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dafterdarling · 16 hours ago

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pretty picture // leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

warnings: reader has lots of tattoos and is a little prickly, fluff

summary: you meet leah through a teammate of hers and fall in love immediately

word count: 1668

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Steph tries to encourage you and you scoff back.

You were currently sprawled out on your sofa watching TV with Steph leaning against the kitchen counter that, with the open concept, can oversee the living room.

It's a Friday and unlike everyone else you don't want to go out, it's actually the last thing on your mind. It's been a long week of non-stop work and all you want to do is rot on your sofa until you have to go back to work on Monday- you're actually very thankful that you don't have to work the weekend as well.

So you'd rather not waste your time in some bar or pub that Steph drags you to- or God forbid spend any time with people other than Steph.

"I don't want to go, Steph- All I want is TV and ice cream,"

You have a pint of chocolate brownie ice cream waiting in the freezer and it's begging to be opened. That was your plan- eat the whole pint while watching a crappy dating show that you had found on Netflix but Steph wanted to ruin all of that.

"Come on, you can have ice cream tomorrow and the TV will be here when we are back,"

You glare at Steph and then she looks at you with those puppy eyes that she knows melt your heart a bit- You bite the inside of your cheek and resist the urge to immediately agree.

You had known Steph for most of your life and the two of you had moved together to England so she knows exactly what works on you.

"How long is this thing?" You sigh.

Steph jumps up excitedly, "You'll be back before midnight, promise,"

Midnight? You try not to comment because you really don't want your age to show but you normally went to sleep before it hit eleven pm.

"Okay... who is coming?"

You secretly pray that she says it's just going to be the two of you but you know not to get your hopes up because the last time you hung out without a small crowd was in Australia- when you were seventeen.

"You'll find out," Steph says cryptically and you don't like the sound of that but it's too late to say no when you've already agreed.

You shake your head and mutter under your breath then turn off the TV before making your way to your room. You open the closet and sigh- because Steph has told you absolutely nothing about where she is dragging you.

"Steph?" You call for her and hear the semi-silent sock footsteps of her heading to you.

You turn to her, "What's the dress code?"

"Wear something hot," She smirks and you roll your eyes.

"I'm being serious,"

Steph chuckles and pushes you aside so she can look in the closet-

"So am I,"

You watch as she gathers some clothes and shoves them in your arms before turning and walking out the door.

You sigh because this is typical Steph behaviour but trust her anyway- you get dressed and look in the mirror. It's not bad, it's just dark washed jeans and a white t-shirt with a track top over it. It makes you think that this place you're going to isn't fancy, which you're thankful for because your bank balance is looking worse for wear after paying the bills this month.

Also because you'd rather not have to wear a turtleneck to cover your tattooed neck in the middle of July- last time you'd stepped foot in a fancy restaurant, they had asked you to leave and you really couldn't be bothered to argue so you did.

You meet Steph by the door to put your shoes on, you choose the least beat up pair out of your small collection- a pair of black boots that somewhat work with the clothes Steph picked out.

You give yourself one last check in the mirror- you would try to hype yourself up but you remember that you hate doing that more than anything. So instead you head out the door without any weird affirmations and Steph follows behind.

You make your way to your car- an old beat up little ford that is half your age and sometimes stalls, you get into the driver's seat and slam the door shut.

"Charming," She comments on a plastic bottle on the car floor.

You roll your eyes, "I've yet to throw it away-"

"No, no it adds to the... charm of it all,"

You laugh and turn the radio down slightly so Steph can give you directions. You eventually make it to a bar that looks like it hasn't been updated since the 80s but you don't comment on it. Instead you lock the car and follow Steph inside, she leads you to a table in the corner where you already can make out Beth- one of Steph's loudest friends.

"Y/N!"

You groan internally but not because you dislike Beth or anything- just because the music is already too loud and it's so hot inside this cramped bar.

"Hi, Beth," You greet her with a polite smile and a hug.

Then you sit in the semi round booth, immediately taking off your jacket because you'd rather not sweat to death. Beth and Steph sit somewhat opposite you and you begin to catch up,

"Any new ones?" Beth points down at your arms.

You smile since this is probably one of the few topics that you can discuss without issue,

"Yeah this one," You hold up both of your hands to show her the flowery design on the back of them.

"And then one on my back."

Beth smiles, "Must have hurt,"

You brush it off, "I've gotten used to it,"

The three of you discuss football, pets and a few other topics before the rest of the group arrive- You recognise Jen and give her a hug, then Alessia whom you've heard of in passing from Beth and a few others.

That's when you see her- Leah as she'd introduced herself and your breath is completely taken away because how can someone look so effortlessly good?

She's wearing a lovely leather jacket over a dress shirt that has the lightest of pinstripes with dark baggy trousers and so many rings- You immediately flush, half embarrassed at your own clothes and half in awe at Leah.

She greets you with a light hug and you think your heart skips a beat when she sits down next to you. You don't think you've ever been so starstruck by anyone and your throat is suddenly far too dry.

"So what do you do for work, Y/N?" Leah asks with a smile.

You can practically feel your face flush, you hope the bar is dark enough that Leah doesn't see it but you seriously doubt that because the pink lights from the dance floor are far too close. You try to play it off casually by leaning on the table and half turning your body towards her but all you can do is internally cringe at yourself.

"I'm a photographer... for an agency,"

You wished it sounded cooler but it was a little late to take it back.

"That's cool, what do you photograph?"

You swear Leah leans into you slightly but maybe it's just you,

"Err... Houses, like for sale."

It's not what you really wanted to do but it pays the bills for now and finding a new job in this economy was beyond difficult.

Leah nods then her attention focuses on your arms and you feel her touch you, making goosebumps flare up on your skin, before suddenly flinching back.

"Sorry- I have no idea why I did that-" She stutters out but you cut her off,

"It's fine, I did that one myself,"

You point at the small black blob looking cat that's surrounded by other tattoos, the rest of them looking much more professional than the self-made one.

You feel Leah's hand run up your forearm again, this time not pulling away instead tracing some of the tattoos. You swallow nervously and you have no clue why because you don't typically get nervous- not with friends.

You look away from Leah for a brief second and meet Steph's eyes, she wiggles her brows at you and you roll your eyes back before focusing on Leah again.

Her eyes meet yours and you swear that you've never looked at someone like you did her- It's weird because you don't believe in love at first sight but now swear it's happening to you.

You breathe out a soft sigh, "You're beautiful-"

"You're gorgeous-"

You laugh because you can't believe this moment, it's as if out of one of those rom coms that you secretly love to watch. Leah looks so pretty and you really want to snap a photo of her.

"Err..."

You clear your throat,

"Can- Can I get your number?"

You think she's going to say no because you're clearly out of her league and she must have a thousand different options lined up but instead She laughs and pulls her phone out,

"'Course you can, darling,"

You spend the rest of the evening talking to Leah whilst running your hands up and down her back or occasionally letting an arm rest over her shoulder. The two of you practically ignore everyone else, as if stuck in your own little world- Until it's time to go because it's way past midnight and Steph is pretty smashed.

