you’re starting to think you have a deeper connection with your delivery driver than anyone else in your life.

But now, even that little security was slipping away from you. The Veil was making room for the next generation of supernatural kids, which meant only one thing- you were getting kicked out. You still had a few more months to get your shit together, find a new place and make sure you had a stable enough job to maintain yourself in this economy. Your side hustles weren’t going to be enough to cover a first and last month's rent deposit anywhere. So that’s how you ended up here, pulling on some workout gear for some gym training job you found on the dark web for a place called “Dusk and Dawn,” a supernaturally owned gym that operated within the shadows of the black market. The wage was kind, almost too kind and it had you second-guessing the legitimacy of the job- but you were in no position to play it safe right now.

There wasn’t much of an interview process, just some email telling you that your first day would involve being shadowed by a staff member to see how well you interact with their clients. It sounded doable, despite your half empty resume and lack of any formal qualifications. But surely, your years of self-defense training during your free time through a computer screen counted for something, right?

When night finally settles over the city, you leave your cramped studio apartment, watching garbage sweep across the broken cracks in the sidewalk as you hastily make your way down the alleyways. It always took a bit longer to get to where you wanted when you took the back alleys over the main roads, but it was a safety net you had no choice but to rely on whenever you went out. The shadows of the alleys felt safer anyways, more familiar to you than the brightly lit streets that crawled with government officials late at night.

Luxta was always scarce at night, save for the few men in blue that scoured the streets looking for the supernatural under the guise that they were just keeping watch over the neighborhood. When the supernatural had first invaded the city, it was more of a slow encroachment than a sudden flood. It started with a few whispers at first, shadows passing by in the night. Then rumors began to stretch across the city as sightings of these fleeting figures moving faster than the human eye could imagine became more and more frequent. It was never officially confirmed what they were, but the government responded swiftly and labelled the mysterious occurrences as nothing more than a mere increase in criminal activity.

The men in blue- members of the government’s enforcement division- were sent out in droves after that, scouring the streets while armed with silver scanners clipped to their belts. Their devices would emit a piercing alarm at around 90 decibels whenever it detected a supernatural presence, irritatingly announcing their capture to anyone nearby. It’s game over once you hear that alarm, immediate handcuffs specifically designed to detain the supernatural. What happened after was anyone’s guess.

There’s speculation in the supernatural community about what they do with you after you’re arrested: years of brutal testing, harsh interrogations, maybe even torture only to conclude it with a senseless execution. But no one outside of that division knew what happened beyond the arrests made in public. And no one knew why they were even populating Luxta in the first place. The only thing you did know was that your only ally was The Veil.

Arriving in front of a dimly lit building that is squished between a post office and a laundromat, you’re pulled from your thoughts when you see a flickering “Dusk and Dawn” sign hanging above the entrance. You look at the windows, but you can’t see past the dirt and scratches that decorate the glass, obscuring any view of inside. With a nervous breath, you push open the door to the entrance, its rusty bell ringing above you as you enter.

Your eyes fall on the counter before you, its fading white paint peeling at the sides from years of wear and tear. Behind the counter sits a woman with sleek black hair and rectangular framed glasses that accentuate her sharp jawline, “Hello?” you call, glancing around the small waiting room.

The woman glances up, her brown eyes zeroing in on you as you step closer, “And you are?” she asks with disinterest in her tone.

“I’m Y/n, I’m here for orientation as the new gym trainer?” you respond. Up close, you can see that she’s around your age, maybe a few years older with smooth skin and dark eyes that shine at you despite the deadbeat tone she uses to address you with.

She gives you a curt nod, her expression slightly brightening, “My name is Yuqi, I’m the manager here,” she slides off of her stool, the old wood creaking beneath her. “Were you able to see well in the dark, I know the hours of your orientation seem a bit odd, but we’re a 24/7 gym.”

Your mind hesitates as you recall the unspoken question to recognizing a fellow supernatural: asking about the darkness of the sky, “It was glimmering enough for me to see clearly, thanks.”

Yuqi narrows her eyes before offering you a smile, flicking her tongue at you. You watch as her eyes transition from a dark brown to a piercing yellow, her pupils narrowing into a slit. A subtle hiss comes from her as the forked tip darts out at you in a dangerous frenzy. You freeze, mesmerized by the way her thin tongue moves in an unsettling precision, like she’s trying to reel you in, “I’m a serpent, but if you really wanted to get technical, I’m a basilisk,” she explains, observing your wide eyes, “You don’t seem to know many supernatural, do you?”

You blink at her, shoulders slumping as you shake your head.

“Well, if orientation goes ok, you’ll be meeting a lot more supernatural people here. Things can get… intense,” she says, her eyes glinting with pride. “Come,” she gestures for you to follow her, guiding you through a large room filled with old gym equipment that look like they’re about ready to break. You don’t stop there though as she continues to lead you into a dim hallway where a heavy iron door clad with locks and chains at the end of the hall is. You hear a thrum of things clanging on the ground and low murmurs behind the door, and an uneasy tension begins to coil in your chest.

“So, how much do you know about our gym?”

“The ad only told me I’d be helping people work out, nothing more.”

Yuqi raises her eyebrow as she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a silver key. When she begins to unlock the chains, she turns to you, “Don’t be alarmed, things are just different here,” she says calmly, undoing the last lock.

With a rough push of her shoulder, the door opens with a heavy click, unveiling a space that feels worlds apart from the one you just saw minutes ago. The polished bamboo floors shine under the cool lighting of the gym, the industrial light fixtures hanging 6 feet in the air. Each area of the gym is meticulously organized, groups of machines clustered by function on top of black rubber gym tiles. There’s even motivational black and white posters hanging on the walls, accompanied by black plates that adorn the walls near the benches and squat racks. It all feels so overwhelming, the sheer volume of equipment just waiting to be used.

But the most striking feature of the auditorium had to be the imposing boxing ring that sat to the left of everything, its rubber barriers worn and fraying in a way that commanded authority. Encircling three out of four sides of the ring was a bunch of bleachers that looked as though they had been spray-painted black to match the aesthetic of the black and white theme the rest of the gym was following, giving it a high-end yet gritty finish.

“Welcome to the Dusk Gym,” Yuqi says with pride laced in her voice, her gaze sweeping over the space in front of you, “What you saw outside was our Dawn Gym. I know the ad said you’d be helping people work out,” she continues by gesturing at a few of the members working out on some of the equipment, “but that’s only a fraction of what you’ll be doing.”

You turn to her, confusion evident in the way you tilt your head and furrow your brows, “What do you mean?” your voice carries a mixture of wariness and intrigue as Yuqi’s thin lips curve upwards into a smirk.

“Nestled within Dusk Gym is the Enha Arena,” she reveals, her voice dropping a few decibels as she points to the boxing ring, “This is where supernatural beings come to fight one another, to test their limits and use their powers without worrying about the legal repercussions,” She matches your gaze with her own and presses her lips together, “We are technically an underground fight club, Dawn Gym is just a front. There’s an official match with spectators once a month. And yes, this is extremely illegal.”

Listening to her words, you swallow a string of saliva building up in your throat. As she continues, an uneasy wave washes over you and a coil begins to tighten in your stomach.

“Your job isn’t just to guide them through their workouts, but to prepare them to fight one another, to teach them how to harness their abilities and control them. One mistake in public, and they jeopardize not only themselves, but the entire underground community.”

Her words hang in the air like an impending storm, the heavy weight of them waiting to strike. A nauseating tension settles in your stomach as you begin to question your capabilities for the job, your confidence waning by the minute. Uncertainty swirls through your mind, your lacking qualifications pressing against your forehead like a swollen thought. “You’ll be given a journal that was started by our old trainer- it’s got notes on every member in the gym, so don’t feel like you’re going into this blindly.”

You press your lips together, “Ok, anything else?”

“You’ll also need to make sure they’re pushing themselves to be their best without losing control. It’s on you to make sure they’re ready to fight, mentally and physically. At the end of the day, we’re a fight club and that’s how we make most of our money.”

You hold her gaze, finally feeling her words settle like lead. “Ok, but why a fight club? Why all the violence?” You feel your words catch in your throat as you ask, feeling as though this may be too much to take on. But you couldn’t turn it down, the pay was good and there weren’t many other supernatural jobs that were hiring.

Yuqi looks around the gym, nodding towards a few of the patrons that were already working up a sweat before answering your question, “I’m sure you’re well aware of this already, but the majority of us have spent our lives isolated from the real world. A lot of us don’t know how to regulate ourselves. Not being brought up properly didn’t give us the chance to learn how to cope with big emotions. The Veil helped create this place for us, a space for the supernatural to confront their inner demons and let their anger out in a safe environment” her voice softens for a moment, the slit of her pupils expanding briefly, “In a place like this, they don’t have to hide.”

Her words hit harder than you expect, cutting through a part of your heart that still aches for your past. Despite leaving the community, you had still hidden yourself. Even after being taken in and offered what you were forced to call a home, it felt more like a prison than living without a roof over your head. Forced to hide away what was an extension of yourself and acknowledged only when it benefited the two people who were supposed to love and cherish you, you never thought you’d see the day where you could embrace your entire being. Yet here you are, standing in a place where you weren’t a secret anymore but rather a strength. It’s foreign, and if it weren’t for Yuqi’s words holding up a mirror to your own past, you never would’ve questioned what life was like where you weren’t discriminated against for being different. You would be an idiot to not take this job up now.

“Now, be a good girl and introduce yourself to one of our patrons. I’ll be right behind you.” She shoves you along a bit, following after you with a soft laugh. “You’ll be working with Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon. They’re four of our seven regulars here.”

You bite your lip out of nervousness and find the nearest patron, only getting a view of his back as you watch him push through a set of squats. You can see his muscles strain beneath the weight, each striae bulging beneath the tight compression of his black long-sleeve. His focus is nearly palpable as he executes each movement with a haunting precision and you almost hesitate to introduce yourself, but Yuqi pushes you forward again and into his peripheral vision. When you stumble in front of him, you see that his skin is a striking porcelain white and you feel a sub zero chill run through your spine as you step into his presence. Noticing your feet awkwardly shuffling from one weight to the other, he pulls his earbuds out and gives you a strikingly cold stare.

“Hi, I’m Y/n,” your voice trembles a bit, your confidence wavering as an icy chill travels through your veins. Your next words catch in your throat as you begin to find it harder to focus, the temperature of your body becoming colder by the second. “I’m a new trainer here… at Dusk and Dawn. I’m just getting to know everyone.” You kick yourself internally for fucking up your intro, but your mind falters when your muscles begin to stiffen, the coldness gripping you like an iron vice.

Frozen in place, you opt to stare into Sunghoon’s eyes, a storm of frost and grief storming behind them. There’s a mysterious depth to them that draws you in despite the arctic freeze that’s creeping through your body, an irrational pull to figure him out.

When Yuqi notices your frozen state, she moves to deliver a sharp smack to the back of Sunghoon’s head, “Knock it off, Sunghoon,” She scolds, throwing him a venomous glare. “You’re not a walking AC unit,”

The boy has an air of arrogance to him that floats around him like a cloud, thundering when she gets too close. Rolling his eyes, his lips curve into a mocking smirk before he slides his earbuds back in as if dismissing you. You’re about to scoff when Yuqi slips her arm through yours, pulling you away before he can catch a glance at your flushed out cheeks. “Please excuse him. He’s a frost elf, so don’t expect much empathy from him.”

“Is that why I nearly died of hypothermia all of a sudden?” you ask, rubbing your arms despite your core temperature returning back to normal almost immediately.

She sighs, shaking her head as she drags you over to the next patron. “Probably, it’s a defense mechanism of his. When he feels negative emotions like annoyance or just wants to push someone away, his body temperature significantly drops, as well as whoever else he wants to affect.”

“So he did it on purpose?”

“I’m not sure,” she answers, tapping her foot on the floor, “It’s integrated into his sympathetic nervous system, so it normally activates when his fight or flight gets triggered. But if he really wanted to, he could control it. But I’ve noticed he just lets it happen whenever, like it’s his way of telling people you’re pissing him off.”

You give her a simple nod, filing the information away in the back of your brain to jot down for later. When you gather yourself, your gaze falls onto the next patron- a tall, lean guy who was too busy re-racking his weights on the bench press to notice your presence. His taut muscles flex under his white compression shirt as he handles the bar, each side stacked with more weight than you could imagine. “Fresh blood?” he asks without even sparing you a glance.

Before you can respond, Yuqi leans over, “He’s a vampire. He can smell your blood from miles away. Just don’t stare into Heeseung’s eyes for too long.”

You give the woman a nod of confirmation, playing it off as if meeting a vampire was just a regular occurrence. Turning to the vampire, you offer him a short but polite greeting, looking anywhere except his crimson gaze. Just like with Sunghoon, you find an invisible tug pulling you towards him that has you craving more, an unknown urge in your belly asking you to uncover whatever it was this person was hiding from you.

He shoots you a knowing smile, his pearly white fangs peeking out while he narrows his red eyes on you, as if testing your resolve. His stare pierces through you, slickening your core with a striking heat that has you instinctively pressing your thighs against each other. You feel a warmth begin to pool in your stomach as your composure starts to crumble, his gaze melting you like frost in the morning sun, “Yeah, that’s enough of that,” Yuqi says, pulling you away from his heat induced fixation.

Her grip on you is uncomfortably tight as she pulls you over to a corner where another person is working hard at a punching bag, each one of his strikes sending a powerful ripple through the tough canvas. The rhythm is hypnotic as he paces around the bag, his muscles surging with every hit. You stay back and watch for a moment, flinching as he assaults the bag with an unspoken aggression, years of pent up anger charged with each punch. Without even turning to address you, he snarls in an aggravated tone with his lips curled up, “Don’t bother, I already heard all the introductions.”

You raise an eyebrow and turn to Yuqi, finding yourself increasingly annoyed at the little respect you’ve been offered from the boys. “That’s Jake, another one of your trainees. Don’t mind him either… he’s a werewolf, so his hearing is enhanced, as well as all his other senses.” Yuqi looks around momentarily before connecting her hands together, turning to give you a small smile.

“Alright, I think you can find the last member assigned to you by yourself, but there is one more thing I’d like to show you,” she places a hand on your shoulder and guides you back over to the entrance. Gesturing upwards with her hand, she points to a glass booth that was suspended above the gym floor, facing the Enha Arena on the other side of the gym. “That’s our staff room. We have access to it 24/7, letting us control who enters and exits the Dusk Gym. Patrons will use the same entrance we came through with a staff to unlock the chains and everything, and we all leave through this one-way exit,” she points to a smaller door a few feet away from the entrance.

Looking over to where she points, you feel a sense of finality wash over you. The gym was starting to feel more and more like a fortress by the second, all the security features overwhelming your mind. “This isn’t just a gym, Y/n,” she says as if reading your mind, “It’s a sanctuary, and we take security here very seriously. Come find me in a few hours once you’re done, ok? I’ll be in the booth.”

With a final wave, Yuqi disappears up a staircase, leaving you by yourself with the few patrons that were still training. There were only four men in the gym, which meant the last one had to be Jay. Looking around, you spot him at the pull up bars, a grunt escaping him with each rep.

Sweat slickens your hands, and before moving, you hastily rub your hands up and down your leggings. “Hey,” you say, waving your hand. The boy hops off the pull up bar and looks at you expectantly with an eyebrow raised exceptionally high, “My name’s Y/n, I’m just introduced myself as the new gym trainer here.”

“The name is Jay, though I don’t think I’ll need much help…” he looks you up and down, his gaze terribly imposing as he takes you in, “... from you.”

You scoff at that, swallow the urge to get to know him better like a bitter pill. Like a switch, you narrow your golden eyes at the boy, refusing to let him brush you off like that, “If you want to fix that poor pull up form, you’ll want it,” your voice is rich with annoyance as you feel a deep sense of aggravation draw from within you.

He lets out an airy laugh, a breath of fire escaping his mouth as he does, “I don’t take advice from people who think ‘chin ups’ count as a real up.”

“Keep saying that when your protein shakes start tasting like the salt from your tears,” you shoot back, forcibly shoving him to the side, “And I don’t do chin ups,” Jay stumbles into the bar as his eyes begin to glow with an orange hue, an amused annoyance radiating off his warm body while a smirk creeps onto his face.

You jump onto the bar with ease, gripping the iron structure firmly before pulling yourself up in one fluid motion. With an almost annoying ease, you begin to pump out as many reps as possible, each one silently taunting him. Eventually, you drop back down to the floor once you find yourself losing count, letting your chest rise and fall with a feigned exertion.

“That’s cute, but half reps don’t count,” he declares, straightening his posture as the smirk on his face dies out like an old flame, “Now move, I’ll give you something to fucking count.”

You roll your eyes as you step back, letting him line up below the bar, “Did you need a spot, or can you get up there by yourself?” you tease, but he shuts you up with an angry grunt.

As he powers through each movement, every motion as fluid as your own, you catch a glimpse of red as his tank top moves with the speed of his reps. Red scales decorate a part of his lats and shoulders, shimmering like molten embers embedded in his skin, catching underneath the glint of the harsh lights hanging from the gym ceiling.

“Good job, Jay. Maybe you’ll graduate to a real pull up,” you say, a smirk playing its way onto your lips as you turn around. Without waiting for his response, you make your way towards the sound of metal banging on metal.

In another area of the gym is Heeseung, sitting at one of the high-end rowing machines, working up a sweat as his muscles flex under the synthetic material of his shirt. When you fall into his line of vision, he drops the grip to the row, “Can I help you?” he asks, his voice dripping with an allure as he eyes you up and down.

“I noticed your right shoulder was sagging, did you recently strain your rotator cuff?” you say, pointing at his shoulder.

He rubs the shoulder in question, feeling for the pain and nods his head, “Some bitch twisted me into the ring ropes of the arena, fucked up my shoulder and everything,” he grunts, moving it around as if to show he was still in pain, “I was just going to let it heal itself.” He moves to pick the grip back up, wincing as he pulls backwards on the heavy weight attached to it.

Without thinking, you reach out to him and place your hand over his, pulling back when he flinches away from your touch. “Sorry, but you’re just going to make it worse if you keep going,” you tell him, “Can I touch your shoulder?”

He drops the grip again, letting it hit the metal bar in the middle of the machine with a loud clang before looking at you with a coy smile, “Be my guest.”

You ignore the obvious tease in his voice and step closer to him, reaching your palm out to cover the curve of his shoulder. A quiet hush falls between the two of you as warmth diffuses from your hand while a soft orange glow emanates from your palm. The warmth intensifies as it spreads over his shoulders like liquid fire, seeping into his muscle until you feel the tautness melt away.

Heeseung’s red eyes widen slightly as he pulls away from your touch, rolling his shoulders back, “What the hell was that?”

“I’m a phoenix,” you say simply, amusement flickering across your face as you watch astonishment cross his features, his stoic mask dropping for a brief moment.