You say goodbye to Leah outside the bar with a hug and kiss on the cheek that makes you flush red before walking back to your car with Steph.

The car ride, for the most part, is silent until Steph decides to comment,

"So you and Williamson?" She giggles like a little girl and you scoff but don't reply- letting her have it.

Mostly because yeah- you and Leah Williamson did create quite the pretty picture.

#leah williamson x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #arsenal x reader #woso #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson fanfic #arsenal women #awfc #awfc x reader #awfc imagine #arsenal wfc #leah williamson

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alinathinkstoomuch · 2 days ago

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Filthier Flat-Pack Thoughts

18+ MDNI pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: your boss rejects you the first time but what happens when he's the one in charge? (part 2 of Filthy Flat-Pack Thoughts, but can be read as a standalone) warnings: baso porn w/o plot, hotch has a filthy mouth, reader and hotch both have a thing for mirrors... p in v sex, fingering, idk man i got carried away, enjoy xx (not proof read, dont come for me) word count: 5.6k

You had taken the coward’s way out when Monday came. But really, what else were you supposed to do after throwing yourself at your boss and getting let down?

So, instead of facing the consequences of your actions – or worse, facing him – you sent Hotch a text claiming you weren’t feeling well and asked if you could use your PTO for the day.

He didn’t respond. Not directly, at least. But just before the usual morning briefing, Garcia had texted you.

Feel better soon, sunshine!!!

Accompanied by enough emojis to make your head spin. Which meant he must have told them. Which meant that it was fine. And yet, the thought of him seeing your message, reading it, and choosing not to reply left a pit in your stomach that you weren’t ready to unpack.

You just needed one more day.

One more day to shake off the mortification, to stop replaying every humiliating second of Friday night in your head, to convince yourself that come Tuesday, you would walk into work and pretend none of it ever happened.

You didn’t want the day to go to waste so you tried to be productive, throwing yourself into the thing that would keep your hands and mind occupied - finally unpacking.

And you had mostly succeeded.

Most of your boxes were empty, your things finally finding a place in your new home, and after an embarrassing amount of time, you had even managed to put together your bedside table. But despite the distraction, despite the minor victory of assembling furniture without Hotch’s help, the second you sat down, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, it was still there.

That awful, gnawing awareness that sooner or later you were going to have to face him.

You decided that a hot shower might help wash away the lingering shame clinging to your skin. You turned the water up almost too hot, as you stood under the shower head, hands pressed against the cool tiles.

It was fine.

You just needed to stop overthinking it. Hotch wasn’t cruel. He had let you down gently. He had done the right thing. So why did your stomach still twist at the memory of it?

By the time you stepped out, your body felt warm, relaxed - your mind, less so. You pulled on one of your softer, more delicate chemises – a small indulgence in comfort you desperate needed. Then, with a sigh, you settled onto the couch, grabbing your phone and tapping through your contacts.

Garcia picked up on the second ring.

“Ah, my fallen soldier! How are we holding up?”

You groaned, shifting on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. “I’m fine, Pen. Just taking a day to recover.”

“As you should, my dear. Self-care is critical after a weekend of… whatever happened that has you hiding away.”

You rolled your eyes, stretching out against the cushions. “Moving, Penelope. Moving has be hiding away. It is truly an exhausting process.”

Garcia hummed, evidently not convinced by your little white lie. “Well, boss man seems exhausted too. Or just very tense and broody. I can’t tell anymore, his scowls are all starting to blend together. Did he maybe pull a muscle helping you with your furniture or something?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Penelope -” you started, only to be cut off by a knock at your door.

You froze.

“Okay, who have you sent to my door this time?” you muttered, pushing yourself up from the sofa.

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m not the mastermind behind all surprise visitors.”

You didn’t believe her for a second.

Still, you pulled on your robe, tugging it over your chemise as you made your way to the door. The fabric felt softer than usual, almost fragile, like it wasn’t quite enough of a barrier between you and what was waiting on the other side.

Balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder, you tied a loose knot at your waist, fingers fidgeting with the belt as Garcia sighed dramatically on the other end.

“Well? Who is it? Spill.”

Your hand hesitated over the lock, a second of hesitation turning into two, three, before you finally turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Your stomach plummeted.

Because there he was.

Aaron Hotchner.

Standing on your doorstep – again. Looking every bit like the man you had spent the last two days trying to avoid, trying to forget, trying not to replay in your head on a never-ending loop.

“Let me call you back, Garcia,” you murmured absentmindedly, already pulling the phone away from your ear, hanging up before she could even think to respond.

Because right now, the last thing you needed was an audience.

You barely registered the sound of the line disconnecting, too focused on the man standing in front of you. Hotch didn’t speak right away, didn’t explain why he was here, didn’t offer you anything to ease the knot forming in your stomach.

He just watched you, which was almost worse.

You had been bracing yourself for tomorrow, telling yourself that by then, the weight of everything would have settled just enough for you to fake your way through the awkwardness, to act like Friday night had never happened.

But here he was. Now. And the fragile plan you’d built to protect yourself had just gone up in flames.

“Can we sit?”

His voice was softer than you expected. Softer than you were ready for.

You pressed your lips together, shifting on your feet, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe, grounding yourself in the feel of the fabric, something real to hold onto.

A moment passed before you finally stepped aside, nodding slightly.

"Yeah."

Your lips pressed together as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe.

He moved toward the couch, and you should have followed.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you lingered near the doorway, arms crossing over your chest, putting space between you. An invisible barrier, as if it could protect you from whatever was about to come next Hotch noticed, of course he did. His gaze flicked over you, reading every tiny shift in your posture, every hesitation, every instinct to put distance between you.

And still, he didn’t push. Not until he settled on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Sit, angel."

It was the way he said it – so soft, so steady – that you almost weren’t sure you’d heard him right. You sighed, resigned to the fact that there was no avoiding this conversation and lowered yourself onto the couch, leaving enough space between you.

A brief pause stretched between you. He was studying you, assessing you, trying to read you. And you suddenly felt so exposed despite the layers of fabric now separating you from him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone feeling dangerously close to concern.

You let out a small, dry laugh, shaking your head. “You came all this way to ask me that?”

“Did you take today off because of what happened Friday?” he countered your question with another, leaning forward.

You expected the question, but hearing it out loud – acknowledging it – made you ache all over again. You dropped your gaze, fingers toying with the edge of your robe, avoiding his eyes like that somehow could make this easier. “I just… needed a day.”

Hotch nodded like he understood, like he had already known the answer before you even said it. His expression softened, and when he spoke again, it was even gentler than before.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly, too quickly.

Hotch didn’t look convinced, your name falling from his lips.

“I mean it,” you continued, making yourself sound certain. Trying to convince yourself as much as him. “You were kind, Hotch. You let me down in the nicest way possible. I appreciate that.”

“But –”

“I just needed today to clear my head,” you cut him off. “To remind myself that you were right.”

His brows furrowed. “Right?”