“Shit, didn’t think I’d ever meet one,” he mutters under his breath, quickly resuming his workout to test out his newfound repairment.

A twinge of sadness tugs on your heart as his words settle over you like a heavy weight pressing you to acknowledge the sad truth of the fact. You force a smile, despite his focus being elsewhere, “Yeah, we’re quite rare now,” you say more to yourself than him, an affirmation of the loneliness written into the stars. Your thoughts are burdened by the inescapable truth: you’ll never encounter another phoenix as there can only ever be one solitary ember burning in this world, destined to rise and fall until their purpose is fulfilled. At least that’s what Google says.

Heeseung finishes his set as you stand back awkwardly, unsure of what to do, “You should spend some time with Niki, he tends to hurt himself a lot during training. Usually Minnie helps, but she can only do so much with a sports medicine degree.”

“Who is Minnie?”

Heeseung stands up from the machine, seemingly done with rowing, “She’s just another trainer here. She works with Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki.” He explains, using a towel to clean the seat on the row machine, “There are some other trainers, like Yuqi, who work with the casuals, but the seven of us are Dusk and Dawn regulars. We kind of hold the fort down here.”

“Good to know, thanks,” you say with a quick nod. When he starts to move to another machine, you don’t follow him and instead offer him a quick wave goodbye, “I’ll see you around, Heeseung.” When he nods you off, you leave the gym, ascending the same staircase Yuqi had used earlier to head up to the office. Reaching the top, you’re met with a short hallway. At the end, a single door on the left catches your eye- the staff room. With a quick knock, you enter the room to find Yuqi sitting at a large desk with several monitors in front of her, security camera footage running across each screen.

Hearing you enter, she swivels her chair around, a large smile on her face as her snake eyes long and you, “Just the person I wanted to see!” she exclaims, waving her hand for you to come over, “Looks like you’re getting along quite well with the boys, so I’ll go ahead and email you the schedule for their training sessions and the journal I was telling you about earlier. Their next match is in two weeks, so you’ll be preparing for that.” She turns to grab something from her desk, reading for a worn out leather journal, “You did more than enough today, so study this journal and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, placing the item in your arms with a satisfied nod. You take the tattered journal from her, the weight of its content acting as a tangible reminder of the crazy few hours you just had.

When you exit the building, the early morning air hits you like a slap, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The streets were devoid of any governmental presence now, too much of a commitment for them to maintain any vigilance past 3 a.m. You knew they’d be back on the streets around 12 p.m., and that the neighborhood would soon be populated with moms and their strollers and people walking to work by 7 a.m. the earliest. So this four hour period in which the streets were abandoned was something the supernatural community knew well, a time slot in which the supernatural could leave their homes and stretch their legs without having to worry so much about being caught.

As you walk home, you see figures blur by you at an unnatural speed while others propel themselves dozens of feet into the air, skipping across roofs. It was a testament to what the human eye could only deem as a fantasy, but to you, it was an unspoken reality that only thrived in the quietness of the early morning. Even during this time, though, there were still limits. Elemental abilities were still kept at bay- no one dared to bend water or fire in public so openly, no matter the hour of the day. Those who did wield such powers stuck to minute things like changing the temperature of their body or whispering the flicker of heat into an angry flame.

And you knew there was still a whole other realm of abilities you weren’t aware of, tucked away beyond layers of secrecy the supernatural world was too scared to show. There was only so much research you could scour online before it became repetitive and almost theorized by rumors. The shame of living in a universe where it was illegal to exist gnawed at you everyday, and you were becoming desperate for life beyond scratching the surface of freedom. Each moment spent outside of your home left you with an aching curiosity, questions unanswered indefinitely.

But with the journal Yuqi gave you, clutched tightly in your grasp, you had a sliver of hope. Maybe it wouldn't grant you the freedom you’ve wanted for the supernatural all these years, but you hoped it could answer some of the questions that have been burning at the back of your head since your parents kicked you out.

When you arrive at the steps of your rundown apartment complex, you slowly make your way up the creaky stairs until you slip inside the dimly lit studio. Flicking the light switch on, you watch as a single bulb pathetically sputters to life, casting a faint glow across the room. There’s a lack of light in the hours where the sun doesn’t shine through your one window that acts as a source of constant frustration for you, making it nearly impossible for you to see without the flashlight from your phone or the fire from your fingers. But with your new job and new paychecks, you’re starting to hope you’ll be able to find a place that has bulbs stronger than a meager 40 watts.

With an exasperated sigh, you throw your belongings onto your patchwork couch and change into an old shirt and panties. As much as you wanted to dive into the journal that Yuqi had so generously given you, the dim lighting of your apartment made it almost impossible to read. You could’ve used the flashlight on your phone, but the lack of a working outlet left you unable to charge it if it died. And as much as you would’ve liked to cast a pretty flame from your fingertips, they were far too much of a fire hazard inside the old wooden walls of your studio apartment. Instead, you decide it’d be best to just wait until the early afternoon when the sunlight enters your window naturally.

When the sun rays do filter through your window, you spring upwards in bed, your body restless despite the pitiful amount of hours you managed to snag. For the first time in years, your night wasn’t consumed with a monotonous amount of homework or the glow of online workout videos in a lonely room. Instead- no matter how chaotic- you had a new purpose. You were exhilarated to keep going, fuelled by only a few hours of sleep yet ready to take on the next few days coursing with energy- a trait Phoenixes prided themselves upon: resilience.

With a precise stretch, you reach over to your desk and grab the journal you set aside from earlier. Nestling back into bed, you open the first page to reveal a comprehensive list of all the supernatural beings that had ever attended Dusk and Dawn over the years. Your eyes scan through the list of names, a mess of words that bleed onto the next page. Some are expected, familiar even- werewolves, vampires, dragons, griffins- but there are some that catch you off guard: valkyries, kitsunes, fairies, centaurs, and many more. Yet, you notice that not a single phoenix appears on the list, and it leaves an invisible weight sitting on your shoulders.

Moving through the next few pages, the entries become more and more detailed as they start to divulge into each patron, starting with Heeseung. His name is scrawled out on the top of the page in fancy letters, and underneath it readers ‘Vampire.’ A barely legible sketch of his face is drawn next to his name and you let out a soft laugh as you trace your finger over the old led before drawing your eyes down to Heeseung’s written description.

Heeseung came to Dusk and Dawn seven years ago, seeking for a way to cope with the anger of his parents abandoning him at the age of 16. He has been a general joy to have, often participating diligently in activities and putting his best foot forward in matches. Throughout his years at Dusk and Dawn, staff has observed that when pushed too far, Heeseung enters a state known as vampiric rage. Symptoms include: severe blood lust, glowing red eyes, feeding compulsion, disturbed/over enhanced senses, uncontrollable aggression, and predatory behavior. It is recommended he be taken into isolation when this occurs until he calms down

Power descriptions: hypnotic gaze, enhanced senses (strength, smell, sight, hearing), night vision, super speed. Please revise if necessary

You swallow the lump in your throat when you finish reading his entry, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach as you turn to the next page. Jongseong is the next name you see, and in parentheses the name Jay is written next to it with a large ‘Dragon’ scrawled underneath it. There’s another half-hearted sketch drawn next to it, and you notice the birth mark added to his neck, a darker patch on the left side of his neck.

Jay first came to Dusk and Dawn a few months after Heeseung, bringing a similar energy as the latter. Shaped by the self-resilient upbringing he developed under The Veil’s guidance, he has showcased a few profound characteristics that stand out during training. His past cultivates a very competitive spirit that is landmarked by a web of complex trust issues, resulting in a volatile temperature which resembles that of a pressure cooker.

Power descriptions: scale armor, pyrokinesis, enhanced strength. Please revise if necessary

On the next two pages are profiles for Jake and Sunghoon, the last two members Yuqi said you would be training. Beneath Sunghoon’s name are the words ‘Frost Elf’, and ‘Werewolf’ beneath Jakes.

Jake joined Dusk and Dawn shortly after Jay and Heeseung with a unique backstory, coming from a lineage of other werewolves, he sought out this place after losing his family during an attack. His personality fluctuates heavily between being quite friendly and open to acting quite aggressive and aloof. During full moons and times of overstimulation, he struggles with the primal side of his werewolf blood coming into full effect: excessive aggression, overprotection of his packmates, animalistic instincts, and loss of rationality. Jake should be carefully monitored for any signs of depression d/t history of family loss

Power descriptions: enhanced senses (smell, hearing, speed, strength), healing saliva (minor wounds), scent tracker, lethal bites and scratches. Please revise if necessary

Below Jake’s profile is Sunghoon’s.

Sunghoon joined a day after Jake with the primary goal of fighting people. Like Jay, he has navigated the challenges of all life stages by himself and upon joining Dusk and Dawn, he openly admitted to struggling with recognizing emotional cues and controlling his powers. It has become evident over the years that Sunghoon has made significant progress in developing his abilities, yet he often chooses to not exercise control unless absolutely necessary. Rather, he tends to resort to violence when provoked, that he just “doesn’t care” as stated by Sunghoon himself.

Power descriptions: cryokinesis, frost armor, temperature manipulation/aura. Please revise if necessary

Upon finishing Sunghoon’s entry, an overwhelming sense of responsibility descends over your shoulders, prompting you to close the book and reflect. The solemn history of these four members has you reconsidering your qualifications, debating whether you’re just in over your head and blinded by the hourly wage of your new job. Did you have the societal experience to connect with them and guide them in the way that Yuqi was expecting you to? Really, they too grew up alone or abandoned at some point in their life, isolated from the real world- but they had more time to learn about the real world through Dusk and Dawn than you did. What right did you have to go ordering them around and telling them what to do?

Heeseung had previously mentioned that there were three other regulars that attended the gym, but because they weren’t training with you, you decided it’d be best to wait until you met them before reading their entries. Right now, your immediate focus was on sharpening your own skills.

So with your renewed determination, you divulge into a whirlwind of rigorous training. The next few hours leading up to your second training shift is filled with a relentless cycle of speed drills and high-intensity circuits designed to test your endurance. Your goal wasn’t to just be stronger- you already had that. Instead, you aimed to outlast the boys. Stamina would be your greatest asset working at Dusk and Dawn.

After who knows how many hours, your phone alarm goes off indicating you had one hour left before your next shift started. You take that time to shower and clean up, taking an especially hot shower. Clad in a new pair of leggings and tank top, you walk back to the gym, retracing the same alleyways and backroads as you did the night before.

“Hi, Yuqi.” you say, greeting the serpent hybrid supernatural sitting behind the front desk. She's got her head tilted down with some magazine in her hands, her black framed glasses perched low on her nose as she reads.

She acknowledges you with a low hiss, her forked tongue flicking up and down in the air. “Here are some keys,” she says, tossing a set of keys at you to which you catch mid-air. “Take the boys into the elemental training room when they get here, you’ll learn about their abilities there. It’s just Niki in there right now”

With the keys in one hand and your backpack strap tucked in the other, you make your way down the familiarly dim hallway where that same iron door stands at the end, wrapped in a chain of metal. Laying against the rusting door were at least three padlocks, and after a minute of figuring out which key goes where, you push open the door to reveal the glory of the Dusk gym once again.

The familiar clang of weights hitting against one another fills the air, echoing through the large auditorium as you walk in. Setting your bag down against a long black bench beside one of the cement pillars, your eyes draw in on a tall, unfamiliar boy whom you presume to be Niki, working out in front of the numerous mirrors lining the gym. As you approach him, you can’t help but let your focus fall on the way the vein in his bicep bulges with every rep, straining when the dumbbells press against his chest. You lean against a machine nearby, momentarily forgetting your intent to introduce yourself to him. “Looking for something?” he says, glancing at you through the mirror. Your attention snaps back up to respond, but he’s not there.

“I’m right here, sweetie.” the voice continues to tease, this time coming from behind. You spin around, your gaze travelling the area as you look for the source but to no avail.

A dark laugh that seems to only fill your thoughts starts overwhelming you, the absurdness of the voices in your head making you spin. Shutting your eyes, you will the laughter to go away. Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder jolts you out of your thoughts and the laughter comes to a stop. Opening your eyes, your gaze finally lands on the boy you saw in the mirror, his sharp eyes glaring down on you with a mischievous glint, “So you’re the infamous trainer I’ve heard so much about.” He says, leaning down to match your height.

You clear your throat, “That’s correct. And I’m assuming you’re Niki?” Stepping back, you attempt to create some distance from the relatively tall boy standing before you.

He nods his head, letting the fringe of his black hair fall into his eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, stepping into your space despite your previous attempt to distance yourself. He bites his lip as his mouth curves into a devious smile, eyes darkening. Reaching for your hand, he interlocks his fingers in yours, “So you’re a phoenix…”

He brings your hands up to your vision so that the both of you can see, his large hand almost devouring yours completely, “I can play with fire too.” He says, squeezing your hand harshly. Suddenly, a glow of embers envelopes your hands completely, a scalding heat spreading between you both as his powers force yours out as well.

But as quickly as the fire emits, it extinguishes, a flash of blue striking the flame and leaving only a cloud of smoke in its wake. “Cut it out, Niki,” a voice calls from a distance. Turning to the sound, you see a boy with ashy brown hair approaching you with graceful strides, “We’re not supposed to use our elements in the gym, there’s a specific place for that.”

“Alright, Katara.”

“It’s Sunoo, not Katara.” The boy corrects, bowing to you.

“Could’ve fooled me with that water bending of yours,” Niki pesters, squeezing Sunoo’s ears after letting go of your hand.

Sunoo gives Niki a face as he swats the taller boy’s hand away from him, shooting him a darkened glare that leaves Niki in a slight daze. “Are you guys ever gonna act like your age, or are we stuck with the mental capacity of a 10 year old?” a voice calls from behind. Sunghoon’s chilling voice pierces through the air as he comes into view, casually dressed in a pair of gray sweats and white tank, a disturbing contrast to his arrogance. He shoves his hands into his pockets before adding, “You guys are fucking children.”

An arctic freeze radiates off of his otherwise relaxed body and Niki begins to tremble, angrily flicking his arm to emit a glow of fire that crawls up his arm and down his torso. “Stop using your temperature manipulation on us, Yuqi said you’re supposed to control that shit,” Sunoo scolds, moving closer to Niki to feel his fire.

You roll your eyes, feeling bored of their tense exchange. “Enough, just get into the training room before you rip each other’s heads off.” you demand, your voice laced with annoyance. The boys grumble in response, muttering things that you don’t bother to decipher as they walk into a dark room tucked away in the back of the auditorium. When you enter, you flick the light on to reveal a large gray room, both its floor and walls adorned with the same glossy stone material- though they’re marked up by what you assume is years of burn marks and blunt force. The room is a quarter the size of the gym, holding an abundance of training dummies and bullseyes; amongst other things.

“Line up here,” you say, pointing to the back of the room. They kick their shoes off before stepping onto the black gym mats, moving in silence. “I’ll have you guys each target train on a dummy so I can get a gauge of your guys’ skills. If you don’t have an ability that requires target training, just don’t line up.” You say as you kick your own shoes off.

Before you can continue, an out of breath voice interrupts you, “Am I late?”

You turn around to see the silhouette of a boy who seems to have run all the way here. Rather than answering, you nod your head to the mat in annoyance, “Who are you?”

“Jungwon,” he offers, presenting you with a smile to which the pits of his dimples show. For a second, your shield of authority falters for a brief second when your eyes pass over his grin, but you’re quick to pick it back up as you address Sunghoon.

“Sunghoon, can you tell me what each of these boys are?” He opens his mouth to complain, but you catch on to the change in his demeanor rather quickly, “Without complaining.”

He bites his lip, grumbling something under his breath before proceeding. “Niki is a kitsune- a childish one at that. Sunoo is a siren, and Jungwon is a shapeshifter. And I’m a frost elf, but I’m hoping you already knew that.”

Looking down at your watch, you frown when you realize that more than half of your own group is missing and you were supposed to start ten minutes ago. “Ok, let’s start,” you annoy, stepping off to the side.

“Shouldn’t we spar? We already know how to target train,” Sunghoon tests, cinching his eyebrows together in annoyance.

“Did I ask?” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow at him. “Sunoo, go first.”

Sunoo grins, dramatically flicking away a strand of hair from his face before stepping forward. He steadies himself, planting his feet firmly on the floor before narrowing his fox-like eyes at the dummy across the room. In one graceful motion, a stream of water burst from his hands, gradually growing in volume before he thrusts his hands forward, sending a jet of water towards the target. The liquid splits down the middle as it moves through the air, weaving around itself before slamming into the target.

When it hits, Sunoo begins to sing- his voice a piercing yet soothing high that seems to resonate with the movement of the water. The liquid responds, wrapping around the target like a mermaid’s tail, constricting the target more and more with every second. When Sunoo’s voice fades, the water falls, limp of any life it once had.

“Well done,” you say, giving him a nod of acknowledgement, “But I’m worried about your singing. You become quite vulnerable when you sing, though your water becomes very powerful when you do, so come up with a way to make yourself safe before performing something like that.”

Sunoo smiles at you as he accepts your critiques, stepping aside. He brushes past Sunghoon with a smirk you don’t quite catch and the responding boy pushes him into the wall. You nod to Sunghoon next, who steps forward to take his spot, his confidence radiating in a piercing chill around him. He doesn’t wait for further instruction before he’s raising his hand to eye level, creating a razor-sharp shard of ice that cuts through the air and tears straight into the dummy’s chest with cunning precision. Upon impact, the ice splinters, shattering the dummy beyond repair.

Before you can offer your commentary, Sunghoon’s launching himself into a side-flip, a long blade of ice forming in his hands mid-air. When he lands, the floor beneath him transforms into a sheet of ice. With amazing ease, he glides towards the other dummies and wields the blade of ice into each target with a lethalness that has you flinching.

His chest heaves up and down as the ice underneath him dissipates, returning the floor back to its original material. He carries himself with a cold arrogance, his head thrown back as he walks back to the line. “What the hell…” you whisper, not catching the way your eyes ravage his body, his veins bulging out of his arms. Sweat glistens down his porcelain skin and you subconsciously rub your thighs together to quell the unnatural feeling in your core.

“He’s hot, right?” a voice from behind you whispers, loud enough for only you to hear. You turn around only to see Jake standing beside you, just inches away from.

“When the hell did you get here?”

“When Sunoo finished, but you were too busy ogling at Sunghoon to notice.”

“I was not ogling, I was evaluating,” you correct, taking a step away. Jake is quick to compensate for the pathetic distance you try to put between you and him, bringing his body even closer than it was before until you can feel the heat of his body radiate off onto yours. He’s taller than you, not as much as the others, but enough to make you want to crawl inside of yourself and disappear as he breathes in your exhales.

“I may just be a werewolf, a mutt as some of the boys like to call me, but I’m just as strong as Sunghoon,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Maybe even stronger.”