You let out a quiet, humourless laugh, dropping your eyes to your lap again. "That Friday night wasn't... real," you murmured, more to yourself than him. "It was stress and exhaustion and maybe a little too much wine. I let it get the best of me. It was a mistake."

The silence that followed was too long. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, waiting for him to agree, to tell you that yes, it was a mistake, that it shouldn’t have happened, that you were right.

“Is that what you think?”

You looked up, brows pinching in confusion. “I mean…” You faltered, searching his face but it gave nothing away. “It was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

Hotch let out a breath, his fingers pressing into his thigh. “It wouldn’t have been right,” he said finally.

Maybe that should have been enough of an answer, maybe you should have left it alone. But you didn’t. Because something about the way he said it, the way his voice dipped slightly, made your stomach tighten, made the words slip out before you could stop them.

“That’s not the same as saying you didn’t want it.”

The moment they left your lips, you wished you could take them back.

His jaw clenched, his muscle ticking once.

And just as you started to convince yourself you had imagined this whole exchange, just as you prepared to backpedal, to fill the silence with some half-hearted attempt at smoothing things over, the most beautifully damning words falling from this mouth -

“I did want it.”

The air left your lungs in a sharp, breathless rush and you felt the room tilt.

“Then…why –”

“Because you deserved better than that.”

His words were firm, absolute, wrapped in the same conviction he carried into every case, every impossible decision.

“Hotch –”

“You’d been drinking,” he continued. “You’d had a long week and I know how quickly having too many things lined up at once overwhelms you.”

That sentence alone was enough to unravel you because he really did know you. He knew how your mind worked, knew how pressure built inside you until it spilled over.

“And I would have spent the entire next day wondering if I’d just taken advantage of you.”

Your throat tightened at the quiet honesty in his words, at the careful way he measured them, as if he had thought about this. As if it had sat with him just as much as it had with you.

And fuck, you didn't know what to do with that.

“You wouldn’t have. I didn’t need to be drunk to know that I want –” you hesitated, “–wanted you.”

He looked up at you, like he was weighing every single word you’d just spoken, turning them over in his mind like pebbles, making sure he heard you right.

“And what do you want now?” he asked lowly.

He was giving you the choice. No leading words. No hidden meaning. Just a simple, open-ended question.

Your stomach twisted, nerves and something warmer curling in your chest, in your belly, in the space between your ribs.

"You," you admitted, barely above a breath. "I still want you."

He nodded slowly. “Then take me to your bedroom.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d even heard him right, but the look on his face told you that you had. A sharp pulse of awareness ran through you, so strong it made your fingers clench into the fabric of your robe. You weren't sure you'd even be stable on your feet after hearing those words from his mouth, but you were sure as hell going to try.

Before you could move, he stood first. Your eyes followed the movement, unable to look away as he shrugged off his jacket, the rustle of fabric filling the space between you. Then came the cufflinks – carefully removed, set aside-before he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the strong lines of his forearms, the flex of muscle, the way his veins shifted beneath his skin.

And then, he reached for you. His hand open, waiting. Your gaze flickered up to his, searching, but all you found was patience and certainty.

“Only if you’re sure.”

Your fingers tightened around his.

You were sure. So damn sure.

You rose to your feet, and the moment you did, his other hand moved to undo the knot of your robe. His fingers worked it loose, the tie slipping free with ease, his breath coming just a fraction heavier as the fabric parted, revealing the delicate, pale pink lace beneath.

His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as his eyes dragged over you, taking you in inch by inch, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every detail.

And then he nodded toward the hallway. “After you.”

You turned, leading him down the hall, toward the first door on the right.

The soft glow from your bedside lamp spilled into the room, casting warm shadows against the walls. You silently thanked your past self for leaving it on –it was just enough light to see him, to see this, without feeling too exposed.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, moving toward the end of the bed. You didn't speak, didn't need to. You just waited, for his next instructions, for his next move.

Hotch's eyes swept over the room, taking everything in. It was still bare, not yet lived in, not yet filled with you –a work in progress, much like the two of you.

But then his gaze snagged on something. The full length mirror that rested against the wall, directly opposite your bed. You saw the moment he noticed it—the slight shift in his stance, the way his lips twitched, like he was already picturing something.

And then he moved.

Came to stand behind you, his hands finding your shoulders, warm and sure, guiding you just slightly until you were perfectly centered in front of it.

“That’s a very pretty mirror.”

Your eyes tracked every movement through the reflection, mouth parting, but for once you had no words. Then his lips brushed against your hair, barely there, but the heat of it lingered, seeping into your skin, into your bones, branding itself in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to shake.

“Did you put it there so you could watch while you touched yourself?”

A slow, molten heat curled through you, pooling deep in your belly, spreading down between your thighs. Your legs tensed on instinct, pressing together as his fingers traced over the bare skin of your arms, feather-light, teasing, making you ache.

“Hm, sweet angel?”

You nodded meekly, biting down on your lip to supress the moan threatening to escape – one he had earned with nothing more than words.

“Did you do it after I left?”

Your sharp inhale gave you away, your body betraying you before you could even think of forming a response. Your back arched into him, fingers twitching as he intertwined them with his own, lips grazing the slope of your shoulder.

The mirror didn’t lie. You looked ruined already and he had barely touched you.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Use that pretty mouth before I find something else to do with it.”

That didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Aaron, please.”

A slow, satisfied hum rumbled against your back as his hands finally moved higher, fingers ghosting over your nipples.

“Did you start from here?”

You felt dizzy. So dizzy that if you weren’t leaning into him, if he wasn’t holding you up, you were sure you would’ve collapsed. His right hand drifted lower, tracing the outside of your thigh while his left gripped you tighter, his palm kneading into your flesh.

“Or did you start with your thighs?”

You could feel his smirk against you skin, could see it in his reflection – the way his dark eyes met yours in the mirror, the way his lips curled at the edges as his fingers edged higher, inching toward the heat between your legs.

The fabric of your slip bunched up in his fist, silk riding up your thighs, baring you to him, exposing your lace panties.

Hotch exhaled slowly, watching the way the delicate material clung to your body.

“Show me, pretty girl.” His fingers flexed against your thigh, his grip firmer now. “I want to see what I missed out on.”

You looked at him through the mirror, eyes wide, lips parted in a soft pout because he couldn’t possibly be asking you to do this. Could he?

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Your thighs instinctively pressed together again, only to be met with his hand keeping them apart. A breathless sound escaped you, your body betraying you yet again, and his smirk deepened.

You knew what he wanted. And so, with shaky fingers, you moved your hand. His grip loosened slightly, giving you just enough space for your fingers to brush over the lace at the apex of your thighs.

“Atta girl.” His lips skimmed the curve of your jaw. “Show me. Show me how you thought of me.”

Your lashes fluttered, breath catching as your fingers dipped beneath the lace. Maybe it was a good thing it was your own touch and not his, because if he felt how wet you were, if he had proof of just how much you wanted him, it would only feed into his smugness.

And you weren’t sure you could survive that.

Hotch hummed in satisfaction, his right hand trailing up, covering yours, guiding it, controlling it as you started rubbing slow circles over your clit. His touch wasn’t hurried. Wasn’t forceful. It was intentional, like he wanted you to feel every second of this – feel what it was like to have his hand over yours, dictating the rhythm, deciding exactly how much pleasure you were allowed to take.

“Did you say my name?” he asked, voice rough. “Did you pretend it was me?”

Your lips parted, a desperate, needy noise slipping past them, your body trembling as he watched.

“Look at yourself.”

You forced your heavy eyes open, meeting your own reflection and you barely recognised yourself. Your body was trembling against his, your slip bunched at your waist, panties pushed aside, thighs twitching as you fought for air.

“What do you see, angel?”

Your breath hitched, your fingers faltering as his words wrapped around you, sinking deep into your stomach.

“I see a pretty girl who falls apart the second I tell her to.”

Your entire body shook. A fresh whimper broke free, your knees threatening to give out as his left hand tightened at your waist, keeping you upright, keeping you his.

“Please, Aaron –” Your voice was wrecked, desperate. “I don’t think I can keep going.”

His exhale was slow, like he was savouring the sound of you breaking. “Oh, sweetheart. Do you want me to take over?”

You nodded feverishly, too fast, your entire body screaming for relief. “P-please. I need you to.”

His grip on your wrist loosened enough for you to pull your hand away as he replaced it with his own. And then – God help you – his fingers moved.

A slow, deliberate drag through your slick folds, teasing, testing, until he found exactly what he was looking for. His touch was immediate and so much better than your own. A broken moan slipped past your lips, your head falling back onto his shoulder as your thighs quivered, struggling to hold yourself up.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice rich with satisfaction, like he had known this would happen. “So much better when I do it for you, isn’t it?”

Your only response was a chocked sob, your hands grasping at his forearm, nails digging in, pleading.

You felt him smile against your skin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His pace quickened, precise and devastating, and you pressed into him – your body instinctively seeking more, needing all of him. And that’s when you felt it. The undeniable proof of what the sight of you like this had done to him. The thick, hard press of his arousal against the curve of your ass, straining against his slacks.

A fresh wave of heat rolled through you, a cry slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Hotch groaned – actually groaned – his hips pressing forward, just enough to let you feel him.

“You feel that? That’s what you do to me, angel.”

Your breath hiccupped, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, your thighs clamping around his wrist, body trembling on the edge of something catastrophic.

“Aaron –”

“Be a good girl for me, hm? Come for me.”

And you did.

Your body tensed, your back arched, and then you shattered, a strangled sob escaping your lips as he worked you through it, whispering low, filthy praises into your ear, his grip never faltering.

Your body slumped against his, boneless, spent, your breathing uneven as you struggled to come back down. And when your hazy eyes flickered up to meet his in the mirror, the sight made your stomach flip all over again.

“How was that, angel?”

He knew you would never be able to touch yourself again without thinking of this. Knew he had achieved exactly what he wanted.

“Really good,” you breathed, head lolling back against his shoulder, your body still trembling from the aftershocks.

His lips curled into a knowing smile before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good, honey. But I’m going to need you to take everything off and get on all fours.”

Your stomach tensed.

Fuck.

He was trying to kill you.

His hands finally released you, giving you space to move, but not before he watched.

Waited.

Your fingers were unsteady as they found the hem of your slip, lifting it slowly, peeling away the last barrier between you. The silk slipped over your head, landing somewhere on the floor, followed by your underwear.

The air hit your bare skin, goosebumps trailing in its wake but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver. It was him and the way he looked at you. You turned toward the bed, moving to crawl onto the mattress when his voice stopped you.

“Not the bed.”

You bit your lip as you turned back to face him, your pulse skittering in your throat. He was still fully dressed, still so composed when you were the exact opposite. His gaze dragged down your body at an achingly slow pace, taking his time, allowing himself to drink you in – every inch of you, every part he hadn’t gotten to see a few nights ago.

“The floor, angel. Right in front of the mirror.”

Your body burned as you complied, knees wobbling as you lowered yourself onto the floor. You positioned yourself exactly where he wanted, your palms pressing into the cool surface, your back arching slightly – offering yourself to him.

And the second you settled, the second you caught his gaze in the mirror you saw it. The way his eyes devoured you. The way his gaze landed between your thighs, locking onto your bare, glistening pussy, and the way his lips curled.

That bastard smirked.

Smirked at the mess between your legs, at what he had done to you.

You watched as he lowered himself behind you, his broad frame closing in, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a second skin. A sharp inhale tore through you as you felt the press of his thumb collecting the wetness from your folds, spreading it, claiming it.

And just as you started to adjust to the feeling, just as your body tried to catch up – his thumb was gone, replaced with his middle and ring finger, teasing at your entrance, then slowly, slowly pushing inside.

A sound left you, something between a gasp and a whimper, something utterly helpless, so desperate it made your skin burn.

He chuckled.

“You can use my fingers, honey. But you’re going to have to do the work.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his through the mirror.

He wasn’t kidding. His fingers stayed inside you, buried deep but he wasn’t moving them. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, desperate for friction, for more but he stayed still.

“Go on,” he said, his other hand pressing down on the small of your back, encouraging you. “Make yourself feel good.”

Your palms flattened against the hard surface beneath you, bracing yourself as you moved – tentative at first, a slow, testing roll of your hips as you slid down onto his fingers. The stretch had you sucking in a sharp breath, your lips parting around a whispered curse.

And he watched. His eyes never left you, locked onto your reflection in the mirror, tracking the way you rocked against his hands, the way your thighs trembled as you found your rhythm, the way you used him exactly the way he wanted you to.

But still it wasn’t enough. You needed more. You needed all of him, buried deep inside you, stretching you open in ways his fingers never could. But he wasn’t offering that, so you took what you could get. You bucked your hips harder, forcing more friction, forcing the stretch, chasing what you knew only he could give you.

A sharp cry slipped from your lips. “Fuck, Aar –”

“I know, baby.” His fingers twitched inside you, pressing just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you he was still in control “I know.”

And then, just as quickly, they were gone.

A desperate whimper spilled from your lips at the sudden loss, your body clenching around nothing, the emptiness leaving a sharp pang of need that made your head spin. And yet, before panic could settle in, before you could beg for him, you heard it.

The click of his belt buckle.

Your head moved up to meet his eyes in the mirror just in time to see him work the leather through the loops before letting it drop to the floor with a thud. He never broke contact as he reached for the button of his slacks, undoing it before the soft sound of his zipper filled the room.

He took his time.

Watched you squirm, watched the way your thighs could do nothing but press together.

His slacks slipped down, bunching at his feet, and then, finally, his boxers. Your pulse pounded against your ribs as he exposed himself, the tip of his cock already slick with precum, showing you just how much he wanted this – wanted you.

Once his shirt was discarded, he lowered himself back down, hands finding your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to remind you who you belonged to. Your back arched, your body responding before your mind could catch up, offering yourself to him in every way you knew he wanted.