His voice sends a rush of heat down to your core, only adding on to the slick that’s coated the seat of your panties. Fueled by a mix of arousal and anger, you force yourself to choose the latter to control your next decisions. Stomping on his foot, hard, you give Jake a throaty snarl, “Get in the damn line.”

Jake smirks, ignoring the pain that shoots up his foot, “I just know you’re gonna be begging for me soon,” he whispers once more before sauntering off to stand next to Jungwon.

“Well?” Sunghoon’s voice pulls you out of your own mental storm and you look up at him, “Any comments, Ms. Y/n?”

“Dial it back a bit,” is all you say, nodding at Niki next. Sunghoon rolls his eyes, biting back a smirk as he plays oblivious to the fact that he didn’t just catch the way you watched his every move as he walked back into the line, staring at him like a bitch in heat. Just like all the others, he thinks to himself as he watches Niki step up to the spot he was in originally.

Niki is your focus of attention now, steadying himself into a ready position before allowing his body to engulf in a rage of flames. He strides towards the group of targets, flaming embers dripping off of him like a molten sweat as he approaches. As he moves closer, a swirl of fire surrounds the targets and fills the air with an eerie, high-pitched laughter that echoes off the walls. The swarm of fire morphs into a crowd of sinister faces that leer at the targets, hauntingly paralyzing if you were to look them in the eye. It’s disorienting, even to watch as a spectator on the sidelines as the faces transform into flaming spears that shoot into the dummies- a copycat of Sunghoon’s ice shards.

The room immediately fills with smoke as the targets burst into flames, smoke stinging your eyes. Sunoo jumps into action then, dousing the fiery targets with a storm of water, clearing out the smoke. The room is silent except for the soft sizzling of the dummies rematerializing in front of you as brand new, like some sort of magic. “Alright, Jake is useless with elements and Jungwon would rather spar than copy our powers, so can we finally start hitting each other?” Sunghoon asks, breaking the tension in the room.

Jake lets out a growl, slamming his fist into Sunghoon’s unsuspecting body, “Suck my cock.”

In a matter of seconds, Sunghoon’s dark brown eyes transition into a furiously bright blue, his hand materializing a razor-sharp ice blade. He lunges towards Jake, raising his arm up at the boy to attack but you step in immediately, a burst of flames surrounding you as you teleport to Sunghoon’s side. “Enough!” you yell out, Sunghoon’s arm held tightly in your hand. “No more of these stupid fights unless it’s during an official match or sparring. And Sunghoon,” you twist his shoulder until he’s wincing, “I will not have you slicing Jake open with your blades of ice.”

You bring your hand down to grip the girth of his ice-blade before looking at the others, “Go to the damn ring and put your wraps on. Now.”

As the group begins to exit, you catch Sunghoon’s arm with a sharp glare. “Not so fast.,” you mutter. A surge of heat pulses through your palm and immediately melts his blade, the crystalline weapon quickly losing its shape and dripping onto the padded floor. With a final shove, you send him stumbling to the ground.

“What the fuck, Y/n?” He hisses, shooting you a blue-eyed glare.

“Out.” You hiss with finality, watching with your eyes as he stomps out of the room. The door slams behind him, echoing with the anger he harbors towards your actions. You could care less- finally alone for a brief moment. You draw in a deep breath, an attempt at steadying your racing pulse. The air is thick with apprehension and you feel a knot developing in your shoulders, one that likely wouldn’t have developed if it weren’t for the boys’ constant bickering. There’s a frustration that bubbles beneath your authoritative facade, one that’s bordering the lines of blowing up.

You lean against the wall and close your eyes for a brief moment, taking that second to let the darkness consume you. In that moment of peaceful blindness, you seek solace in the unknown- almost yearning for your life in isolation to come back. “It’s nice to see someone keep the boys in line,” the voice has you opening your eyes, focusing in on a girl that steps out from the shadows of the training room. Her pink eyes sparkle with warmth as she approaches you, a broad smile painting her face.

“Are you Minnie?”

“What gave it away?” she giggles, “Sorry, something came up yesterday during your orientation so I couldn’t meet with you, but I’ll be able to spend some time with you today.” She takes a hold of your hand, humming softly as a warm glow radiates between the connections.

Her gesture sends a wave of relaxation through your tense body, easing the knot in your shoulders as the light travels through your veins. “I’m a light fairy,” she explains, “one of my powers is to calm people down through touch.”

You smile into her touch, placing your free hand atop your connected ones, “I may need you around me indefinitely,” you prod at the tense air gently, though deep down you both know it’s not entirely a joke. The weight of everything despite it only being your second day was already feeling like too much. Her warmth was like a much needed respite.

Minnie laughs again, infecting you with a joy you didn’t think was possible. When the light between your hands fades, she pulls you out of the room. “Boys!” she exclaims as she approaches the ring, waving at the group of boys who have started warming up. You notice Jay and Heeseung are already there.

Sunoo and Jungwon are the only ones that bother to look up, waving back excitedly before rushing to the edge of the arena, leaning on the rope rings to peer down at the two of you. “Hi noona!” Jungwon says, reaching his hand out toward Minnie.

Minnie connects her hand with his and closes her eyes, a ball of light transferring between their intertwined fingers, “Are you gonna calm them down?” she whispers, a soft melody that could make you fall asleep. Jungwon nods, letting the light dance along his skin before it dissolves when he disconnects their hands and bounds back to the boys to tussle around with them. With his back turned, Minnie looks at you with a melancholic gaze, one that doesn’t really match her vibrant energy from earlier, “The older boys don’t let me touch them, they’re a bit closed off like that, but I get it,” her voice drops off as her gaze drifts back to the older members, a longing sadness in her eyes. Though it doesn’t last long before she turns back to face you, “When they get riled up, Jungwon copies my powers temporarily and does the same thing I did with you. They seem to trust him the most.”

You turn to watch Jungwon, his hands subtly climbing the backs of the older boys as a soft luminescent glow of light identical to Minnie’s pulses from his fingertips and transcends through their bodies. He continues to mess around with them, shadow boxing with the elders as each one of them slowly let their defenses fall.

“My boys don’t get as angry as yours,” Minnie continues, running a hand through her blonde hair. “I think that’s why Yuqi paired me with them. She knows I can only handle so much negativity as a fairy.” She pauses to glance over at the boys once more, smiling when she sees Jungwon’s head stuck in between Sunghoon’s arms- a sisterly affection radiating off of her body. “I think their outbursts are what made the old gym trainer quit. If I’m being honest, they’re quite dangerous when their emotions get the best of them. They’re rough around the edges, but they’re good people on the inside.”

Her words spark a curiosity deep inside of you, and you press on for more info as you continue to watch them from outside of the arena. “Have they known each other for a long time?” You ask, noticing their sibling like energy, despite the tension from earlier.

“I think some of the boys have known each other since they were in the community, and others have just met a year ago when they joined the gym. But they all get along differently, some are really close while others aren’t.” She gives you a grim smile, “I think Sunghoon’s got the most complicated relationships out of all of them. Frost elves aren’t exactly known to be friendly, but he’s different with these boys. I dont think he’d ever really hurt them- at least not seriously. He really cares for them, he just lets his emotions get the best of him.”

Her candid assessment of Sunghoon roots you to the spot, prompting you to process her words right then. You had noticed something too- he was especially closed off when you first met him. There was a storm in his eyes when his gaze landed on yours, one that seemed to cloud his judgement. It was raw and unfiltered, hiding what you felt was a war of control in the back of his mind behind a fog of indifference.

Shaking your head, you give Minnie a grateful nod and gesture to the ring, “Should we get started?” Her face lights up and she slips into the arena, lifting the ropes up for you as you follow after her. You bounce against the padded cushion of the ring, adjusting to the flooring before addressing the group of boys before you. “Let’s start off with Jake and Jay, no powers. Just pure strength and skill.”

Jake and Jay separate from their impromptu shadow boxing match, leaving the other boys to move off to the side, leaning against the ropes like its routine; varying levels of interest on their faces. Sunghoon’s got his arms crossed with a bored expression across his face, like he could be doing anything else than watch other people fight. Next to him, Niki looks intrigued, his head slightly tilted like a little puppy as he awaits the match. The rest of the boys seem indifferent, neither bored nor interested as if they’ve seen this a million times.

In the center of the ring now is Jay and Jake, facing each other as they steady themselves in their own personal ready positions. Jake has his right foot forward, his hands up to his face in a rather tense position as he narrows his eyes at Jay. The latter is more calm, his posture relaxed while his hands are held loosely at his face. “Go.”

Jake is the first to move, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he sizes up Jay, initiating an unspoken agreement to move counter-clockwise in the arena. The two boys circle around one another for a few seconds, each step heavy with tension as their gazes become predatory. Jay throws the first punch, lunging forward with a fast left jab, but Jake anticipates his movement and strides to the side, allowing Jay to graze his ear. Jay overcompensates and passes Jake, barely stumbling forward while Jake’s lip curls into a grin, laughter erupting from his belly.

Rolling his eyes, Jay kicks his foot back, connecting with the back of Jake’s knee. In an instant, Jake is on the ground, dead-legged by his opponent. “Dumbass,” Jay mutters, smirking to himself when he turns around. He steps back, allowing Jake to get back up.

Jake regains his composure quickly, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his neck. Jay moves in one more time- using his right arm this time as he aims for Jake’s jaw, but he ducks out of the way again, throwing a left hook into Jay’s side. The force of his punch has Jay gasping for air, hunching over from the velocity as he staggers back to catch his breath. It doesn’t hurt, but rather knocks the wind out of him. There’s a brief silence as Jay quickly catches his breath, steadying himself as he gives Jake the chance to go on the offense this time.

Sweat is beading on both of their foreheads now as the tension in the air thickens. You watch as Jake begins to circle around Jay again like a predator stalking his prey, locking eyes on him once more. With lightning speed, Jake flies forward to uppercut Jay’s jaw, blood flying in the air as Jay bites down on his tongue- hard. Jay doesn’t falter though, immediately responding with a jab and two crosses to Jake’s face. They stumble away from each other for a brief second before going at it again, throwing a mess of punches and kicks at each other until they can barely hold themselves up.

You get a good look at their faces once they separate- a thick stream of blood spills from Jay’s chin, the familiar taste of metallic filling his mouth. He smiles, teeth bloodied as he’s reminded of the adrenaline from fighting- a chemical surge of power. He brings a wrist to his lip, pulling back to see bright red staining his skin. When he looks at Jake, he observes his best friend in a similar state, a jagged cut across his eyebrow and blood gushing from his left nostril. You don’t even want to imagine the bruises developing beneath their clothes where they clutch at themselves like a kicked puppy.

You step forward, wincing at the blood staining their faces. “Alright, that’s enough,” you say, looking over at their hunched over figures. Jake and Jay, flushed out and breathing heavily begin to unwrap their boxing wraps. Limping to the middle of the ring, they exchange a quick handshake and slap on the back before slipping out of the ring to clean themselves up at the benches. The pungent mixture of sweat and iron has you cringing when it slams into your senses, causing you to wrinkle your nose up in disgust. “We’ll take a quick break and then I’ll have Sunghoon and Heeseung spar next.”

Before you can turn away, a voice- unfamiliar and brooding- slices through the murmur of conversation amongst the group. “Mind if I hop in?” You whirl around to the source of the voice, your gaze landing on a figure taller than everyone in the room standing just a few feet away from the arena. He’s clad in a black zip up jacket and white sweats that hang loosely around his lean, athletic build, “My name’s K. Just signed up at the front desk.”

You tilt your head to the side as you take in his presence. There’s something unsettling about him. The air around him seems dark, hanging off of his frame like a suicide gone wrong. There’s a ringing in your ears as you debate whether or not to let him spar, and without realizing it, Jake steps in front of you. Glancing over at Heeseung, he nods, a look of challenge lighting up in his eyes. “Alright, you can go up against Heeseung. Just give them a few minutes.”

Ten minutes go by quickly and Heeseung is back in the ring along with the others. He’s quick to get into position, hands raised to the front of his face as he plants his feet firmly into the mat of the ring. K lines himself up across from Heeseung in a similar position, ready to start but you hold your hand out. “K, I want to know who you are before starting.”

A wicked grin spreads across his face as he keeps his eyes locked on Heeseung, “You’ll figure it out soon enough, sweetheart.” He taunts, and before you can press further, he lunges.

Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, sidestepping out of K’s trajectory at an almost inhumane speed. As K’s fist whistles past Heeseung’s face, he counters the attack with a right hook aimed towards K’s gut. It doesn’t work as K snaps his body around to catch Heeseung’s punch with an iron-like grip. Heeseung’s eyes widen momentarily but he recovers quickly as he twists his arm out, driving a knee into the taller boy’s stomach.

Again, K blocks the attack and with a violent twist, throws Heeseung to the edge of the ring that you’re standing at. You along with Jungwon, Niki, and Jake quickly separate to make room for Heeseung’s body before he slams against the rubber ropes, landing on the ground with a loud thud. He’s quick to recover, his vampiric speed allowing him to regain his composure within milliseconds. With a new anger raging through him, Heeseung bares his fangs at K as sweat drips down his temple.

K’s smirk never fades as he runs at Heeseung, his fist flying through the air as he closes in on him, but Heeseung dodges. A mirage of relentless punches and kicks are thrown at Heeseung, but he dodges each one by a hair. Quickly fatigued by the sporadic movement, K’s motions become slower and in a moment of weakness, Heeseung delivers a swift uppercut to K’s jaw followed by a sequence of jabs that are delivered with a savage intensity that only a vampire at full strength could display. The force of his blows sends blood gushing from K’s face, his features splitting open in an unattractive display.

K staggers back, suddenly caught off guard by the sheer force of Heeseung’s assault. In a heartbeat, the air shifts and K’s demeanor changes from that of a playfully oppressive gaze to one of a lethal intent. When Heeseung throws one more punch, K catches his fist in his palm mid-air and uses his momentum to slam him into the ground with a bone-cracking force, the impact knocking all of the wind out of Heeseung.

A guttural sound rips from Heeseung’s mouth when his back hits the pad, the impact leaving him clawing for air as you take a step forward out of instinct. Niki’s hand grips your shoulder and he pulls you back, holding you there firmly as he drops his hand down to your forearm. “You worthless vampire,” K whispers, a black tendril stretching out from K’s hand. When you see the shadows unfurl from K’s palm, your breath catches and you move to intervene right as Heeseung’s own red tendrils flare to life, his red eyes glowing with rage. He kicks under K’s hold, their shadows a mess of anger as they collide against each other.

“Enough!” you shout, cutting through the brutal stalemate they seem to be locked into.

K releases Heeseung from his hold, his sinister shadows immediately flowing back into his slender hands while Heeseung rolls away from under him, his chest heaving up and down. “What the hell was that?” you shout, fury boiling under the surface as you clench your fists.

K leans down to match your height, his gaze locking on yours as his eyes cloud over with a black haze, “I’m a necromancer.” He says, his voice dripping with challenge.

A snarl erupts from your throat, barely restrained by the thread of resolve you hold for yourself as you throw a deadly glare at K, “That doesn’t give you the fucking right to try and kill him during practice!” You accuse, the heaviness in your voice punctuated by the chilling tension in the air. You let out a long, shaky sight and rush over to reach for Heeseung, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” You murmur, trying to gauge his emotions.

He flinches under your touch, roughly pulling away from you before giving you a barely noticeable nod, lips held in a tight line as he refuses to meet your concerned gaze. You tongue your cheek with worry as you watch him slip out of the ring and head into the changing rooms, leaving you standing there in the middle of the ring while the rest of the boys pretend to not have watched the whole exchange. A complicated knot of guilt settles in your stomach as you think about what to do, torn between following after him and just staying put.

You’ve only known the boy for a day- barely enough time for you to feel entitled to his trust or to chase after him. In fact, you’ve only known the gym for a day- but there was something sharp that twisted inside of you after seeing him like that.

With a shaky sigh, you turn around but you’re caught off guard when you see Sunoo’s eyes wash over you, but his eyes are vacant, as if he’s looking right through you. His expression is dulled by a glassy sheen, holding a deeper understanding that you can’t quite grasp and it makes the knife in your stomach twist just that much more.

“I think we’re done for today,” You look back at K before slipping out of the ring, ““K, I don’t want to ever see you pulling that shit again.” The atmosphere is thick with hostility as you start to clean up, thick enough you could choke on it. Throwing a bloodied rag into a nearby laundry bin, you spot Yuqi entering the gym, her snake eyes narrowed on K.

You watch as she zips towards him in quick, determined strides. Within seconds, she’s face to face with K, thrusting her hand at his neck. She grabs onto his long neck with a vice-like grip, strangling him. With her serpent-like strength, she slams him into a nearby pillar, the impact echoing through the gym loud enough to have the boys flicking their heads up. K’s eyes widen in shock as he claws at her arm, his arrogant facade breaking as his back slides against the concrete pillar.

“If you ever hurt one of my patrons like that again, I will have you blacklisted from Dusk and Dawn in an instant,” she hisses, her forked tongue flicking out to spray a mist of black venom on his face. The effect is instant, liquid smoke curling up from his skin as the venom sizzles into his flesh, leaving red blisters on his face. She tightens her fingers around his throat for just a second before letting go, letting her threat hang in the air like old laundry.

When she leaves, your mouth hangs open in shock, “You’re catching flies.” Sunghoon says, nudging your chin closed.

You purse your lips, ignoring him as you clasp your hands in an attempt to regain some composure. “Alright…” you trail off, still reeling from the confrontation between Yuqi and K. “Before you guys leave, I’d like to have a one-on-one conversation with each of you. I’ll be over by the benches when you’re ready.”

Despite being able to feel the pounding of your own heartbeat in your damn throat, you stride over to where the benches are, forcing your steps to remain steady and confident. You refuse to show the boys any hints of fear or inferiority, not like the first day.

As you sit down on the benches, you notice Jake is the first one to approach, his presence commanding as ever when he enters your space. “Jake,” you say, patting the spot beside you.

He doesn’t move, rather adjusts the strap on his gym bag that’s slung over his shoulder as he continues to stand in front of you.

“You really should sit. This isn’t supposed to be a quick chat.” You respond, noticing his restraint. “I’m not asking.”

Sighing, he drops onto the bench, letting his bag fall to the floor with a loud thud. “Alright, what’d you need?”

Cutting straight to the point, you ask your first question, “Are you friends with all the boys?”

Jake lets out a deep laugh, his canines flashing at you when he does. “Really? That’s what you want to know?” You roll your eyes, smacking him. “Ok, well I guess you could say we’re all pretty tight. But Sunghoon, he’s a dick through and through, but I know him well enough. I’ve been at this gym for six years now?”

You’re not surprised to hear about his comments towards Sunghoon, his earlier bickering with him being evidence enough that they often butted heads. But your mind thinks back to the journal entry you read about Jake’s past, about his family being torn apart prior to coming here. You shift in your spot, choosing your words with careful precision. “I came across something while I was reading the old trainer’s journal. It said you had supernatural parents. That’s quite rare in Luxta, most of us are found and taken in by The Veil.”