You felt the hard, warm press of his cock against the back of your thigh, the slickness of it smearing against your skin, though you weren’t sure if it was from him or from you.

It didn’t matter because the next thing he was doing was dragging himself against your aching, soaked pussy. A sharp gasp tore from your lips as the thick length of him slid through your folds just enough to have you clenching around nothing.

He did it again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel him, letting the weight of his cock glide through your wetness, coating himself in it, using your own arousal to make you squirm.

"Jesus," he exhaled, his grip on your hips tightening, fingertips pressing into your skin like he was barely holding on. "So fucking wet for me, angel. You need it that bad, huh?”

The desperation in your body was humiliating, but you didn’t care. Not when he was teasing you like this, not when the heat between your legs pulsed and throbbed with every slow glide of his cock, not when he was so close to giving you what you wanted but still holding back.

“So bad, please,” you begged, pushing back against him, arching your spine, doing anything to get him where you needed. Every inch of you was trembling, every muscle coiled tight, your body nothing but pure, raw need.

He hummed, rolling his hips just enough for his tip to nudge against your entrance.

“Okay, sweet girl, okay.” His voice was gentle as he gave in. “But I need you to watch.”

His hand trailed up your spine before threading into your hair, gripping just firmly enough to tilt your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

And just as you sucked in that breath, he thrust inside you, the sudden, overwhelming stretch stealing the air from your lungs. Your fingers dug into the floor, nails scraping against the hard surface as your body jolted forward from the sheer force of it. The sensation was too much, not enough, everything all at once. Your head spun, struggling to process the way he filled you, how impossibly deep he was, how your body clenched around him, trying to adjust, trying to take him.

A ragged curse tore from his lips, his grip on your waist tightening, fingers pressing so hard into your skin that you knew you’d feel it long after this moment had passed.

His pace was slow – tortuous if you had to use one word to describe it. You watched him in in the mirror, the way his head tipped back, brows furrowed in restraint, chest rising and falling as he bottomed out inside you, taking a second to breathe before pulling back, leaving just the tip inside—before slamming back in.

A wet, filthy sound filled the room, followed by a broken sob from your lips as your body struggled to keep up with the intensity of it. The way he moved, the way he owned every inch of you, the way he was ruining you.

You didn’t know what you were begging for when his name slipped past your lips, raw and desperate. You just knew you needed it. More of him. Deeper. Harder. Just more.

"You're gonna come for me," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "Gonna make a mess all over my cock while I fuck you through it, yeah?"

You nodded mindlessly, over and over again. “Y-yeah. Y-Yes.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, finding you clit once more, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure, unravelling you inch by inch. Your body was already trembling, barely holding on, every muscle tensed.

And he knew it. Of course, he knew it.

He could feel it, the way you clenched around him, the way your breath caught, the way you pushed back against him like you were chasing something you were already seconds away from losing yourself to.

“Fuck, baby, your gripping me so tight.”

Your body reacted to the words, your head dropping forward, your hands curling into fists against the floor as another wave of pleasure crashed through you.

"That's it, angel," he coaxed, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts hitting deeper. "Let me have it."

You came again, your body shuddering, incoherent mumbles falling from you lips as the orgasm swallowed you whole. But it still wasn’t enough for him. If anything, feeling you fall apart only spurred him on, made him rougher, hungrier, his grip bruising as he held you there, as he used your body to chase his own release.

His movements turned sloppy, his breath uneven, each thrust deep and desperate, dragging out his pleasure just a little longer. And then – his body tensed, his hands tightening on your hips as a sharp groan ripped from his throat, your name spilling from his lips as he buried himself inside you, coming hard, filling you completely.

His hips rocked into you a few more times, slower now, savouring every last second, his breath warm against your skin, ragged and uneven as he rode out the final waves of his release.

Then, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his lips grazing your skin. “You okay?” he whispered.

You let out a breathless, satisfied hum. “More than okay.”

His hands slid to your hips and with careful movements, he rolled you onto your back, pulling out slowly before settling you against the floor. The loss of him sent a shiver through you, but you barely had time to dwell on it before his body hovered over yours.

You stretched beneath him, your fingers trailing up his arm, tracing the muscles still tensed from holding himself back. A lazy smirk tugged at your lips as you teased, "Who knew Aaron Hotchner had such a filthy mouth?"

“Consider it payback for not wearing a bra.”

You let out a laugh. “Well if that’s payback, I might just have to start wearing short skits with no underwear at the office.”

“Is that so?”

You grinned, stretching your arms above your head in an indulgent, satisfied way. “Mm-hm. I mean, if this is how you handle insubordination, I’d say I have a pretty strong case for pushing the dress code.”

His laugh was quiet, but it vibrated through you, something warm and rare and entirely for you. His weight shifted slightly as he reached for you, one hand trailing along your side, stopping just below your breast.

“Angel,” he murmured, dipping his head closer, brushing against your jaw before dragging down your neck. “You do that and it’ll be your last day in the office.”

“You’d fire me?”

He shook his head, his teeth grazing the delicate skin of your neck before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Never, honey. You just wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.”

divider creds. cafekitsune

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner one shot #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner smut #hotch

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quitealotofsodapop · 21 hours ago

Note

I decided to just post as is legit could not think past thay part.

It was late when the knock came. Wukong frowned as he looked up from the movie he was watching, some action film based on Erlang of all beings he was only a quarter invested in and was more simply using ot for background noise while he laid on his beat up old couch. It was well past midnight and he definitely wasn't expecting any company. Cautious, he groaned as he stood up, tail flicking as the knock came again, much more loud and aggressive this time.

"Alright, alright! It's well past midnight, you better have a the hell of a good reason for banging on... my.... door." Wukong grumbled loud enough for his impatient guest to hear, all but tearing the door off his hinges in his frustration as he aired his grievances, only to trail off into shocked silence when he sees exactly who his unwanted visitor was.

Wukong blinked twice at the sight of the figure shadowing his doorstep, not quite believing his eyes. He pinched himself and even flashed his Eyes of Truth to ensure it wasn't a dream or illusion. The dark furred monkey with a red butterfly eye marking did not disappear from sight or suddenly transform into something else. In fact, his already sharp grin became even more pointed and wide once he noticed Wukong had opened the door.

Wukong slammed the door shut, pressing his back against the wood as his heart began to race, knowing that the barrier of wood between him and the other monkey would do absolutely nothing to keep him out. How the hell- why is Macaque there!? What did he want!? Even as the thought crossed the former king's mind he knew the answer. Macaque was there for him!

Thinking quickly, he locked the door, activating the barrier spell he'd preset on the door years ago, and began turning every light he could on as he locked it and then fled to his bedroom, closing the blinds and trying to prevent as many shadows as possible. It was a foolishness endeavor, this house lighting was a few dim bulbs, one for each room, and the one above the front door always flickered. At most it'd buy him a precious few seconds... at worst it'd be a waste of time and those precious seconds used to turn the lights in could have been put to better use getting as far from the door as possible or escaping. Either way, Wukong knew one thing. He did not want to know what the shadow monkey wanted with him!