Your question hangs in the air with unspoken emotion as Jake’s entire body tenses at the mention of his late parents, his laughter dying in his throat as he thinks of a response. “Well yeah, I’m a werewolf. We live in packs, but that’s all gone now.” His jaw clenches as the browns of his eyes darken into something deeper. At his sides, his fists repeatedly clench and unclench, his knuckles blanching with each movement. “It’s none of your damn business anyways. Are we done here?”

His voice drips with anger as he stands up, snatching his gym bag in one quick motion. He doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead curling his lips at you, a silent warning for you to stop talking. “Watch your fucking mouth, Y/n. You don’t know anything.” He says before walking off, shoulders tense and you swear you can almost smell the angry pheromones lingering in his absence.

“Don’t mind him, he tends to have extreme mood swings.” Jay says from behind. You turn around to face him, unintentionally letting him catch a glimpse of your sad eyes, mourning the ghost of his presence. His own gaze softens in response when he sees your reaction, and he finds himself fighting this flicker of empathy clawing its way up his throat. “You said you wanted to talk to us?” He says instead, sitting at a comfortable distance from you.

“Right, I just wanted to see how you guys get along, that sort of thing.” You clarify, pausing in order to let him fill in the gaps.

“Ah, I guess you could say I’m pretty close with everyone. Jungwon and I go way back though, I guess I took him under my wing in the community since neither of us were adopted.” He offers you a half-smile as he speaks, but you notice the way he rushes through the word ‘adopted’, as if it’ll hurt him if he lingers on the word too long.

“What was it like growing up in The Veil?”

“It sucked, but I’m not sure the alternative was any better,” he steals a glance at you to which you look down at the floor in a hurry, guilt eating away at you for being one of the few children that were ‘adopted.’ “We were in and out of shelters until we were 16, then Jungwon and I got housed together and then eventually, we were forced to find our own place once we turned 20.”

“And what about Sunghoon?”

“What about me?” That familiar wave of coldness shocks your nervous system and you freeze, feeling it work its way up your veins. Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the chilling temperature, and you steal a glance at the boy standing behind you, his eyes sending daggers into your back. “If you have something to say, say it to my face.”

Jay only laughs, finding the situation amusing. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He stands up quickly, throwing Sunghoon a hesitant glance before parting.

You meet Sunghoon’s glare, a touch of guilt coursing through you as your core temperature continues to drop. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” You say, your voice evident with a mix of frustration and defeat. “Please, can you stop trying to give me hypothermia?”

Your pathetic apology seems to strike a chord in Sunghoon, and for a moment, his usually hard expression falls. Though as quickly as it falls, it tenses right back up as your body bounces back to its original temperature. “I didn’t mean to talk about you behind your back, I just want to know how I can support you.”

Sunghoon crosses his arms, offering you an unamused smile. “I don’t know why you’re so desperate to support me. You’re just a gym trainer.”

His words are like a slap to your face, and you flinch, feeling its harsh sting. He’s right- you’re just a trainer, hired to make sure they don’t kill each other and out themselves to the real world. You know you should keep your distance, but you can’t. That pull you felt yesterday when you met them all, it’s only grown stronger. You weren’t going to let Sunghoon’s attitude freeze you out, not if you could help it.

“Well unfortunately, that’s not up to you.” You counter. “So, can you explain to me why you feel the need to use your temperature manipulation so casually? Why do you choose not to control it around your friends?”

Sunghoon remains indifferent to your question, but you think a small part of him reacts to you saying the word ‘friend.’ “Cuts down on the amount of talking I need to do. Gets the message across that they’re pissing me off when I freeze them, and when they back off, I dial it back.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “And they’re not my friends.”

“Ok, except it doesn’t.” You challenge him, “This isn’t just some simple power where you can use negative reinforcement to condition other people’s behaviors. You can’t punish people into compliance, it’s not ethical.” You hang your head, trying to think of a way to speak to him like you aren’t talking down on him. “I would really appreciate it if you’d put in more effort on keeping it in check. I get it- in a world like this, we can’t trust anyone. But these boys care about you, so it’d be nice for you to reciprocate it.”

When you raise your head, you hold his gaze with your own and notice that the storm in his eyes has cleared. It reappears as quickly as it left, but you saw; his vulnerability melting away that frost and it makes you wonder if there were more layers underneath his cold indifference. It’s clear that this is about as much as Sunghoon is going to give you before he starts to snap at you, so you decide to hold back on prodding any further.

“Anyways, can you tell me if Heeseung is still around?”

“Heeseung should be out of the changing rooms by now,” Sunghoon says, standing up.

“Thanks,” you mutter, following his lead. When he disappears from your vision, you make your way over to the changing rooms, a tired drag in your step. “Heeseung?” You say into the tiled hallway, your voice bouncing off the walls- but no response. You wonder if he had already left, but you don’t recall ever seeing him leave, so you decide to wait a little longer, the quietness of the gym almost suffocating as time drags on.

As you lean against the concrete, you watch as the younger boys wave bye to you, smiling joyfully as they head out. The minutes pass by slowly and you’re almost worried that Heeseung slipped out without you noticing, you were really hoping to talk to him before the end of your shift. The weight of your concern had only grown heavier in his absence. When you’re about to push off the wall and leave, Heeseung emerges.

You almost forget the list of things you want to address with Heeseung by the time he comes out, but it slips your mind anyways when you see his eyes glowing an unnatural red. “Heeseung?”

“Move.” He snarls, baring his fangs at you. You notice his skin has turned into a pale white, drained of its energy as he pushes past you with an abrupt shove, practically forcing you into the wall but you catch yourself, grabbing him by the collar of his leather jacket.

“Don’t talk to me that way.” You snap, shoving him back.

“I’m not going to tell you again, Y/n. I said, move.” His voice carries the weight of a thousand suns as he stares hard into your eyes- and for a moment, you almost waiver, feeling a hypnotic force to obey his order. It’s strong, and it almost pains you to reject this invisible beckoning, but you have to. Despite his intense stare, you grit your teeth and clench your fists, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in your core.

Your eyes lock onto his, acutely aware of the bright orange hue that has now plagued your irises as you struggle to maintain control. “Heeseung…” You gasp just before he crashes his mouth against yours.

With his lips on yours, the grip on your throat falters and he moves his hands to clutch at the sides of your face while shoving his knee between your legs. His fangs plunge into your bottom lip, puncturing the soft tissue until a stream of blood flows down your chin. You groan into his mouth as he begins to suck on your lip, tasting the warmth of your blood with a savage intensity. His tongue draws up and down your chin, soaking up each drop of blood that pulses out of your lip all while grinding his knee into your core, picking up on the scent of your essence leaking out of your cunt. His tongue plunges into your mouth and you taste the iron of your own blood on your tongue. It’s disgusting really, but the desperation of his kisses has you weak and reeling for more. You can’t help but get off on the taste of your own blood seeping through his tongue.

Shock and arousal have you drunk on Heeseung, but you summon every once of strength in you to shove him off of you with the strength of a phoenix. He stumbles backwards, flying into the edge of one of the sinks. “What the fuck!” he shouts, his voice dripping with fury and hunger. Heeseung clutches at his side, the impact likely adding on to the bruises from earlier.

“What the hell, Heeseung!” You shout, panting as you reach your hand to your lips, a drop of blood staining the microscopic divots of your fingers.

“I told you to fucking move!” He shouts back, massaging his side.

Your mind races as you think back to his journal entry. Glowing red eyes, disturbed senses, compulsive what? You wrack your brain for the rest of his vampiric rage symptoms, but the adrenaline of it all has your mind scrambled of any rationality. What was it that you had to do when he became like this? You’re so busy caught up in your own mind that you don’t notice Heeseung approaching you again, each of his steps dripping with savage lust.

He reaches out a hand, grabbing your arm and with unnatural speed and force, he pulls you into him. Your body abruptly presses against his, and the unmistakable feeling of his cock presses against your hip. “Focus on me,” he growls, forcing your eyes on him, “Only me.” The glowing intensity of his eyes ensnares your mind like a trap, leaving you gasping for air. A surge of slick gushes out of your cunt, pooling at the seat of your panties and leaving you with a desperate ache in your core. There’s a striking need to keep your eyes locked on his, a primal urge to surrender yourself to him entirely as his glowing red eyes pierce the amber haze of your own- igniting a part of your heart that you didn’t realize was dormant.

In one swift motion, Heeseung rips apart your top and latches his mouth onto your nipple while his hands massage your ass, pulling you plush against him. “Damnit, Y/n,” he moans, his fangs digging into the flesh of your breasts. “Couldn’t fucking listen… Just had to get in my fucking way.” He pulls you in by the ass, grinding his cock against you as he sucks on your nipple, his fangs nipping at the delicate flesh. His hand slaps your ass harshly, the sound of his palm landing against your cheek echoing in the chambers of the locker room. The sting of his hand against your ass only sends another gush of slickness through you, earning a dark chuckle from Heeseung. “I can fucking smell how turned on you are. You like it when I slap you?”

Blinded by an overwhelming wave of lust, you throw your head back and comb your fingers through his hair, relishing in the way his tongue flicks over your bud. “Hee, m-more.” You beg, feeling the trickle of something wet fall from where he’s sucking.

You look down only to see a shiny line of red trailing down your bare stomach, staining your leggings next. Heeseung licks a stripe up your stomach, catching the flow of red onto his tongue, groaning in delight as the taste of your blood soaks into his taste buds. In one sudden movement, Heeseung hoists you up and moves you to the counter, ripping your leggings off along with your panties. You lay bare before him now, back pressed on the counter, but you don’t even care. Your body is on fire, every nerve of yours flaring like a wildfire. You feel so overwhelmed with the desire to fill your pussy with something, anything- that you’re clawing at the air. “Please- I need you.”

“Use that fucking mouth of yours, baby. What do you need?” You mewl out a response as Heeseung dives headfirst into your cunt, pressing a rough kiss on your heat. The warmth of his tongue against her bundle of nerves leaves you shaking, moans erupting from your throat. He practically growls as he slides his tongue between your folds, getting a taste of your sopping pussy. “So fucking wet, you like disobeying me?”

You don’t say anything, instead opting to cry out and moan as he continues his assault on your cunt. “I asked you a fucking question,” he demands, slapping a hand down on your pussy.

The slap sends shockwaves through your body, the sting of his hand only offering you brief stimulation. “N-no, Heeseung! I’ll be good!” You shout, dragging your hands through his hair to pull him towards you while you buck your hips up. He brings his face down to kiss at your pussy again, rocking up and down so his nose rubs against your clit while he eats away at your core. You let your eyes wander down to his face, catching the sultry stare he gives you as he flicks his tongue in and out of your entrance.

Eventually, Heeseung slides three fingers in at once, not bothering to prep you as he deems the amount of slick pooling on the counter enough. “Fuck!” You scream, feeling the stretch of your walls adjust to the girth of his fingers. He pumps his digits in and out of you at a savage pace, ghosting his lips over your thighs as he does.

“Keep screaming, baby. Let me hear you.” He moans, biting down on your thigh suddenly. You scream out, a mixture of pain and pleasure shooting through you when you feel his fangs piercing your skin once again. The sound of his lips sucking around the wound sends another gush of arousal out of your cunt and you can feel a warmth building up in your lower abdomen. He sucks vigorously on the wound, wrapping his arm around your other thigh and massaging it generously.

“H-Heeseung-” You whine, squirming in his hold. “I-I’m close!”

“Cum on my mouth, let me taste you,” he encourages, moving around your thighs to press more bites into. A particular spot, closer to your pelvis, is bitten and that’s all you need to let go, the coil releasing as your pussy begins to clench around Heeseung’s fingers indefinitely. “Fuck, good girl, Y/n.” He says, moving his mouth back to your pussy, lapping at your folds. He sucks on your bud, drinking up your arousal as pleasure washes through your body like a tsunami. “So sweet,”

You shudder under his touch as his tongue stays extra diligent in swirling around your clit while he finishes you off. “Turn around,” he demands, helping you slide off the counter.

You struggle to stand up, entirely relying on Heeseung as he presses you against the counter, your breasts rubbing against the coldness of the counter. Behind you, Heeseung shoves his jeans and briefs down, allowing his cock to spring free, the tip an angry red from his neglect. “Give me your hands,” he says, catching them in the air as you throw your arms back. “Good girl,” he coos.

With his one free hand, he flicks it forward and a red tendril forms, ghosting from his palm like liquid smoke. “You’re gonna be good for me, right?” he asks, smirking as the red wisps move to coil around your wrists like a makeshift handcuff.

You nod anxiously, tears pricking your eyes as the strain of your hands behind your back begins to pull on your muscles. “My good fucking girl.” He says before plunging his cock into your soaking pussy, immediately followed by the snap of his hips. You scream as his cock fills you up, the girth stretching you out all at once. With the coil of his tendrils holding your arms captive behind your back, he lets his hands wander to your hips until they’re bruising you, using them as leverage to piston his cock in and out of you.

You have no idea for how long he continues, but you know he goes long enough to fuck you through two more orgasms before he begins to slow down. When he does, he reaches forward to grab you by your throat, pulling you to his chest. His lips ghosts over your pulse point as he continues to snap his cock into your pussy, the drag of his cock having you reel with pleasure. “I can taste your fucking pulse,” he whispers, licking your neck. You shiver under his touch, the warmth of his breath causing you to unintentionally clench around his member. “Don’t fucking squeeze like that,”

“Heeseung, I- I’m gonna cum again,” you cry, biting your lip as you close your eyes, too tired to keep them open.

He stays silent as he drags his mouth further down your neck, puncturing a few more spots as he soaks up the red liquid quickly. “So sweet, you taste so good.” He snaps his hips into you even deeper than before, the tip of his cock brushing against your G-spot now.

“Hee,” you beg, focusing on the stretch of his cock. You open your eyes just in time to see a collection of red tendrils surrounding you, some crawling up your body and you suddenly become acutely aware of the ghostly feeling of them roaming your bruising skin. They tickle the fine hairs of your body, leaving you a shaking mess before Heeseung as he continues to ravage your pussy.

The added stimulation sends you over the edge and you’re coming for the fourth time, crying out as you wrap your walls around Heeseung’s member tightly. “Fuck, I’m coming Y/n!” Heeseung shouts, shoving his cock up to the hilt of your pelvis.

With a few more thrusts, he stills, allowing his cum to bury itself deep within your womb. Spurts of cum shoot into you at such a force you feel each rope hit your walls, clenching around him as his dick pulses inside of you. Heeseung lets go of you once he starts to soften, his rosy mist disappearing into thin air as you collapse onto the cold surface of the counter. Without warning, he slides out of you and you wince, listening to him zip himself back into his jeans.

Your body is still shaking from the aftermath of your release when you hear Heeseung’s footsteps echo out of the changing room. When it fades, you’re left alone and bare, laying against the cool surface of the counter. In the absence of his presence, a wave of clarity rushes through you, replacing any lingering heat you once had. You can’t help but let out a string or curse words as you fumble around to put your clothes back on, each movement a cold reminder of your impulsive endeavors, your muscles already feeling the dull ache.

As you pull your leggings on, you feel the unwelcome sensation of his cum slowly leaking down, slick and cold now. At this point, you’re too focused on getting home to care- letting it trickle down your thigh as you head back home into the rising daylight. When you finally reach the temporary sanctuary of your studio apartment, you reach for your journal first. Shadow manipulation, you write that besides the writer’s notes on Heeseung’s page before collapsing face-first onto your bed, letting sleep consume you immediately.

read part 2 here

Taglist: @heesimp, @kyunlov, @quill-ink, @lunaritex, @jiryunn, @jakeswifez, @fancypeacepersona, @nshmrarki, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @wilonevys, @strxwbloody, @capri-cuntz, @riribelle, @machambrx, @vousty, @rebeccakan

Permanent taglist: @kittys00, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @17ericas

[saphronethaleph]

Fascist, Thus Inefficient

“As you can see, my young apprentice, your friends have failed,” the Emperor said, triumph in his tone. “Now, witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station!”

Luke looked at him in shock.

“Fire at will, Commander!” the Emperor said.

Fourteen months previously…

“Shipment IL-214-73 arriving,” a petty officer reported.

“Thank goodness,” muttered one of the technicians. “After the delays we’ve been having, we need to get those Khyber crystals into the third main focusing array. It’s been on the critical path for a week.”

He brought up the display, frowning. “All right, I think we can make up a bit of time if we just get them straight to cutting and installation.”

“Don’t we need to run them through the testing process first?” a more junior technician asked. “That’s on the list.”

“I know it’s on the list,” the senior tech replied. “But the list was written when they didn’t expect there’d be rebel attacks hitting our supply lines.”

He waved at the screen. “The testing process means heating each individual crystal up to eighteen hundred, even though we know Khyber can all handle temperatures of up to forty-seven-fifty. The cutting process doesn’t rely on heat tolerance either. Any crystalline flaws will come out in cutting, and we can just junk them. It means cutting takes a bit longer, but by going straight to cutting we can save at several hours on the overall process. And you know how much time we’ve lost already.”

The junior tech looked worried, then shook his head.

“All right,” he replied. “I guess so.”

“You need to learn how things are done in practice,” the senior tech said. “No big deal.”

Eleven months previously...

“I’m quite sure Rothana Heavy Engineering’s XJ-15 hypermatter feed systems will meet your needs better than the alternatives,” the Rothana representative said, as Admiral Jerjerrod examined the datasheet.

He wasn’t so sure. The newer units had better specifications, certainly, but they weren’t proven, and they were also somewhat more expensive.

“I don’t think that’s necessarily the case,” he said, out loud. “While I appreciate Rothana’s position, the Sienar alternative has similar flow rates and more proven applications.”

The Rothana representative nodded, sagely.

“I understand entirely,” he said. “However, I must point out that Rothana has some important additional information to present.”

He held out a credit chip, which Jerjerrod took and inspected.

“Owing to the XJ-15’s protracted development, we are willing to provide our test units at cost,” the representative went on. “That is in addition to having a higher production rate than our competitors and a less committed production output.”

Jerjerrod hesitated, then pocketed the credit chip.

“That all seems in order,” he said. “The XJ-15 it is.”

“Marvellous,” the representative declared.

Nine months previously...

“I’ve examined the records that exist from the first Death Star,” a senior technician said. “The amount of strain that was placed on the flash suppression systems was minimal to nonexistent. Even with the full firing that destroyed Alderaan, surviving records indicate that the flash suppressors had no more than a five percent load placed on them – an amount that can be handled by untreated durasteel.”

The other men and women in the meeting looked at the data on the screen behind their colleague.

“You’re suggesting we forego the duratemp treatment on the flash protection systems?” one of the women asked, cautiously. “I can see the advantages, but the downsides seem significant. I’d even say potentially destructive.”

“It is my position that the cost of including the duratemp treatment is unacceptable,” the tech replied. “It takes time and effort, including supervisory attention which cuts into the available man-hours on the project. We only have so much experienced manpower.”

That drew winces, though none of the humans in the room drew attention to the fact that they were spending a lot of that time in interminable meetings.

“In the following presentation, I’ll discuss my proposal and how it could shave as much as one week off the final completion timetable,” the senior tech continued, flicking to the next screen of his presentation. “This model shows how the flash suppression systems are built around the main weapon…”

Six months previously…

“There simply isn’t an option,” the head of personnel replied. “Our existing system is not providing enough technicians and operators.”

“This was quite sufficient for the first Death Star,” Jerjerrod protested.

“The first Death Star was a project that took decades,” the manager replied, shrugging. “It didn’t come up at first, sir – for that I apologize – but if we are going to redress the problem, we need to act now. There is no alternative.”

Jerjerrod rubbed his temples, thinking about the problem.

The fully functional Death Star was going to need hundreds of thousands of qualified technicians and operators, familiar with the systems of the vast battle station, and so many of the men who knew much about the Death Star at the moment were busy building it.

There hadn’t been many left after the destruction of the first battle station, because most of them had been working on it at the time.

“All right,” he said. “So your proposal is…?”

“We keep the same number of trainers for now, but abbreviate the course,” the manager answered. “Two months – at most. Then we have the new graduates train the next batch for two months, and so on. Exponential growth. At twenty students per instructor and a hundred instructors to start with, we’ll end up with eight hundred thousand in six months.”

That was extremely tempting… they wouldn’t be anything like the equal of what they should be, but they could learn on the job.

“All right,” Jerjerrod said. “Approved – see to it.”

One month previously…

“Next item on the checklist?” Commander Jaskier asked.

“Step one hundred and seven,” Technician Mils replied. “Self test.”

She pressed the self-test button, and the computer system clicked and flickered as it ran through the diagnostics.

Data results and readouts went up on the screen, and Jaskier and all the others in the control station watched the results.

None of them had any comment to make about the numbers. The checklist said to run the self test, so that was what they were doing.

“Step one hundred and eight,” Mils went on. “Sign off on results.”

She did that, as well, and Jaskier nodded.

“Good,” he said. “And I believe we’ve finished that half an hour ahead of schedule! Good work, everyone.”

Now.

The firing commands flashed out through the Death Star’s systems, triggering a cascade of further commands, and the whole massive battle station’s main superlaser woke for the first time.

Fifty XJ-15 hypermatter flow regulators controlled the flow of energy from the power core into the power collectors, and the energy being channelled into the system surged rapidly – rising to one hundred and eighteen percent of nominal, above what would have been anticipated, and greater than the one hundred and two percent that the older, more proven Sienar systems would have generated.

Thousands of high powered beams were generated, controlled and focused through an enormous array of Khyber crystals… a small but measurable fraction of which were cheap industrially grown diamonds instead, added to the shipments by subcontractors eager to stretch out their production from the strip-mined planet of Ilum without running so late on their deliveries that financial penalties were imposed.

None of the technicians who were in a position to spot the problem at this stage were actually capable of doing so. Their necessarily abbreviated training had mostly been on what buttons to push, and nobody had the deeper knowledge of the systems to recognize that the system was in an anomalous state.

Then some of the diamonds shattered under the load, allowing the beams free to damage adjacent systems, and in moments the whole of the energy drawn from the hypermatter core was unleashed.

The flash suppression systems were wholly, and fatally, inadequate.

“Watch yourself, Wedge!” Lando called, his head on a swivel, and banked the Falcon around so his ventral turret gunner could clear off one of the TIEs attacking Red Leader. “We’ve got to-”

Then there was a sudden blinding flash, and Lando did a double-take.

The Death Star’s protective shield was instantly, and dramatically, visible – because the entire inside of it was full of plasma and flame, lighting it up as clearly as Ackbar’s briefing had done back before the operation was launched in the first place. Then something blew up on the surface of the forest moon as the plasma followed the funnel of the shield, and the explosive force was no longer contained but began to drift out into space.

“...the kriff?” Lando asked, eventually. “What just happened?”

“Ow,” Darth Vader said, indistinctly, reaching up to feel his helmet, which had been crushed in by an impact with the ceiling.

The Emperor’s throne room seemed to mostly be intact, though there was an Emperor-shaped hole in the window nearest his throne, and Luke had his hands out to either side as he stood on the wall.

“Father, are you all right?” the younger Skywalker asked.

“What happened?” Vader replied. “I remember the Emperor ordering that the Death Star should fire…”

“I don’t know, it exploded just after he said that,” Luke answered. “It turns out that overconfidence was his weakness… do you have any idea where the nearest spaceship is? Keeping the atmosphere in is tiring me out a bit.”

[kairawrites]

shea butter.

🌺 masterlist 🌺

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

a/n: for all my fellow natural girlies. there's a slight mention of sex, you'll miss it if you squint.

summary: jude could do his own hair, but why do that when he has you?

The clippers hummed quietly in your hand as you focused intently on lining up Jude’s hair. The soft, melodic sound of Sade floated through the room, the sounds of her voice seemed to make time slow down and the outside world felt miles away. You hummed along quietly, barely conscious of it, your voice rising and falling with the rhythm of the music. 

Jude sat on your accent chair, the plush upholstery sinking slightly beneath his weight as he leaned back, his broad frame clad only in a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. A towel, hastily draped over his shoulders as a makeshift cape, protected his bare chest from the stray clippings of his hair.

His legs were parted just enough to make space for you to stand between them, your body close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from you. His half-lidded eyes, still heavy from sleep, followed your every movement as you worked. The corner of his lips turned up in a lazy, contented smile as he listened to you hum softly. He knew the melody would be stuck in his head the moment he had to leave for the airport in the morning.

The fingers of his left hand are warm against your outer thigh. Gentle as they lightly retrace the same pattern over and over. He watched as your face took on that look of deep concentration he had come to love—your brow furrowing slightly, lips pressed into a soft line as you meticulously moved the clippers along his hairline. The way your lips parted ever so slightly when you leaned in closer, studying each angle, made his chest tighten with a familiar warmth. 

Your lashes fluttered with every blink, and Jude marveled at how you managed to look so peaceful and yet so focused all at once. Your eyes, usually bright with humor, were now narrowed, intent on perfecting every detail. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the music shifted into a familiar tune, and you began to hum a little louder, Jude's fingers swirling to the beat.

Jude loved Sundays—at least, Sundays with you. With you, Sundays were peaceful. The morning was always dedicated to wash days, a ritual he had grown to love as much as you did. He would wake up to the sound of running water and the faint scent of your hair products lingering in the air, instantly bringing a sense of calm over him. He loved watching you go through your routine, the way you treated your curls with so much love and care, making him crave that same tenderness for himself. Which is why doing his hair had become embedded in your routine.

He was typically alongside you, resting on the edge of the vanity or standing nearby, his curious eyes studying the bottles of creams, oils, and conditioners you carefully selected. You’d catch him reaching for them, his hands inspecting the labels as if trying to decipher their secrets. Not sure why his hair only came out perfect when you used them. You loved that he wanted to be a part of it—so you’d often pass him a bottle, letting him unscrew the lids and hold the products just to make him feel included.

He would lift them to his nose, inhaling deeply, his face lighting up as he absorbed the subtle fragrances of coconut, honey, shea butter, and vanilla. “Smells like you,” he’d say, grinning. And you’d smile back, your heart swelling at how even the simplest things about you had become a comfort to him.

When it came time to detangle your curls, he was always eager to help, his hands gentle but sure as he ran them through your damp hair. He loved the feel of your curls, the softness that slipped between his fingers, the way your head would tilt just slightly, trusting him with something so personal. It was a quiet kind of intimacy—one that didn’t require words but was steeped in care. The kind of closeness he found himself craving whenever he was away, the moments he would replay in his mind on long nights spent traveling from one match to the next.

That’s why, when Jude woke up this morning and realized he had slept half the day away, he cursed himself for missing that precious time with you. Especially being as he had to leave in the morning. Sundays with you meant more than just relaxation; they were filled with the kind of connection that grounded him, that made him feel like just a man in love, far from the pressures and chaos of his world outside..

Although he’d missed your routine, he’d let out a sigh of relief when you had dragged him out of bed and to your chair.

Your hair, still damp from your wash day, framed your face in loose curls that bounced gently with your movements.

You leaned in closer, your hand gently cradling his jaw, your fingers just barely brushing the line of his jaw--a subtle reminder to stay still.

His gaze drifted over the curve of your lips, and he found himself smiling as he watched you quietly mouthing the lyrics to the song. You weren’t singing aloud, just quietly to yourself, as if the music had wrapped itself around you, pulling you further into the moment. Jude didn’t dare move, afraid to break the spell that had settled over the room.

"Almost done," you murmured under your breath, not even fully aware that you had spoken.

He could have closed his eyes and drifted off, lulled by the warmth of the room, the soothing music, and the gentle hum of your voice. But he didn’t want to miss this—didn’t want to miss watching you in this space where he was completely at ease. 

Jude’s voice was soft when he finally spoke, breaking the gentle silence. “You look so beautiful when you concentrate, you know that?”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, surprised by the sudden compliment, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Your hands gently brush his shoulders to dust off stray hairs. "Sorry, Mr. Bellingham, I don’t accept compliments as payment," you teased, tilting your head with a playful glint in your eyes.

Jude’s laugh bubbled up, still thick with the remnants of sleep, the sound low and warm like a gentle rumble from his chest. It was the kind of laugh that made you want to curl back into bed with him. “Oh yeah?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he looked up at you, eyebrows raised. “What do you accept then?”

You grinned, biting your lip for a moment as you pretended to think. Letting your touch pass over his jaw, you smiled as his lips warmed your palm. “Kisses,” you said simply.

Jude didn’t miss a beat, his grin widening as he reached for you, his fingers slipping around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "Got plenty of those," he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your stomach, his lips warm through the fabric of his sweatshirt that you wore. He placed a kiss against your chest, your neck before your cheek.

Your fingers curled into his hair as you laughed softly. "Better start paying up then," you whispered, leaning down to meet his lips with yours, the kiss soft and lingering. Your lips left his, him releasing an unsatisfied groan of protest. 

“We need to finish this,” you giggle, lips pressing against the bridge of his nose, before stepping back.

Jude’s eyes followed you as you moved, every part of him attuned to the way the soft fabric of his favorite sweatshirt shifted over your frame. The deep navy of the worn cotton contrasted perfectly against your skin, and though it hung loosely on you, it couldn’t hide the subtle movements of your body beneath. His gaze trailed from the hem brushing your thighs to the gentle sway of your hips, making it impossible for him to look away.

As you reached the vanity to place the clippers down, he took the opportunity to shift forward. His hands found your waist, pressing gently into the fabric, the warmth of his touch radiating through the sweatshirt. It was a familiar gesture, one that always made you feel anchored to him. You turned to face him, done gathering the items you needed to finish his hair, but Jude had other ideas.

With a gentle but insistent tug, he guided you back toward him, his eyes locking onto yours. 

“You can finish the rest here,” he mumbled. His arms slipped around your waist, drawing you down onto his lap. You settled into the familiar space, the weight of his hands steady and comforting against your hips.

“As long as you promise to behave,” the half hearted warning prompting your boyfriend’s touch to slip from beneath your sweatshirt.

Settling back against the seat, Jude murmured, “Always making me look better than anyone else could.”

You rolled your eyes at his flattery, your lips curving into a smile. “Your barber might disagree,” you teased lightly, though you knew the way he looked at you said far more than just appreciation for your skills with clippers.

Jude's eyes softened, his gaze never leaving your face as he replied, “No one takes the time and care like you do.” His hands slid up your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over your skin, sending a warm shiver through you.

Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Better let me finish then," you whispered, smiling against his mouth before pulling back. “Can’t have your fans coming for me if I mess you up.”

You lifted the spray bottle and began dampening his hair, your fingers working through his soft curls with practiced ease. Jude’s hands, however, had a mind of their own. They roamed gently over your legs, his fingers grazing the smooth skin of your thighs. He couldn’t seem to stop touching you, each stroke of his hands filled with lazy admiration.

As you focused, Jude’s hands eventually slipped beneath the hem of the sweatshirt, brushing over the small of your back. The light pressure of his touch made you sigh softly, the warmth of his hands seeping into your skin. His hands moved slowly, rhythmically, as though he were tracing a map only he could read.

“Jude,” you murmured, your voice laced with playful exasperation as you continued working on his hair. “You’re distracting me.”

His low chuckle vibrated through the space between you. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, his lips brushing your wrist in a gentle kiss as his hands wandered up your thighs again. “You’re just so soft.”

You bit your lip to suppress a smile, lowering the spray bottle as you combed your fingers through his curls. “You say that every time.”

“That’s because it’s true,” he countered, capitalizing on the pause in your actions. His fingers drew slow, lazy patterns across your lower back.  “I still don’t know how you’re always so soft,” he murmured, his hands moving to cradle your hips.

You tried to focus on the task at hand, but his hands made it nearly impossible. As your fingers moved through his damp curls, Jude’s touch drifted lower, cupping the backs of your thighs, his grip firm yet tender. The sensation sent a pleasant warmth through you, and when his hands finally squeezed the soft flesh of your butt, you couldn’t help but shift forward in his lap. You caught sight of his smirk as you instinctively shifted against him, the feel of him against you causing you to repeat the action.

“Jude,” you began again, only this time you’re unable to complete the sentence.

He hummed in response, his hands repeating the action, enjoying the way you moved in response to his touch. His grip tightened, encouraging you to grind against him, shifting his hips as your eyes fluttered close. “Hmm?” His voice was light, but the mischief in his eyes as he pulled back made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Mind your hands," you warned.

Jude’s lips curled into a smile, but he obediently kept his hands in place as you leaned back to retrieve the curl cream from the vanity. "I’m not doing anything," he teased, as he unscrewed the lid for you.

He was right. You should be able to resist him, but you can't. Not when the heat of his body is this close. Not when you can feel him pressing against you, the thin fabric of his sweatpants and your underwear separating you allowing you to feel exactly where his mind was headed. Not when his hands are kneading your skin, the motion hypnotic and tempting. Not when he leaned forward slightly, the moment you gathered the product in your hand, brushing his lips against your wrist as you began to work the cream into his hair.

You sighed, trying to suppress the flutter in your chest as his kisses moved lazily from your wrist up the inside of your arm. "Jude," you muttered, a mixture of amusement slipping into your tone. He knew what he was doing—distracting you, as always.

"Mmhmm?" he responded, his voice a soft murmur against your skin as he kissed a spot just above your elbow. “..you said watch my hands…”

Despite his affectionate distraction, you pressed on, determined to finish his hair. But Jude’s attention was unwavering—his lips now following a slow path up your arm, until he reached your shoulder. His mouth warm against your skin, tongue brushing against your skin before he gently began to against your neck. The position was not helpful, but you both knew you wouldn’t move to stand.

You pulled back briefly to grab more product from the vanity, shaking your head with a smile that you couldn't hide. As you leaned back in, Jude took the opportunity to nuzzle his lips against your neck, his kisses soft and warm, teasing the sensitive skin there picking up where he'd left off.

“Jude,” you said again, a warning in your voice, though it lacked any real conviction. The rest of your words were lost, falling victim to the sigh that escaped as he found the spot he knew that could cloud your mind. His fingers digging into your skin as you instinctively shifted your hips.

 He repeated the action, focusing solely on kissing and sucking your skin. The action covering your body in a familiar heat. It took all your concentration to stay focused on his hair rather than the way his hand shifted to rest against the base of your spine.

Your mind floods with memories of the last time you were in this position. You had meant to be doing his hair, but Jude's wandering hands and lips had made you abandon the task entirely. As you relax against him now, your hands momentarily still in his hair, a low chuckle escapes his lips, letting you know he’s thinking the exact same thing.

How easily it had been that morning to shift your weight to his right thigh. How your fingers had tightened in his hair, tugging against the curls you’d just tended to. How your hips allowed his hands to guide their movements. Him encouraging you to grind down on his thigh, until your body was a quivering mess your voice melding into the music, his lips and teeth dragging along the warmth of your shoulder and neck. How easily he'd slipped between your folds by the time he'd pulled you onto his lap. How the high you were chasing had forced you to accept his desire for you to ride him slowly. Submitting, allowing him guide your hips, welcoming the words he'd whispered against your skin. The orgasms he'd pulled from you that morning tugging at your mind each time you sat in that same chair when he was away.

"I’m just helping," he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he pressed another gentle kiss just beneath your ear, sending a rush of warmth through you.

"You’re not helping at all," you laughed softly. You were trying to sound firm, but his lips found that perfect spot again at the base of your neck, and you couldn’t help the quiet sigh that escaped your lips.

Jude’s hands remained planted firmly on your hips, just as you had instructed, but his lips—his lips had other plans. They moved with deliberate slowness, peppering kisses along the curve of your neck, your shoulder, your jaw.

“Just saving you time,” he mumbles. “No point in pretending how this’ll end.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in mock disapproval even as a smile tugged at your lips. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

He grinned against your skin, his breath warm as he whispered, "I know," before placing one last kiss just below your jawline.

Your hands, slick with product, glide through Jude’s curls one last time before you wipe them clean on the towel draped over his shoulders. His dark eyes are locked on yours, and you catch the way his lips twitch upward in that familiar, mischievous smile. He knows exactly where this is headed.

With a soft thud, you let the towel fall to the floor, and before you can make a move, Jude’s arms are wrapped around your waist pulling you close. He tips his head back slightly as your hands instinctively find the nape of his neck, your fingers grazing over the warm skin there. His gaze flickers down to your lips, and for a moment, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and steady as it fans over your face. 

Jude's nose brushes against yours, the softest of touches, and the space between you grows smaller until your lips meet in a kiss—gentle at first, tender and lingering. His lips hover there, but you can't help yourself. You lean into him, deepening the kiss, and the world around you fades. 

tagging those who liked the post about this story. sorry it's late af.

@iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh @jareaulamontagnes @judes-baeeee @alexandraa-mondragonn @tana-mxx @whorefordeadpeople @redbulldoesntgiveyouwings @judespoets @deanbluntsupremacy @atlasthecreator @humanstheworld @sakaloverrr @justabrokensoulxd @preetykookiie @bbgkoo @anotimportantperson @bellinghamfc @certifiedlesbianbaddie @lilyislostinthelight @elisacarynia @abbieanthony20 @extrology467 @sinnerxxer @lanassiren444 @undercover-fangirl5 @judescorem @eriks-girl @calif0rnia-lovers @menacetosobr1ety

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Blurred Lines

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley X Female!Reader

AU: Roommate! Simon x Roommate Reader

Warnings: fluff, reader is lowkey oblivious

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, i wrote this based off of @machveil’s Roommate Simon (I love their Roommate Simon fics sm pls check them out)

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Living with Simon Riley wasn’t something you had planned. It was supposed to be temporary—an arrangement until you found something more permanent. But weeks turned into months, and now, living with Simon felt as natural as breathing. The man was quiet, incredibly organized, and a walking fortress of dependability. What more could you ask for in a roommate?