In his haste he slammed to hard against the corner of that hallway that led to his room, knocking a picture from the wall with a crash as at the frame shattered. He didn't have time to pick it up, choosing instead to run through the broken glass and ignore the sting and the bloody footprints left behind as noticed the shadows at the entrance begin to darken, trying to to think about the content kf the photo and how MK's graduation photo would now probably be ruined and covered in blood. A sharp sting to Wukong's power reserves told him that the barrier had easily been torn through, and now Macaque was in his home. It was a weak little thing, meant moreso to keep mortal thieves out than to prevent anyone with any real power from entering, Wukong hadn't thought he'd need something stronger.

After all, a simple mechanic would have no need for a guardian level barrier spell on his door.

'Then again,' Wukong had a hysterical thought as he all but burst down his bedroom door and flew across the room, rummaging under his bed for his bolt bag, 'Most simple mechanics aren't actually demon gods in disguise!'

Cursing as he wiggled under the bed, regretting that he kept it so far into the corner that he had to practically shove his entire body under the small space to reach it, he could sense the area around him getting cooler and his ears flicked back and forth as a reverberating laugh began to bounce off the walls around him. He's out of time!

His heart was bearing so fast he could hear it in his own ears, and so he knew his unwelcome guest could hear it, as he resched as far as he could and just barely managed to snag a claw on the beat up old bag's strap. He smiled at that, a small flame of hope beginning to burn in his chest only to be swiftly snuffed out as he felt something grab his leg. With the yelp, he was pulled from under the bed, stars exploding from behind his eyes as the harsh tug caused him to bang his head on the wooden frame as he was exposed and made vulnerable before his pursuer. Dazed, he could feel himself being turned over onto his back as something dark and heavy grabbed at his wrists and pinned them adjacent to his head, the straddling his stomach as he leaned over him, face inches from his own.

"Hey there, You're Majesty!~" Macaque's dark, silky voice purred out, his breath against Wukong's ear as he finally blinked the spots away and took in his position. "You are not an easy person to find, you know that!?"

In another life, Wukong might have felt agitated and annoyed by Macaque's tone, might have mocked him and pointed out that that had been the whole point of taking on a new identity. He might have fought back or slammed him against the wall, demand he leave his home and go skulk off somewhere else. Shown him the power of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven as he chased him away from this very realm. But this isn't that life. Wukong isn't that person anymore, he hasn't been for many, many years.

He didn't ever want to be that person anymore.

"No matter, I found you in the end." The Macaque continued, realizing the king wasn't going to speak, "Bit of a dump, huh? What sort of place you running here, Wukong!? This is far from your usual grandeur and wealth. If you hadn't been so bold and attention seeking during New Years I might never have found you!"

That's because Wukong isn't a king anymore. He gave up his crown centuries ago, and now he is a simple mechanic living in the upper apartment of his garage. He turned his head, not able to find the words to explain to him that this is his own way of protecting everyone. That the Monkey King is no more, that what happened on New Years had been a fluke, a that the Spider Queen had forced his hand. Sun Wukong was, as far as Wukong himself was concerned, supposed to be dead and buried. It was safer for everyone that way, where the monster in China's history is forgotten and faded into nothing more than myth and legend where he can't hurt anyone ever again.

"Well!? Aren't you going to say anything!?" Macaque demanded, growing frustrated at Wukong's perceived disinterest in him, his hands releasing the golden monkey's wrist, grabbing at the front of his filthy tank top instead to slam him against the ground. The metallic taste of blood hit his tongue as one of his sharp fangs nicked the inside of his mouth. Wukong reflexively squeezing his eyes shut as the wind escaped his lungs and his head banged once more against a solid surface, this time the slightly softer thin carpet of his floor. "Where's your silver tongue, now!? No excuse? No comeback!? What the hell is wrong with you!?"

Miscommunication, thy name is Shadowpeach.

Wukong is convinced that Macaque is there to try and kill him. And why shouldn't he?!

Ignores even his own injury from trying to run just to put more distance between them.

And Macaque is angry. Not just because of their fight and his death. But mainly because Wukong seems So... Not Wukong! This isn't the prideful King he knew and fell for all those centuries ago! Where is he?!

Wukong is trying to stop himself from saying that his mate is "As beautiful as the day I lost you." between desperate pleas that Macaque just stop and leave him to his mortal existence.

Eventually the shadow monkey gives up, and seeing Wukong "like an idiot" ran through broken glass; decides to start grooming and tending to him. Wukong is so puzzled and tired that he just rolls with it.

Wukong awakes to a bandaged foot, the smell of breakfast, and a super protective jealous not-ex-anymore husband in his kitchen cleaning up the shop like it's their new nest.

#lmk grease monkey au #shadowpeach #sun wukong #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #lmk aus #lmk #lego monkie kid

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midnight-mourning · 1 day ago

Note

Valentine's request: Reader has feelings for Sun and/or Moon, but hasn't been able to work up the courage to tell them. They decide Valentine's will be the day they finally confess. They prepared everything—made a cute craftsy card, rehearsed exactly what they're going to say, and want to do their best to make this a great day. Except, when it comes to the day itself, they can't do it. They're a mess of nerves and self-doubt, to the point that they come across as short and upset the whole time. Sun/Moon try to help, but them being close just makes it worse, so they give Reader space. Reader takes this space as rejection, and, overwhelmed, hides in the bathroom to have a cry. Sun/Moon find them there, and the resulting conversation helps Reader relax and focus on their love for Sun/Moon, instead of their insecurities. Then they confess. And kiss 💖

Now or Never

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 14💘💘

And last one to finish us out! loved this prompt, enjoyed it very much hehe, hope you enjoy reading it!

Prompt: See above

Word Count: 2033

Read here if you prefer ao3!

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"Sun, Moon, I love you."

Quiet.

You shake your head, resting it against the cool bathroom mirror with a mumble. "This is so stupid."

You'd been trying to rehearse what you were going to say during your confession for weeks now, and it never sounded quite right. Three simple words, and you just couldn't seem to make them sound how you wanted. Make them convey the feeling you desired to express so, so badly.

It was frustrating beyond belief, and now you were out of time. Well, if you wanted this to go properly, you were. Confessing the day after Valentine's just seemed like a poor idea. At least the rest of your little spiel was well practiced, you just hoped you could nail the ending, arguably the most important part of all.

You had everything ready to go, had planned all of it down to the details as best as you could. It had taken, more time than you'd ever like to admit, but it would be well worth it.

You made your card from scratch, toiling over it for hours upon hours to get it just right. Starting over and giving up more than you could count. And you had the paper cuts, marker stains, and hot glue burns to prove it.

You knew exactly what you were going to do, wait for the perfect moment during your shift, when things weren't too busy or too quiet. Maybe right before or after naptime. Whichever of the Attendants was out is who you'd present the card to, though you made sure to include in your speech that this was for both of them, that you cared deeply for both of them, so, so much—

You shake your head. Once you presented it, all that would be left to do is wait for their response. And hope that they said yes.