But Simon wasn’t just a regular roommate. He had a way of taking care of you that blurred every line between platonic and something more. Your friends were the first to point it out.

“Simon does everything for you,” Rachel had said during a game night, chips in hand and a teasing grin on her face. “He’s basically your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you’d said reflexively.

But Rachel wasn’t convinced. “Oh, hun, he pays for your stuff, cooks for you, and even carries your wallet when you’re out. If that’s not boyfriend behavior, what is?”

You’d brushed it off then, but deep down, you couldn’t deny how much Simon did for you. It wasn’t just about groceries or fixing things around the house—it was in the small moments, the quiet gestures that showed just how much he cared.

The grocery store was bustling with life, a chaotic symphony of carts rolling, cash registers beeping, and the low hum of chatter filling the air. The smell of fresh bread from the bakery mixed with the faint tang of cleaning products, a strange but familiar comfort.

You walked ahead of Simon, pushing the cart with an unhurried pace. The wheels squeaked faintly as you stopped in the snack aisle, eyes scanning the shelves for your favorite brand of chips. Simon followed close behind, his large frame an unmistakable presence, almost daring anyone to step too close.

“Stay close, sweet’eart,” Simon’s deep voice drawled from behind you, his tone casual but carrying an edge of authority.

“I’m literally right here,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself.

Simon didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he shifted his stance slightly, his dark eyes flickering to the side as if tracking the movements of a passerby. His protective instincts were always on high alert, even in mundane situations like this.

You reached up, fingers brushing against a bag of chips on the top shelf. It was just out of reach, and you huffed in frustration. Before you could even think to ask, Simon stepped forward, his long arm easily grabbing the bag for you.

“Here,” he said, handing it over without fanfare.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, adding the bag to the cart.

Simon didn’t respond, already busy adjusting the cart’s contents. He moved items around with precision, making sure nothing was crushed or precariously balanced. You noticed the way his brows furrowed slightly, his focus so intense it almost made you laugh.

“Are you always this meticulous?” you teased, leaning on the handle of the cart.

Simon glanced at you, one brow arching. “Someone’s gotta keep things in order, luv.”

You grinned, pushing the cart forward as he fell back into step beside you.

The trip continued like this, an easy rhythm between the two of you. Simon reached for items you pointed out, his broad shoulders brushing yours whenever the aisle narrowed. Occasionally, he’d toss something into the cart without asking—usually something he knew you liked but wouldn’t think to grab for yourself.

When you made it to the refrigerated section, you grabbed a bottle of iced coffee, holding it up for Simon’s inspection. “This one okay?”

He tilted his head, pretending to scrutinize it before nodding. “If it makes you happy, sure.”

You snorted at his mock seriousness but placed the bottle in the cart anyway.

As you neared the checkout lanes, you instinctively reached for your wallet, but Simon was already ahead of you.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, pulling out his own card.

“Simon,” you protested, “I can pay for the groceries on my own.”

He fixed you with a pointed look, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve got it, luv. Put your wallet away.”

You huffed but obeyed, watching as he tapped his card against the reader with a practiced motion. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last.

On the way back to the car, Simon carried all the bags, his muscles flexing effortlessly as he balanced the weight. He didn’t let you carry a single thing, brushing off your offers with a simple, “Don’t worry about it.”

As you climbed into the passenger seat, you glanced over at him as he loaded the trunk. The way he moved—efficient, steady, and always attentive—was just so him.

When he finally slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks for, you know… everything.”

Simon glanced at you, his dark eyes softening just a fraction. “Always, sweet’eart.”

And with that, he pulled out of the parking lot, the quiet hum of the car settling into the comfortable silence between you.

The cool evening air wrapped around you both as you strolled toward the corner store, the quiet hum of crickets filling the silence. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the streets bathed in the pale glow of streetlights. You walked ahead slightly, hands stuffed into your jacket pockets, the faint chill nipping at your fingers. Simon trailed just a step behind, his presence a constant, reassuring shadow.

It wasn’t unusual for Simon to insist on walking you anywhere at night, even for something as mundane as grabbing snacks. He always said it was just to “make sure you’re safe,” but the protective way his eyes scanned the empty streets told you it was more than that.

Halfway to the store, Simon suddenly stopped. His boots scuffed against the concrete as he paused, his hand reaching into his jacket pocket.

You turned to face him, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What’s up?”

Without a word, Simon pulled out a thin chain, the metal catching the light as it dangled from his fingers. The dog tag attached to it swung gently, the stamped letters gleaming faintly under the streetlight.

“What’s this for?” you asked, tilting your head as he stepped closer.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, Simon raised the chain over your head with deliberate care, his fingers brushing against your neck as he adjusted the tag so it rested flat against your chest. The cold metal sent a shiver down your spine.

“There,” he said gruffly, taking a step back to admire his work.

You stared down at the dog tag, your fingers brushing over the cool surface. It felt heavier than you expected, the weight of it pressing against your skin.

“Okay, seriously, what’s this about?” you asked, looking up at him.

Simon’s expression was calm, but his jaw tightened slightly, like he was choosing his words carefully. “So people know you’re not alone.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning.

You blinked, the realization of what he was implying slowly dawning on you. “You mean… like a claim?”

Simon shifted slightly, his hands finding their way into his pockets as he held your gaze. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Your cheeks heated, and you looked away, unsure of what to say. The weight of the dog tag was suddenly very noticeable, a tangible reminder of Simon’s quiet protectiveness.

“Simon, this is… I don’t know, kind of intense,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

He shrugged, his broad shoulders moving in a way that was both casual and calculated. “Just want people to know you’ve got someone lookin’ out for you. That’s all.”

There was no teasing in his tone, no hint of humor. It was just Simon being Simon—blunt, straightforward, and unapologetically protective.

You touched the tag again, your fingers tracing the etched letters. “Thanks, I guess,” you mumbled, your voice softer now.

Simon nodded once, satisfied, and motioned for you to keep walking. “Come on, luv. Let’s get your snacks before the store closes.”

The rest of the walk was quiet, but the weight of the dog tag on your chest felt oddly comforting. Every so often, Simon’s hand would brush against your arm as he kept close, his presence steady and unyielding.

By the time you reached the store, the initial awkwardness had faded, replaced by a warmth you couldn’t quite place. As you browsed the aisles, the dog tag jingled faintly with each step, a constant reminder of Simon’s silent promise: you weren’t alone, not with him around.

The living room was alive with laughter, the sound of a shuffled deck of cards, and the occasional crinkle of a snack bag being passed around. Your friends, Rachel and Amy, were perched on the couch with their legs tucked underneath them, their eyes sparkling with mischief. Simon sat in his usual spot on the armchair, one leg stretched out, the other bent at an angle, his posture relaxed but commanding as always.

You were sprawled on the floor, leaning against the coffee table with a plate of chips and salsa within reach. The game cards were scattered in front of you, and you were in the middle of a round of some ridiculous party game that Rachel had insisted on bringing over.

“Okay, your turn, babe,” Rachel said, gesturing at you with a grin.

“I swear to God, if you keep calling me that, I’m skipping my turn,” you replied, narrowing your eyes at her.

“Oh, please,” Amy chimed in, her smirk widening. “We all know you’re taken anyway. Right, Simon?”

You froze mid-reach for a chip, your head snapping up to look at Simon. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on the game cards in his hand. He didn’t even flinch at the question, though you swore you saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.

“What?” you asked, your voice laced with exasperation.

Rachel and Amy exchanged knowing looks, the kind that only spelled trouble.

“Come on, hun,” Rachel teased, leaning forward. “You two practically act like an old married couple. I mean, look at him—he even came out here tonight just to babysit us.”

Simon, still unreadable, finally glanced up from his cards. “Someone’s gotta make sure you lot don’t burn the place down,” he said dryly, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips.

Rachel wasn’t deterred. “See? That. That’s boyfriend behavior.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “For the last time, Simon and I are not dating.”

Amy raised an eyebrow, reaching for her drink. “Could’ve fooled me. He carries your wallet when you go out, pays for everything, even cooks for you.” She pointed her glass in Simon’s direction. “And don’t even get me started on the dog tag thing.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

Simon’s low chuckle rumbled from the armchair, drawing all eyes to him. He leaned back, his posture impossibly casual, as if the entire conversation didn’t faze him in the slightest.

“Can’t help it if I look after her,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying a playful undertone. “Someone’s gotta make sure she doesn’t get herself into trouble.”

Rachel gasped, dramatically clutching her chest. “See? That’s boyfriend talk!”

Amy nodded sagely. “If it looks like a relationship, and it quacks like a relationship…”

You shot them both a glare. “It’s not a relationship. Simon’s just… Simon. He’s like this with everyone.”

At that, Simon raised an eyebrow, giving you a look that made your stomach flip. “Am I now?” he asked, his tone dripping with dry amusement.

“Well, no,” you admitted, stumbling over your words. “I just mean you’re—you’re protective, and…”

“And what?” Rachel interjected, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Protective, attentive, devoted—sounds like a boyfriend to me.”

You grabbed a chip and threw it at her, which only made her and Amy burst into laughter.

Simon let out another low chuckle, leaning forward to set his cards on the table. “You’re fightin’ a losin’ battle, sweet’eart,” he said, his voice a little softer now, a little more serious.

You looked at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it always did when he gave you that look—the one that felt like he could see straight through you.

“They’re wrong,” you said stubbornly, though your voice wavered slightly.

“Whatever you say,” Simon replied, leaning back again, but there was something in his expression that made you wonder if he thought they were wrong, too.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and teasing, but their words stayed with you long after Rachel and Amy left. When you glanced at Simon, still seated in his armchair with that calm, steady presence, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more truth to their jokes than you were willing to admit.

The night had settled in around you both like a soft blanket, the city’s noises muffled by the thick walls of your apartment. The quiet was comforting, but it also felt heavy, as if something was pressing on your chest. You sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping absentmindedly through the pages of a book, but your mind wasn’t really on it. You kept stealing glances at Simon, who was sprawled out on the opposite couch, eyes glued to the TV as he absentmindedly fiddled with the edge of his dog tag.

The air between you two had shifted recently, not in any obvious way, but in the way things felt too comfortable to be strictly platonic anymore. There was an unspoken tension, thick and lingering, like a string pulled too tight, just waiting to snap. Simon’s protective gestures, his little acts of care, had started to feel different. More… intimate.

You cleared your throat, your fingers trembling slightly as you set your book aside. “Simon,” you called softly, unsure of what you were going to say but knowing you couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t bother you.

He didn’t look up from the TV, but his voice was still warm and steady. “Yeah, hun?”

The pet name made your heart skip a beat, and you swallowed. This was it. You couldn’t dance around it anymore.

You hesitated, unsure how to frame the words in your head. “Can we talk?”

Finally, Simon turned his head to look at you, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Sure.” He reached for the remote, pausing the show with a click before placing it on the coffee table.

You took a breath and shifted, sitting up straighter, the weight of the moment sinking in. You had to ask, even though the question terrified you. “Are you… are you doing all this because we’re just friends, or because you like me?”

Simon’s expression didn’t change at first. His eyes didn’t narrow, his lips didn’t twitch with a smirk. He simply looked at you, his gaze steady, like he was weighing your words, understanding their weight.

You felt your face flush, the uncertainty creeping in. You knew you sounded ridiculous, asking this out of nowhere. It wasn’t like Simon hadn’t been there for you in ways that felt like more than friendship—he always carried your wallet, always made sure you were safe, and damn it, he even wore his dog tag around you. But you didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

The silence between you two stretched on for a heartbeat too long. Then, slowly, Simon leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You really don’t know, do you?” he asked, his voice low and almost contemplative, but there was something in his eyes now—a flicker of something softer than the usual guardedness.

You stared at him, mouth dry. “What do you mean?”

Simon didn’t respond right away. He simply took off his dog tag, the cool metal clinking as he held it between his fingers. You watched as he slipped it off and stood, crossing the short distance between you two with a confidence you couldn’t ignore. Your breath hitched as he stopped in front of you.

“Simon—”

“Luv,” he interrupted, crouching down in front of you. His hands moved gently, taking yours in his with surprising tenderness. “I do this for you because I care about you. More than you think. More than I probably should.”

Your heart raced, and you opened your mouth to speak, but he raised a hand to stop you.

“You’re right, I’m not doing this just as your ‘friend,’” Simon continued, his voice thick with something unspoken, something raw. “I’m doing it because I want to, because I need to.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, the touch soft, but firm—like a promise.

Your pulse quickened as the realization settled over you like a wave. He *did* care about you. More than you’d ever let yourself believe.

“Simon…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He gave you a small, almost apologetic smile, leaning in just a little closer. “You’ve been driving me crazy, sweetheart,” he confessed, his breath warm against your skin. “Every time you smile at me, every time I see you taking care of yourself and others, it just… I don’t know how to explain it, but I *need* to be there for you. I need you to know that you don’t have to do anything alone. And… I want more than just this. More than just us hanging out and pretending this is nothing.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The words were all there—sincere, raw, real—but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around them. This was Simon. Your Simon. The one who took care of you, the one who wouldn’t let you pay for anything, the one who wore that dog tag just for you. He wasn’t just your protective roommate. He wasn’t just your friend.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. It was the first time you had heard any uncertainty from him, and it made your heart ache.

“I… I think I do,” you whispered, your fingers curling around his in return. “I think I’ve wanted this for a while now.”

Simon let out a breath you hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders relaxing. He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against your forehead, a tender, lingering kiss that left your skin warm.

“Good,” he murmured, his hand finding its way to your cheek, lifting your face toward his. His gaze locked with yours, soft but full of a quiet intensity. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”

Before you could say anything else, Simon closed the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was nothing like the playful teasing or the friendly pats on the back you were used to. This was slow, deliberate, and full of promise. It was the start of something new, something real.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Simon’s forehead rested against yours.

“I’ve wanted this for a while too, sweet’eart,” he murmured. “For a long time.”

And in that moment, everything in the world felt right, as though the weight of all the unspoken words, the unsaid feelings, had finally been lifted. You weren’t just Simon’s roommate anymore. You were his. And he was yours.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[charlotteking23]

My Makeup Tester - MV33/1

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: you and Max go to a makeup store to test some products out on him.

“Hmm, Maxie which color do you like better?”, you said holding up two shades of pink lipsticks.

Max looked up from his phone putting it away in his pocket, the other hand holding a basket full of makeup products.

“Umm, the one on the left”, he said inspecting the shades closer, satisfied with his choice.

You hold up the lipsticks again before putting the one Max wanted into the basket.

We walked around the store until you saw some Korean lip tints.

“Look Maxie they have those viral lip tints here”, you said excitedly pulling him over to the area.

You look between the shades option trying to see which one is better.

“Maxie I need your help”, you said turning to Max with a pout on your face.

“ What is it liefje”, Max said squishing your cheeks together, grinning softly at your adorableness.

“Can I put this lip tint on your lips?”, batting your eyelashes.

“Why can't you put it on your lips?”, Max asks confusingly.

“I already have lipstick on my face so it won’t show and it’s hard to get my lipstick off," you pouted, bringing your hand up to Max’s lips.

Max just nodded in acceptance not wanting to see you sad.

Max saw you grabbing the lip tint and carefully putting it on his lips. To him time seemed to slow down when you were doing it.

Slowing he wrapped his arms around your waist, enjoyed looking at your concentrated face seeing a small pout form on your face at the color you don’t like.

Finally, after a few minutes, you reached a verdict on the color that would be perfect.

“Hey, why are you putting it on your skin, when you just tried it on me?”, Max said looking at you swiping the color on your wrist.

“I have to test the color theory to make sure it also looks good on my skin”, you said holding up your wrist.

But instead, Max takes your wrist kissing the inside of it.

The action made you blush in embarrassment, looking like a tomato.

“Awww, my red tomato”, Max said teasing you.

“Noooo Maxie, that’s a horrible nickname and I hate tomatoes”, you said pulling his arm toward the checkout line to pay.

“Hmm, what about my Cherry, he whispered.

“Cherry…”you whispered, testing it out on your tongue.

You liked cherries a whole lot better than tomatoes.

“Alright, my sweet Cherry”, Max said paying for your items before walking out holding your hand, and the other holding your shopping bag.

[asunflowerana]

𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐭

summary: usual grocery day with your husband

with: bokuto koutaro, oikawa tooru, sakusa kyoomi and osamu miya.

n/a: brought this one from my old blog, one of my favorites. I'm thinking about making a part 2 with more hq boys, I personally enjoy imagining them dealing with grocery with me 😂. hope you guys enjoy!

⊛ bokuto koutaro

a child inside a full-grow 190cm male body, that's what he is. The fact that he still pouts whenever you remind him that "no, you can't get inside the cart baby, you won't fit" proves the point. But besides his childish mood, he can turn your time shopping a lot funnier.

he does cart races, searches for lower prices like hunting a treasure, throw his hands in the air when he finds his favorite snacks and cackles at every single brand with a silly name. He's a total dork, but his excitement is so endearing that you cannot help but absorb it. It's actually sweet, the way he lightly takes a domestic duty. He's also helpful, willingly carrying the bags to the car, and storing the groceries later at home.

he yearns to stay close to you, so even if his both hands are grabbing the cart handle, at least some arm-brushing will happen. He'll feel pretty lost if you both need to part ways through the market, but it's cute how he beams when you guys find each other later.

favorite section: breakfast food section (he's addicted to cereal), and meat section.

what you usually hear from him: "babe, can we buy this?"

⊛ oikawa tooru

if there's something Tooru doesn't look forward to, is grocery day. He even tried to wipe it off the fridge calendar a few times before, but you're too good to be fooled. "the Santos already ordered by delivery, why can't we do the same?" and he always uses the neighbor's card to try to convince you, whining like his teenager version would.

but one way or another, you always get him to go. If he's in a bad mood, he'll probably sulk in the beginning, lazily riding the cart while sighing every two minutes 'cause this is a total "waste of time". But as the shopping proceeds, he gets used to it, even forgetting what he was so grumpy about when a product catches his attention. With some subtle kisses and a small treat, you can even get a smile out of him. 

He likes to wrap his arm around your back or keep you close by the waist. Not having you there with him it's the worst thing it could happen, so he needs to make sure you stay by his side (also because he simply likes holding you).

favorite section: checkouts (not a surprise), and cosmetics section (he can spend a good amount of time selecting body products).

what you usually hear from him: "are we done?"; "baby, I need your help. This one, or this one?".

⊛ sakusa kiyoomi

He's the one looking forward to this day. He gets uneasy when things run out in the house, so going shopping is almost necessary for his peace of mind. What he doesn't look forward to, though, is dealing with people at the supermarket. Most precisely, the lines, but let's not talk about it to not ruin the mood.

he's very selective, taking whatever time he has to inspect and be sure of the products, in case it isn't a common choice of yours. He appreciates being aware of what you are consuming, not only for being an athlete but because he cares about your health. He likes to share what he's been learning from the team's nutritionist, but he is not a dictator: if you want to treat yourself to some tasty sweets or snacks, he won't get in the way. He'll even join the party.

He'll offer his arm for you to wrap your own, or hold hands. He's grateful to have your company, so he'll cherish it as much as he can. He's also very protective if the place or the lines are too crowned, keeping you by his side and holding you close with his arm.

favorite section: cleaning products (you have no idea how relieved he gets when he goes there).

what you usually hear from him: "I know you want it. Go ahead, put in the cart"; "tsc, they always put the gloves way back there"; "these stupid lines. Again."

⊛ osamu miya

The king of groceries. He's used to doing this two, or three times a week, and it never gets boring. The experience has made him smarter about where and when it is best to buy, plus he has a good eye when it comes to product quality and price. So yeah, you have almost nothing to worry about when Osamu Miya is your grocery partner. Almost.

He's very chill and helpful while shopping, but you better keep a good eye on the cart: it'll get filled to the brim in one minute. When Osamu likes something, he makes a point of buying as much as he can. Once, he filled almost three entire carts, and half of one was just from rice bags. Someone might think you have a whole volleyball team as a family with the amount of food he wants to take home.

Hands on your back, shoulder, waist, any free space he has to keep you close to him – and he'll keep it there the whole time. Touch is one of his love languages, so there's no way he won't keep in contact with you.

favorite section: fruit and vegetables section, and bakery section (he loves the smell of fresh ingredients).

what you usually hear from him: "sweetheart, just one more. It'll be the last, I promise"; "hope Tsum doesn't visit us today"

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[dearlyya]

TIL’ WE MEET AGAIN | Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

Chapter One-Persistence; When a coward turns hero.

Warnings; Angst, pre-canon, hurt/comfort, Zaunites, Piltians, revolution, violence, blood, gore, drinking, smoking, gambling, swearing, sex, brothels, drugs, slow burn, the reader is a coward at first, original character (Wynn), strangers to lovers, bittersweet, Old Silco being weirdly sentimental, Jinx being noisy, and major character death.

A/N; I don’t do taglists, sorry. I also want to thank my friend for supporting my writing, proofreading, and character creation of Wynn. Love you, bro.

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Undercity is considered an industrial stain nestled beneath the grand city of Piltover.

With air that hangs heavy, and its people feral. Towering smokestacks belch black smoke into the already smog sky, casting long shadows over the cramped alleyways and buildings. The streets are strewn with discarded scrap metal, chemical waste, and other debris of the relentless production that drives the Undercity's economy. 

The warm green glow of the gas lamps casts an eerie, shimmering light over the buzzing market stalls and their wares. Cautious eyes dart about, gripping the crate tightly, as your knuckles white with tension. You trudge through the damp, uneven cobblestone path. Your heavy boots thud, but the market muffles the sound. Wynn strides ahead of you, his boysenberry hair reflecting the green making his hair almost black.

Both of you carry large, sloshing crates of alcohol that clink and bounce with each jostle from the crowded lane. Your tattered cloak draped your form, the hood pulled low to fight against the season's coldness and obscure your face from the lingering enforcers.

You instinctively glance at the enforcers standing near a stall, their voices raised in angry conversation with the stall’s owner, who appears equally irritated. They are likely issuing citations for illegal imports or contraband. Detailed by the other armored man holding up a list and pointing at the merchandise. However, when the vendor suddenly shoves one of them, you quickly avert your gaze, choosing to ignore the escalating commotion and focus on navigating the crowded marketplace.

Fighting wasn’t something you could do against the enforcers unless you’d want a hefty prison sentence or killed. So, you allow them to conduct their inspections and searches, gritting your teeth if their hands linger on your body for far too long.

You did dream of something better, a fictional land where all is peace and harmony, but that's wishful thinking. Life gave the Undercity people the short end of the stick, so now all you want is to keep your life, provide some aid to wanders, and of course keep the tavern: The Last Drop. Afloat.

Some vendors attempt to grab your attention, but you politely shake your head. Keep your eyes trained on Wynn who glides through the people with ease. You stumble and slip between people straining to keep up with your friend. Cursing under your breath at the fact that you could’ve gotten your supply runner to fetch the cargo, but no. Coins have been getting slimmer and slimmer at the drop. One of the many reasons why your resentment, once directed at the enforcers, began to shift towards the rebels who fought against them. While their cause was just, their tactics often made life even harder for the ordinary citizens of the Undercity. Strikes, protests, and their thievery disrupted supply lines which left families and businesses like yours struggling to make ends meet. Of course, this is only rooted in fear. 

Fear of losing more.

The mines that delve deep into Runeterra. Extracting precious minerals to fuel the insatiable demand. Workers in harsh conditions, their health and safety were often sacrificed for the sake of profit. Stark contrasts the cutting-edge innovation of Piltover ‘coexisting’ with the rampant corruption and exploitation they cause the city below them.

Down in the fissures, where deep cracks in the earth have split open, a treacherous underground network of tunnels and caverns caused by the relentless mining and drilling operations. Was bustling with the activity of workers, faces smeared with grime.

You and your father worked in those mines, and many families did. Your life narrowed down to one moment. A vivid horrible memory. You knew you should’ve put up a fight, and struggled against the enforcers alongside the others. When the tears finally spilled over, streaming down your face in hot, bitter rivulets. You couldn’t help but cower. You remember his body and the way the world seemed to tilt and spin around you.

When you pushed yourself up, letting go of a rusty pickaxe. A strong arm shoved you roughly back to the ground. It sent shockwaves through your malnourished body. Your coal-covered glove scraped against the unforgiving, rocky ground as you trembled uncontrollably, shaking like a frightened animal.

A cacophony of screams and desperate cries pierced everyone's ears like shards of glass. Through ‘The Gray’ smog you saw people–workers–were fighting against the enforcers with a fury born of desperation, their voices raw as they tried to reach your father, who was knelt on the ground, clutching the back of his head. Blood, vivid red against the rocks, drips steadily from his fingers, staining the earth beneath him. A macabre work of art. The sight of it sears itself into your mind, something you still see to this day.

Your wide eyes locked onto your father, drinking in every detail of his face, committing it to memory, as the screams and shouts faded into a distant, muffled hum.

He met your gaze, his expression was steady and calm despite the chaos that raged around you. He's trying so hard not to look frightened, putting on a brave face for your sake. He gulped, and in that tiny gesture, you saw the truth of his fear reflected in his eyes. But there's something else there too, a silent message of love and reassurance that told you that everything will be okay, that he'll protect you no matter what happens to him. 

But the man behind him, the one through the smog, the one who raises his gun high above his shoulder–tells a different story. The gun glints harshly reflecting off the gold on the enforcer. Quick to get to your knees, a firm kick sends you forward along with a harsh boot on your back keeps you in place. You cried out at the pressure, as you squirmed to get closer to your father. 

It's a swift blow, brutally efficient in its execution. The butt of the gun connected with the back of his head with a nauseating crack, and he crumpled to the ground. He fell face-first onto the unforgiving rocks. His body would twitch, but the last sliver of life drained away in an instant. You barely heard the final, choked-off words that he never got to finish. His last confession of "I love you" was stolen away by the cruel hand of fate.

Your breathing gets heavy when you remember, each intact a painful reminder of the life that still flows through your veins, even as everything else feels cold and numb. You shakily grip the case. It takes a special kind of strength, and true courage to stand up despite others bringing you down, to crush your hopes and dreams beneath the weight of their fears and insecurities.

You're not sure what you believe in anymore. That day the foundations of your world were shaken when the very ground beneath your feet shifted and crumbled, leaving you feeling lost and adrift in a sea of uncertainty before you were taken by the hand and brought up to a raft. You’ll always be grateful to Wynn. Though, all you know is that life is rather unfair, especially in the Undercity, and all you want to do is survive. Is that selfish? 

Perhaps you are one of those pushovers.

You were too lost in thought when you got pushed to the side, sending you to your left, and letting go of the crate to catch your fall, gritting your teeth you look up but notice it’s those same enforcers now carrying off that vendor's supplies. The one that shoulder checks you, gives you a look, and even with its helmet on you can tell that they’re testing your reaction. You look down at your crate. It’s open and bottles–thankfully not broken–have rolled out.

Maybe you've always been that way, content to let others make the decisions, to follow the path of least resistance rather than forging your way forward. But with the aftermath of your father's lifeless body that laid before you and the weight of powerlessness bearing down on your shoulders, you can't help but wonder if there isn't more to you than that.

Maybe, deep down, buried beneath the layers of fear and self-doubt, there is a spark of courage waiting to be ignited, a flicker of determination that just needs the right circumstances to flare into life.

You carefully lift each bottle to the crate, ensuring they are securely packed. Reaching for a bottle of scotch, your hand accidentally brushes against its neighbor, sending the bottle rolling away. It clicks and clanks across the cobblestone path before disappearing into the shadows of a nearby alley.

You pause, considering whether to retrieve the wayward bottle, but the risk of Wynn ringing your neck for wasting good money has you sighing. A broke bitch during inflation is someone you don’t want to mess with. You continue to pack the remaining bottles and get back to your feet, crate in arms.

No one notices you entering the alley, with your head hanging low. 

The ground is littered with discarded metal scraps, used needles, and unidentifiable substances. Peering from beneath your hood, you scan the area for any sign of the missing bottle, but your search becomes useless. Instead, you hear labored breathing and pained grunts from further down the narrow way. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the scene before you. The glint of gold and blue uniforms mingles with the tattered red of the man's clothing. The sight is all too familiar. The enforcers’ figures huff up and down, laughing at each other in cruel satisfaction as they rain down blows on the man. Their boots connected with sickening thuds against his bloodied body. You can’t tear your eyes away from them. 

The right circumstance is all someone needs.

“Look at you, pathetic like the rest of those revolutionaries. You’re nothing but a filthy rat scurrying in the gutters and trash of refined people.” One of them coo, tilting their head at the body, you step closer.

You should move on, and let them take this man’s life if need be, so you can slip by unnoticed. It would be far more understandable than helping someone out of the kindness of your heart, but you have never felt such a surge of emotion before. The impending doom that bloomed in your gut yelling in your ear with a booming voice telling you that if you didn’t help this man you’d truly be the vermin that topside thinks you are. You can’t explain it to yourself, all your bitter-laced words and morals clashed when you heard them throwing those humiliating remarks. 

The right circumstance is all she needed.

The enforcers continue to beat him. You don’t think very much, the few thoughts that pass your mind are typically about personal survival, so thinking about beating these men into a pulp like they are with your fellow scum has you dropping the crate and racing towards them. Your heart is in your ears, bile backing up in your throat, as your coat flies off you. The knife you grip sinks into the nearest Piltie. Into their exposed armor between the helmet and chest plate. An honest, lucky blow to the neck.

He yelps, stopping his assault to cradle the wound that spurts blood between his gloved fingers. He staggers away as the other enforcer finally grasps the situation. With your dagger in the side of the other guy's neck, you quickly skimmed around the alley looking for a possible weapon, you spotted the bottle but you weren’t quick enough. The intact enforcer rushed at you and slammed you against the brick wall of a building. Your head hits it roughly dazing you. Your windpipe closes up when the enforcer pushes your throat with his forearm. His metal suit cuffs dig into your skin. You're frantic now. 

Shit–you didn’t think this through. Death was now a concrete possibility, and dying next to the man you tried so hard to save felt like the greatest irony. The pain shooting through your neck grew unbearable, causing tears to well up and cascade down your cheeks, despite the insults being thrown your way.

On this final night alive, you admit to yourself that you might have cared about the revolution after all. Your body was lifted off the ground, dangling up near this blue and gold-clad man. Both of your hands grip his gloves, trying to cause any damage by digging your nails into him. More tears roll. You weren’t crying because your own life was flashing before your eyes, but because you couldn’t save a symbol. A figure of hope.

The enforcer that you stabbed lays slumped against a gross dumpster, his hand weakly clawing at the stab wound in his neck. Crimson blood seeped through his armor, staining it a dark, glistening red. He twitched and spasmed as blood continued to spurt from the exposed injury. Despite everything a pang of guilt flickered in your chest. You had never taken a life before. Your gaze drifted to his neck, and realization dawned on you–your dagger was missing. As you slipped in and out of consciousness, the grip on your neck loosened.

The enforcer collapsed on top of you, pinning you beneath his weight as he sank to the ground his body took you with it. You coughed and gasped, and with a wave of nausea rising in your throat and bobbing pain around it you pushed the body off you. Looking up, you met the gaze of the man you had ‘saved’. He was huffing heavily, his eyes wide and wild mixed with shock on his pale face. 

Drenched in blood, sweat, and sporting bruises all over. His long hair clings to his face, some falling out of the low ponytail. His dark red tunic under a dirty gray cut-off vest. His body quivering on the brink of exhaustion. His gaze was glossy, only fueled by the last dose of adrenaline. With a final stumble, he crumpled to the ground. The knife in hand slipped away as he fell. You stare. Watching him lay defenseless, a newfound courage stirred within you, and for once in your life you know your stance. Now not cowering and licking the boots of those higher than you. You own up to the consequences, yet you still tremble. Your chest rose and fell with the rhythm of your heightened adrenaline as the footsteps of additional enforcers echoed.

You crawl to him, lowering yourself to his chest, and pray you still hear a heartbeat, and you do, it’s faint. Now kneeling, you carefully hoist his right arm over your shoulder, providing support for him to lean on. He was heavy, but his weight wasn’t overwhelming, allowing you to walk slowly with him. It was clear that he needed medical attention, and so did you. You can feel the cold blood dripping down the back of your head and the tight, painful bruise forming around your neck. You aren’t some hero, a normal citizen in a position of life and death—you’ll never become a foundation of hope in your city like in your childhood. 

And she never does. 

Your experience as a kid had given you an edge, as you used to steal from stalls and run away as they tried to chase you. Now, at the age of twenty, you thank your young self for your knowledge of the best shortcuts. It comes in handy when you hide with the unconscious man by your side, evading the enforcers who finally notice their dead brothers. From around the corner, you watch a group of them trek down the main street. You make your dash to the other side, going unnoticed.

“I got you, we’re almost there” Your voice croaks, not sure if you are trying to reassure the blacked-out man or yourself, probably the latter. There's a sign, not from Janna, but from The Last Drop. Dipping into the alley next to the tavern you head around back. Your arm that is wrapped around his slim torso is drying with his blood. More blood pools on your shoulder from his broken nose. You have to prop him up on the wall to open the cellar doors, and you both descend. 

Storage racks and unopened boxes flitter the basement. However, in the corner is a cot and stool. It’s the small medical area that you would use to aid people, usually, it was for small wounds like someone with a busted lip because they got into a fight in the bar.

So, with an injured rebel who hangs on your shoulder, you are well below practice. You manage to push the battered man off you and onto the cot. He slumps halfway off the bed, so you gently roll him back, carefully lifting his legs one by one to fully position him on the cot. Your hands tremble slightly as you work, the adrenaline running thin. 

You run a hand over your hair, feeling the back of your skull. As you bring your hand back to your eyes, you’re met with deep red staining your fingers. Your wound hits you, and you finally grasp the pounding headache you have. You slowly sit on the stool beside the cot.

“Shit” You mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, despite your possible concussion your priority is the very wanted rebel to your left. Take a deep breath to steady yourself and assess him.

His chest heaves in sparse, and uneven breaths through his busted nose. He’s still grasping onto the little energy his body has left to give. You rub up the bridge of your nose. The gravity of harboring a wanted revolutionary is not lost on you. Though at this moment, all that matters is saving his life, and not falling over while doing it. 

You lean onto your elbows while sitting, glancing at the empty bucket and washcloth, getting ready to work.

[intsofttech]

Capsule inspection machine design by Intsoft Tech

[little-jana]

"Let's Be Alone Together"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing, just two cuties

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Reader and Spencer escape reality together and spent Christmas together.

Christmas Eve in Quantico wasn’t exactly where I imagined spending the holiday, but the BAU didn’t really operate on a nine-to-five schedule. A last-minute case had pulled everyone into the office earlier that week, but thankfully, we’d wrapped it up just in time for the holidays.

Now, the bullpen was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. Most of the team had already headed home, eager to spend Christmas with their families. I should’ve done the same, but somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. The blinking cursor on my laptop screen had hypnotized me, or at least that’s the excuse I told myself.

The truth was, it wasn’t like I had anyone waiting for me at home. My plans consisted of takeout, bad Christmas movies, and falling asleep on the couch. Maybe a part of me had hoped that if I stayed long enough, I wouldn’t have to face that silence.

A familiar voice broke through my thoughts. “Still here?”

I glanced up to see Spencer Reid standing by his desk, looking equally as stranded. His cardigan was slightly askew, his tie loosened just enough to look almost relaxed.

“You’re still here too,” I countered, offering him a small smile.

He shrugged, shuffling a few papers on his desk. “I thought I’d finish up some reading before heading out. What about you?”

I gestured to my screen. “Pretending to be productive.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his smile growing. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re allowed to take a break, you know.”

“I could say the same to you, genius,” I teased. “What is it this time? A thesis on the psychological implications of holiday traditions?”

He gave me a sheepish smile. “Actually, it’s a collection of Christmas short stories. Charles Dickens, O. Henry...”

“Fiction?,” I said surprised.

“I do enjoy a good academic paper,” he admitted with a grin. “But sometimes… fiction feels like a better escape.”

I leaned back in my chair, studying him. “So, you’re avoiding reality too, huh?”

Spencer hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

There was something vulnerable in the way he said it, something that made my chest ache. Spencer wasn’t exactly the most open person when it came to his feelings, but I’d learned to read between the lines.

“You know,” I said, standing and crossing the room toward him, “we could avoid reality together. I’ve got leftover cookies and a terrible collection of Christmas movies. What do you say?”

He blinked, startled. “You mean… tonight? With you?”

“No, Spencer, I meant with the ghost of Christmas past,” I teased, rolling my eyes.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I don’t want to impose—”

“Spence,” I interrupted, my tone gentle but firm. “It’s not imposing if I’m inviting you. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, before finally nodding. “Okay. I’d like that.”

---

An hour later, we were sitting on my couch, surrounded by the warm glow of twinkling Christmas lights. A tin of cookies rested between us, along with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Spencer had insisted on helping me carry everything up from my car earlier, and now he was inspecting one of the sugar cookies with a level of scrutiny that made me laugh.

“It’s just a cookie, Spence,” I said, nudging him playfully.