You were going to do everything in your power to make sure today overall went smoothly. Monitor the kids' sugar intake like a hawk, keep messes to a minimum and if any did occur, clean them up before Sun realized. You'd make sure to pick the exact right book to read to the kids—currently had three in your roster to choose from—and that any child who woke up by mistake you'd soothe back to sleep in an instant.

Nothing was going to ruin this day for you, absolutely nothing.

Except yourself, that is.

The day is going perfectly, no arguments, no messes, nothing of the sort. But you, you're a complete and utter disaster.

Your nerves are through the roof, internally obsessed with making sure nothing goes wrong. Even the smallest thing makes you unwillingly snap. It's not a great look for you.

It doesn't help that Sun and Moon both have picked up on it, only worsening your nerves and elevating your feelings to an even higher degree. Both reached out to you at different points in the day, and both times you shut them down. You could hardly handle being in the same room as them, much less them purposefully paying attention to you. Even if it was for only a brief moment.

The day—for you—only gets worse as something shifts between you and them. They keep busy with their tasks, only speaking to you when needed. Pushing you away, making the pit in your stomach sink that much deeper. Putting the doubts in your mind at the forefront now more than ever.

Maybe you'd read too much into their actions towards you. All the things they'd said, jokes they'd made, glances sent your way, none of it meant anything. Maybe they'd been waiting for a chance to show it to you, that they were just being nice out of pity. Maybe they'd been dying for you to make a mistake like this, the perfect opportunity to tell you they. didn't. care.

When Sun once again avoids your gaze you snap, not being able to take it anymore.

A tug on your sleeve pulls you out of your inner turmoil. "Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm just fine Issac." You give him a small, forced smile.

He tilts his head. "Then why are you crying?"

You freeze, hand coming up to feel your cheek and find that you are indeed crying. "O-oh, I um..."

You hear a snap, and looking over, see that Sun's now staring directly at you, eyes wide.

He takes a step, you take one back.

He keeps moving and you panic, shooting another strained smile through more—now embarrassed—tears. "Sorry Issac, I need to run to the restroom. I'll be back soon, but ask Mr. Sun if you need something!"

You quickly hurry out of the room, door slamming behind you in your rush. It only fuels your humiliation, tears freely falling as you rush out of there.

You don't know where you're going, hardly able to see and barely able to get a proper breath. This is awful, you've messed everything up terribly. Though, maybe you never had it together in the first place. Since they obviously hated you. If they didn't before, they do now at least.

Can't even do your job properly, waste of space, on and on and on your mind races as you try to search for somewhere to escape to.

You're bursting into the bathroom before you realize what's happening. Hands meeting the bathroom counter with a gasping breath.

In, out, in, out, as you stare at the grip your hands have on the sinks edge.

You didn't make it very far, you realize. This is the Daycare's one-person bathroom. But, it's somewhere that no one else is around and so, you let your tears flow on their own now. A pathetic sob wracks through you.

You rub at your eyes angrily, this was silly, stupid even. Getting this worked up over a crush that turned sour. Was probably your own fault at that. You weren't good enough. You never would be—

A knock on the door has your breath hitching. You sniffle, trying to keep quiet even though you know it's pointless.

Still, dread fills you when you hear the voice on the other side. "Starshine? Are you in there?"

"No..." You say, weakly. It's not like he didn't already know.

"May I come in? You seemed upset when you left—"

"I'm fine." You croak out, coughing. With a shake of your head, you step back from the sink and slide down the back wall to the ground, not caring how unsanitary it is in that moment. "Please, just go away..."

Silence. Then, "You don't sound fine. Talk to me Sunshine, won't you?"

You don't respond, tucking your head against your knees to block everything out for a bit.

You sit there, in the dimly lit bathroom, letting yourself try and calm down again. Compose yourself so you can go back out there and face them.

As you're sitting there, you hear a clattering up above, from the vent. You look up in time to see Moon drop into the bathroom in front of you.

"Moon! What are you doing, what if I wasn't decent?"

He crouches down in front of you with a scoff. "Nice try, Star, we could hear you're crying from well beyond the door." He lifts a hand to your cheek, wiping a tear with his finger. "Now, will you tell me what's wrong, please?"

"Why? You don't have to pretend to care anymore, Moon. I got the message loud and clear." You duck your head back against your knees.

A click, then there's a pinch at the back of your neck that forces you to look back up. "I do care. We care. Tell me, us, what's wrong. We want to help. Want to make the hurt go away."

You bite your cheek, then nod, mumbling. "Okay. You can let me go now, I'm not a misbehaving cat."

"Acting like one." Moon snickers as you swat at him.

You sigh, keeping your gaze focused elsewhere. "I um, I like you guys. A, a lot. And I wanted to, to tell you that today. But then I went and really screwed that up. And I realized that you didn't, like me back, so, here we are." You give a weak smile, which falls shortly thereafter.

No response, though you figured as much.

"You mean that?" You glance up and jump slightly, seeing Moon just inches away from you. "That's the truth?"

You swallow, sniffing again. "Yeah?"

"And you were going to tell us, today?" There's a lithe to Moon's tone.

You furrow your brow, frowning. "Are you mocking me?"

At this, Moon starts to chuckle outright, taking your face in his hands. "Not in the least bit, I'm laughing at my own foolishness."

"How so?"

Moon shakes his head. "Because, Starlight. We weren't sure if you liked us either after today." He leans in, forehead almost touching yours. "Because we love you. A lot. More than words can describe."

"You mean that?" You ask, unsure.

"Of course." Moon pauses, then presses his smile to your lips briefly. "Much like you, we were simply scared. We should've realized what was happening sooner so that you didn't end up like this. We're sorry."

You wave your hand, wiping your eyes. "No, no. That's entirely on me, I should've handled all this a lot better."

"No need to dwell on it." Moon stands, offering you his hand. "We need to get back to work now. Are you ready?"

You nod, taking his offering and stand up. "Yeah—woah!"

He pulls you in close, chuckling at the way it flusters you, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. "Silly, silly, Star. You almost missed out on your present."

"You guys got me something?" Then realization hits you. "Oh wait! I have something for you, too. It's um, how I was going to confess. It's back in my bag."

You walk out into the light together, with Sun taking hold of your hand on the walk back, rays spinning as he glances down at you when he does so.

After ensuring the Daycare is in order, and things are at a calm moment. The two of you collect your gifts up, hands behind your backs as you face each other.

"You first." You say. "It's um, more than fair considering the trouble I caused today."

Sun laughs, bending down to meet you eye to eye. "Nonsense! No more of that talk, okay?" He presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Okay." You giggle in response.

He stands straight, and pretends to clear his throat. Then, presents you with a lovely homemade card, with drawings of both himself and Moon—which seem to have been made by the two of them individually. There's neat script that again seems to have been jointly penned.

It's so incredibly lovely, and you're already debating on whether you're going to frame it or keep it on your nightstand to be able to treasure it forever.