“Actually, there’s a fascinating history behind sugar cookies,” he began, his face lighting up. “They originated in Pennsylvania in the 1700s—”

I held up a hand, laughing. “Let me stop you right there. No cookie history tonight. We’re watching Rudolph, and that’s final.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. “Fine. But if I’m going to sit through stop-motion reindeer, I expect at least one scientific inaccuracy to discuss.”

We settled into the couch, the opening credits of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer playing softly in the background. Spencer was surprisingly into it, occasionally pointing out character dynamics or chuckling at the outdated animation.

By the time the movie ended, I felt a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate. Spencer had relaxed completely, his usual guarded demeanor replaced by something softer, something sweeter.

“You know,” he said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence, “this is the first Christmas Eve I haven’t spent alone in… a long time.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion. I turned to him, my heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice.

“You’re not alone now,” I said softly.

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For this. For… everything.”

I smiled, reaching out to place my hand over his. “You don’t have to thank me, Spence. I’m just glad you’re here.”

For a moment, we just sat there, the silence between us filled with something unspoken but deeply understood.

“You know,” he said, his voice hesitant, “I’ve always found it hard to connect with people. But with you… it’s different. It’s easy.”

My breath caught at the sincerity in his voice. “It’s easy with you too, Spencer,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.

He hesitated, then took a small, tentative step closer. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I… I think this might be the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had,” he said, his cheeks flushing slightly.

I felt my heart swell at his words, and before I could overthink it, I leaned in and kissed his cheek, letting my lips linger for just a moment. His skin was warm, and I felt him freeze slightly before relaxing under the soft touch.

When I pulled back, he was staring at me, his eyes wide and filled with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

Before I could say anything else, he leaned forward, closing the small distance between us, and pressed his lips gently against mine. The kiss was soft and sweet, a perfect mix of shyness and intent.

When he finally pulled back, his cheeks were bright red, but there was a small, shy smile on his lips.

“Merry Christmas,” he said quietly, his voice full of warmth.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer,” I replied, my heart feeling lighter than it had in years.

And as we sat there, the glow of the Christmas tree wrapping us in its warmth, I couldn’t help but think that this—being here with him—was exactly what Christmas was supposed to feel like.

a/n: I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a peaceful holiday season.

[thebluester2020]

Kinktober Day 27: "Obedience Training"

Summary: Pantalone has bought a new pet! Unfortunately, training a new pet isn't as easy as it seems but, thankfully, he has all the patience in the world for you.

Warning(s): Heavy Pet-Play, Degradation/Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Nipple Piercing Play(?), Pure Kinky Filth, Master/Sir Kink, Pantalone is a bit of a sadist here ngl.

Side Note(s): I saw the hottest Pantalone fanart the other day so that alone made me want to write for him.

A roaring flame of desire flooded your veins as you currently sat on your master's desk. The keeper of his riding crop teasingly tilting your head upward to look into his deep violet eyes.

"For such a naughty pet that was giving me sooo much trouble earlier, you're rather eager to be obedient now, aren't you?" You blushed at the seductive way his words rolled off of his tongue. You swore that he could've made the most mundane thing sound good. Yet as you attempted to shift around on your spot on his desk, you hissed when he suddenly tugged at the metal chain that connected the pretty nipple piercings that he gifted you just last week.

Pantalone tilted his head with a stone-faced expression when you squeezed your thighs together, trying to hide the slick that was quickly pooling on his desk.

Not that it was possible to hide much from the harbinger to begin with, in his line of work, he always had to have a keen eye. And he wouldn't dare to let those rules falter, not even when it came to you. "On the contrary pet, you seem to be enjoying this rough treatment...wouldn't you agree?" You gasped when he tugged at the chain once more, pulling you forward a little as the delicious sting of pain made drool begin to build up in your mouth.

You managed to give him a shaky nod. "Y-Yes..."

"...Yes...?"

"M-Master..." Your already red face deepened in color at the title.

As good as he was at making you feel like his prized lover, he was equally good at making you feel like an unworthy dog. "Even though you were rude enough to interrupt my meeting just a mere day ago with such abhorrent behavior—" Pantalone gently placed the riding crop beside your thigh, keeping a finger dutifully looped around the chain whilst his newly freed hand traveled to your thigh, steadily parting them to glance at your wet cunt. "—I'm feeling generous with how gorgeous you look in the piercings I bought you, pet." He sighed.

Your eyes immediately went to his hardening cock.

Yet as you dared to try and move your leg to graze against it, a quick smack against your inner thigh put you back in your place. "Don't let my praises make you resume your previous behavior," Pantalone sternly warned.

"You'll take what I give you and pray to whatever Archon is willing to listen to that mouth of yours that I even consider giving you more." A high-pitched whine left your lips when a gloved finger of his began to tease your entrance, inspecting and parting your cunt as if he were eyeing a new product. "P-Please..." You begged, the rest of your sentence choking up in your throat when Pantalone tugged at your chain, silently ordering for your silence.

However, it was so difficult to be silent when all you could think about was how much you wanted him to do something to you, anything even! You knew very well how good his fingers felt on your cunt, how skilled and knowledgable they were about where to touch and exactly how to make you squirm and beg for more. His tongue was even more skilled, that alone was easily concludable with how easily sly words fell from his lips.

Each word sounded like a gift and the way he'd move his tongue on your clit was even more of a gift.

The very memory of how it felt against you, you couldn't help but squirm.

Your lover quickly responded by grabbing the back of your head and tugging it, forcing your head back and exposing your neck. "Now pet...I know you aren't putting up a pitiful fight against your punishment are you?" He chuckled sadistically.

"N-No..." You moaned, the pain from him pulling on your head blending in well with how he parted your legs even more, his fingers having more room to play with your cunt as they teasingly danced around touching you where you wanted him most. "Please...just touch me."

"Oh?" He hummed. "But I already am—" He leaned in to press a kiss to your jugular, his raven hair framing his porcelain skin perfectly as he looked at you through his long lashes. "—You'll have to be more specific darling, or else..." You keened when his fingers ghosted over your clit, delicately flicking at your nub for only a moment before his fingers went back to trailing and circling around your entrance. "...I'll continue playing with you a little more."

"My-my clit...t-touch me there...!" Pantalone laughed at how shameless you were at your begging. "I need it...n-need you, so badly..."

He had a mind to reward you with a kiss for how prettily you begged. But, as he pressed the pad of his fingers to the hood of your clit, immediately taking up a fast pace, he figured with how you were beginning to cry from the pleasure...this was a reward enough. "Try not to cum too quickly darling," Pantalone chuckled. "Let's test your endurance, hm? Needy sluts like yourself need to be trained well in how to last long."

"A-Ah—!" You yelped when his hand suddenly left your hair to begin resuming his tugs to your chain. "S-Slow down! I-I feel..."

Pantalone smirked. "Slow down? For what?" He cooed mockingly. "Don't tell me you're already trying to make demands of me darling...even after I've been so gracious with you, you still want to make demands like a whore with no training." He spat before tugging at your chain even harsher.

Your body was confused with what it wanted to do. You wanted to scream from the pain but also moan with how good Pantalone was touching your clit, your slick beginning to pool and drip down the front of the desk. "Ahh....m-master...!" You whined. "Mercy—"

"So cute darling..." He chuckled as he blatantly ignored your pleas by sliding his fingers from your clit to teasing your entrance for a moment before quickly plunging his fingers into your cunt. You choked on your own breath with how quickly he found your g-spot, the feeling of his knuckles persistently rolling into your sweet spot making you scream in pleasure. "You've always had such a lovely set of lungs on you," Pantalone continued to praise you, his words going straight to your cunt. "Let's see how much you can truly handle, hm?"

In unison with him fingering your cunt, Pantalone then started to pull at your chain, tugging at your nipples just hard enough to where you felt the stings of pain but not to where it overrides your pleasure. "N-No, this is...too...fuck...!" You whined, your hips beginning to unconsciously buck to meet the thrusts of Pantalone's fingers.

"T-Too deep..." You panted. "C-Can't take it...master..."

Your lover smirked wickedly. "You can't?" He laughed incredulously in your face. "Too bad." Pantalone then lowered his face to where you could feel his heated breath against the shell of your ear. "If you aren't feeling a little fear darling...how do you expect to learn from your mistakes?"

Tears of frustration and pleasure then began to build on your eyeline. "But...I-I have learned!"

Pantalone suddenly tore his fingers from your pussy before smacking your cunt, your body jolting from the sudden smack. "I'll be the judge of that, not you." He frowned, smacking you once more before he returned to fingering your cunt. Steadily a knot began to form in the pit of your gut, one that grew tighter and tighter by the passing second as your thighs began to shake at the force of your oncoming orgasm.

"You seem a little distracted..." Pantalone said, loosening his grip on the chain entirely as he decided to use his other hand to rub at your clit, the influx of pleasure making your arms fly to loop around your lover's neck as you quickly pulled him closer. "Are you close darling?"

"Uh huh..." You nodded dumbly, pleasured tears streaming down your face. "Please...let me cum..."

He smirked at your honesty, a quiet moan leaving his lips as he started to rut shamelessly against your leg in an attempt to stave off his need to sink himself deep inside your pussy. "The sound of you begging to cum is like music to my ears..." He moaned. "Keep doing it, and I just might have no choice but to let you cum."

Without a second thought, pleas and moans for more left your lips like a unblocked dam. Your arms looping tighter around Pantalone's neck as you began to lose yourself to the pleasure. "Fuck..." You whined. "P-Pantalone...I'm so close...pleasepleaseplease let me cum." You said as a lewd squelching noise started to reach you and Pantalone's ears alongside your combined panting and moaning.

The harbinger thought you were so cute with how earnestly you were begging him to allow you to cum all over his fingers. Although the sadistic part of him wanted to make you wait a little bit longer for your orgasm...it seemed like you were influencing him. He'd be able to teach you more thoroughly with his cock fucking you into unconsciousness. "Okay then..." He panted. "Cum, cum all over your master's fingers." He said before he pressed his lips to your own.

The tender softness of his lips on your own...that was the straw that broke the camel's back as you suddenly tensed up, a loud gushing noise escaping from your cunt as you screamed into your lover's mouth, grabbing at any article of clothing that you could to further stabilize yourself.

Pantalone only took his lips away from yours when he felt you weakly smack him to let him know you were running out from air, a single string of spit still connecting the both of you as he looked down to see the front of his pants darkened by your fluids. "Now...how did my cute pet manage to make such a mess?" He lightly scolded you, gently taking his fingers from your sex before he tasted your cum.

You blushed as he hummed at your addictive taste, releasing his fingers from his lips with a 'pop' before his eyes returned to your own. A renewed hunger settled deep within his pupils as he smirked at you. "I suppose I'll have to teach you a little longer, won't I pet?" He said before he pressed his hard-on against your leg more obviously.

You couldn't nod your head fast enough.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

The Canadian Food Inspection Agency says the recent Listeria contamination of several plant-based milks occurred in a Pickering, Ont., factory. It says the contamination happened on a "dedicated production line" at Joriki, which is a third-party beverage packaging facility used by plant-milk manufacturer Danone Canada. The agency says that the production line has been "completely disassembled while inspection at the facility is ongoing." The Public Health Agency of Canada previously confirmed 18 cases of listeriosis linked to Silk brand almond milk, coconut milk, almond-coconut milk and oat milk, as well as Great Value brand almond milk.

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Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

[chlerc]

— summary; he believed you when you said you would fly over to celebrate his birthday with him, excited to see your face. but he didn’t know it’d be that easy for you to leave him without a trace.

pairing — jude bellingham x f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 1630.

content — angst, like bad / sad ending. they don’t get a happy ever after ending. long distance friendship, she’s always here and there for him but never stayed long enough. secretly pining over each other

NAVIGATION + author’s note: wrote this when i was sick, the motivation and inspiration always strikes here. always putting my boy jude through the angsty stories lol

song recs for this fic — no one noticed.

The glow of Madrid’s street lights flickered in the corners of her vision as she adjusted her scarf, weaving through the late-night crowds that filled the cobblestone alleys of the city. Her heart beat in time with her steps, a rhythm that both grounded and unsettled her as she drew closer to his building. It felt surreal to be here — a place she’d only known through pixels and video calls, a place that lived solely in the stories he’d woven for her across distant lines.

The door swung open, and there he was — his face breaking into a grin, eyes bright with delight and something softer, something she couldn’t name but felt resonate in her chest. Without a word, he pulled her into an embrace, his arms wrapping around her so tightly that she could feel his heartbeat against her cheek. “Didn’t expect you’d actually come,” he teased, though his eyes held a glint of something softer, something more grateful.

“Best birthday gift I could ask for,” he added, his tone light, yet his hold unwavering as though he feared she’d slip away. Pulling back, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his gaze lingering, studying her as though to make sure she was truly there.

“Well,” she murmured, brushing past him with a faint smile, “someone’s got to make sure you don’t spend your birthday alone.” She took in the room with its modest decor, the hints of his presence scattered in the form of art pieces, records stacked near the player, and an open notebook on the desk. He chuckled, closing the door behind her. “I told you, I don’t mind being alone.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, feigning an indifferent shrug. “But what if I do?” Her gaze met his, holding his for a moment before she turned away, pretending to inspect the records as though she hadn’t just travelled across countries to be here.

They settled into the evening slowly, an awkwardness blanketing them at first, a product of shared screens finally giving way to physical space. But eventually, laughter eased through the gaps, filling the quiet corners of his small apartment. They shared stories, exchanged quiet jokes, and lingered over glasses of wine that made the room feel warmer, the air laced with the scent of familiarity and anticipation.

As the evening deepened, they ventured out onto his balcony. The city lights stretched before them, bright and steady, twinkling with the same allure that had first drawn her to his words, to his enigmatic charm.

“Look at this view,” she whispered, her voice softened by awe. He shrugged, gazing at her instead of the skyline. “It’s just a city. It’s better with you here.” She smiled faintly, caught between the quiet euphoria of his words and the nagging reality that lingered at the edges of her mind. She knew she would leave soon, knew that this moment would end. The thought hung heavily between them, unspoken.

“Will you stay long?” he asked, finally breaking the silence, his voice a low murmur against the hum of the city. She exhaled, her breath curling in the cool night air. “I don’t know. Long enough, I suppose,” she replied, her words as carefully crafted as they were vague.

He reached out, catching her hand in his, a simple touch that anchored them amidst the unsteadiness of whatever this was. “You’re always like this,” he said, half-smiling. “Appearing out of nowhere and then vanishing like you’re a dream.”

“Maybe I am,” she murmured, meeting his gaze. “Maybe that’s all this ever was.” For a moment, the conversation hung heavy between them, layered with questions and fears neither dared voice. But then he laughed, and it softened the tension, bringing them back to a more familiar, playful place. “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I should make the most of this dream while it lasts.”

Jude draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, the silence between them thick with unspoken sentiments. “You know, I don’t say this enough, but I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted, his voice a murmur in the cool night air. She looked up at him, searching his expression, and a pang of something bittersweet tugged at her. She wanted to stay in this warmth, this certainty, but she knew that come dawn, she would have to slip away.

“I’m glad I came too,” she replied softly, her voice barely a whisper. Jude’s gaze was soft as he looked down at her, thumb brushing her cheek as though memorising the contours of her face. For a brief, irrational moment, she wanted to tell him everything — that she wished she could stay, that she didn’t want to leave this, leave him. But she said nothing, instead resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, each beat a fleeting reassurance she knew would fade by morning.

They leaned into the quiet closeness, the moments blurring together as the evening stretched on, her laughter mingling with his in the warm light of the city. Time drifted, unbound, until the faintest hint of dawn crept across the skyline. She glanced at him, seeing the calm softness in his eyes as they drifted shut, his breathing even, and she knew that she’d fulfilled whatever it was she’d come to do.

When he finally awoke, the first rays of morning spilling through the curtains, he found himself alone. Her scarf was still draped over the back of a chair, her perfume lingering faintly in the air. He blinked, sitting up and looking around, the remnants of last night’s laughter still fresh on his lips. But the silence pressed in, weighted and still, like a final goodbye.

On the table, she’d left a small note, folded neatly with her handwriting sprawled across the front:

“Happy Birthday. See you in the spaces between.”

He laughed quietly, though it sounded more like a sigh, tracing his fingers over the words. The irony wasn’t lost on him. She’d become his obsession, his mystery, a presence as elusive as the dreams he could never quite hold on to. And though he didn’t know when — or even if — he’d see her again, he couldn’t shake the feeling that wherever she was, some part of her would always be right here, lingering in the traces she’d left behind.

With a soft sigh, he let the silence settle around him, her absence heavy in the early morning light. Her scarf, still draped over the chair, seemed almost like a placeholder, a faint whisper of her presence against the cold, hard truth of her departure. She’d left, slipped out as quietly as she’d arrived, like a carefully crafted illusion dissipating with the dawn. He ran his hand over the note she’d left behind, her familiar handwriting tracing the words: Happy Birthday. See you in the spaces between.

He let out a quiet laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh, his thumb brushing over the ink, her words as gentle and evasive as she’d been. There was a charm to her mystery, an allure to the way she moved in and out of his life, almost as though she existed just beyond his reach, a mirage in a desert he didn’t know he’d been wandering. But this time, there was an ache behind his eyes, a quiet longing that tugged with a new intensity, as though some part of him had grown tired of the chase, of these small doses of her presence that he could never quite hold onto.

A sudden impulse tugged at him. He grabbed a pen from his desk, leaning over the small note she’d left. His fingers brushed the page as he wrote, the words forming slowly, deliberately, almost as though he was afraid of what they might reveal. 

“Don't leave me without a trace; it can’t be that easy please,” he wrote, his handwriting messy and sprawling in contrast to her neat scrawl. He paused, watching the ink dry, knowing she’d never see his reply, yet there was a strange comfort in writing it all the same, as if committing his thoughts to paper might somehow reach her, wherever she was.

He lingered over the note a moment longer, then folded it carefully, tucking it into a drawer with a sense of finality he didn’t quite feel. The silence that filled the room felt heavier now, loaded with the words left unsaid, the moments that had slipped through his fingers like sand.

In her absence, he found himself tracing back through their time together, each memory sharp and vivid, yet fleeting, like flashes of light in a darkened room. He recalled the way she’d laughed under the city lights, the way her voice had softened when she’d whispered, “Maybe I’m just a dream.” It was as if she’d known she would leave, had planned it all along, and he couldn’t decide whether to be grateful for the moments they’d shared or resentful of the empty space she’d left behind.

Yet he knew that her departure, as difficult as it was to accept, had always been part of her. She was as unpredictable as the wind, as elusive as a distant star, and perhaps that was what had drawn him to her in the first place. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting to the window, to the soft glow of morning light that seemed to fill every corner of the room with a quiet, bittersweet warmth.

And though he knew he would miss her — miss her laugh, her voice, the quiet moments they’d shared — he couldn’t shake the sense that some part of her would always linger here, an unspoken promise hanging in the air, caught between the spaces of their fleeting time together.