"Oh, thank you both, this is wonderful." Sun's rays spin at your praises, so you can only imagine Moon is having a similar reaction.

The playtime attendant bounces on the balls of his feet. "Okay, okay, our turn!"

"Alright, alright." You take a deep breath, and present your own card.

It was a pull-tab card, that when gently tugged, the small figures attached to the card moved. Specifically, the mini Sun & Moon figures on the left and right sides moved side to side, whereas the mini you that you'd made would lift up a little heart to the present.

You duck your head. "It's um, a little silly, and not the best but—" You yelp as you're suddenly picked up and spun around. You realize that Sun is pressing his smile to your face.

"We love it, we love it, we love it!" Sun says, over and over, stopping spinning to just hold you for a moment, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. "And we love you. So, so much."

Your face is burning as you mumble back quietly. "I love you too."

"Happy Valentine's, Starlight." Sun leans in for another kiss.

You giggle, meeting him halfway.

"Happy Valentine's Day, boys."

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Thank you for the request anon! Twas a good bit of fun, especially because I got to add a bit of angst to it (my favorite hehe)

My writing Masterpost

DCA Valentine's Masterpost

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@machopeach @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzybee3

#fnaf dca #dca fandom #fnaf sun #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #dca fic #x reader #sundrop #moondrop #mm dca valentine's #last one yippee yahoo!!#ill post a little update thingy in a few hehe #good one to end on methinks #hope everyone enjoyed these little stories ^^#they were a lot of fun :)

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halfbaked00q · 2 days ago

Text

okay as an admitted did-not-watch-NTTD'er who got, like, all of their info from uhh recappers, the wiki synopsis, the specific clips with Q I watched, and whatever I osmosis'ed from fics.

I finally watched the beginning of NTTD at @prismatic-bell's nudging. And I was like. Okay wait. wait wait wait. This is... well-written? And shot and directed & acted?? In a hollywood movie lmao?? Like. The way it's set up w Madeleine's backstory, and then the Bond & Madeleine stuff that does a much better job of establishing their relationship, the goooorgeous wide shots.

I admittedly was rather "I close my eyes I do not see" to a lot of canon - coming from partially a comics fandom background I'm very aware, well-versed, and well-practiced in the 'canon is your pick-and-choose buffet no need to feel like you have to 'respect' the 'sanctity' of 'canon' esp when it's Bad (like it contradicts other canon or you can just Tell this character was Not Written Well and it's like, here's what it could be that is better)' - and from opinions I saw on NTTD I was expecting to be very pick & choose about it.

But okay, wait. wait wait wait. It works. The beginning at least which I watched. Works. Like, it establishes a key character moment for Madeleine that Explains Everything about her behavior, actually - like she just like Bond is actually also very traumatized & has been locking it down/deflecting it vs processing it, and the whole like Vesper thing is (to me) very obviously her misdirecting Bond away from her own Goin Thru It. I can see how it can read as very suspicious to Bond esp with everything else but it, like, is a Narrative and Makes Sense for her character and Works. wild.

Even the Bond stuff makes a ton of sense. Like, when I hadn't watched it and was going off second & third hand information, one of the things I was hrrrm ?? about was the. How do you get from the guy who says "I miss you" at Vesper's grave, to the guy who put Madeleine on the train. The man who, even after finding out Vesper betrayed him, still wanted to save her? Would... send Madeleine away? In what, a fit of pique? Surely he's more of a "run to me and I will handle it" if it turns out not to be true or a "if it is, I'll handle it" kind of guy.

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT IT WAS. YOU KNOW WHAT IT FUCKING WAS LMAO. I WAS MISLED BY THE FUCKIN. BILLIE EILISH SONG LMAO. The lyrics of it make it SOUND like it's a like "you betrayed/cheated on me how could I have ever trusted you" break-up song kind of situation. BUT IT ABSOLUTELY FCKN WASN'T LMAO.

It's like. two traumatized individuals who trauma-bonded and honestly maybe should have spent time apart healing/learning themselves again before re-evaluating if they think a relationship could work, but like. they both were Goin Thru It and let themselves get carried away with it ig. And then right when Madeleine was like. hm I've been Not Dealing with this a Lot (tbh her being a psychologist probably made it worse cuz I think it made her more effective at Not Dealing With It and deflecting/misdirecting, but like. I don't think she was doing it intentionally, I think it was just a "combination of circumstances" thing. But this also works cuz I think before the like why did Madeleine push him towards Vesper again even though he said she was in his past. And it's like. She was delaying dealing with HER shit and probably unconsciously deflected his attention by poking at waht she thinks is still HIS equivalent to her baggage) where was I. Oh yeah, Madeleine is like. hm. yeah. the whole letting go of secrets thing. I. need to come clean to him...

but then all of the Spectre stuff happens.

Even the him sitting in the car thing is soooo so so. Cuz Craig absolutely put his whole pussy in the acting for this scene. he's got that like. wrong side of overstimulated so you shoot past being in the zone and instead are zoning out lowkey thing going on, mixed with the like. agent faced with a hopeless situation Observing Everything still but like vaguely morbidly amused about it, probably what's running through the brain rn is "lmao, wonder which bullet will be The One" kind of deal. And cross-cutting the shooting & wide shots with the bells was *chefs kiss* genius.

Even Madeleine not managing to tell him was well written/paced. Cuz it was very believable that she (not trained for this) was scared/shocked & couldn't get a word out. Until the "JAMES. I'd rather die than have you think I--" and then the fucking. tragedy of the bad timing. god. And then even her not just saying it later is like, it all makes sense with the way it was paced, shot, & edited. It was beaaautiful oh man. This also where I was like. damn lmao. miscommunication in a movie where it. feels like it makes sense and isn't just a stupid macguffin lol??? In a hollywood movie?? wild

but yeah this is also where it was like. hey wait. the man who, in the face of sort of a morbid (passively?) suicidal emotional blowout due to the Everything, but was able to break through it when she got through to him enough for him to look at her, and her to cry & shake her head like no, it's not true/no don't do this/please/(w.e). and go, "Okay." and take action. How does he put her on the train??

BUT. BUT FUCKING. BUT THEN. MY GOD. *Actually* watching the fucking scene I was like. Ooooh. ough ough oh god. This isn't him vindicatively cutting her out of his life "the bitch is dead" style. This is his Vesper in the elevator cage moment. He's fucking drowning in the cage but he doesn't want to take her with him. He's locking her out of the cage. god.

And the fucking. devastation on his face while he's on the platform. THAT'S HIS FUCKIN. VESPER HOLDING HIM ONE LAST TIME AND SHOVING HERSELF TO TH EBACK OF THE CAGE AAARGGGGHH BARK BARK BARK

Which, a-fucking-gain. THEN MAKES THE NO TIME TO DIE SONG. ALL THE FUCKING MORE EGREGIOUS LMAO. "was I stupid to love you was I foolish to trust was it obvious to everybody else" WHAT ARE YOU ON. THIS IS A SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY THIS ISN'T FUCKIN. 'THE BITCH IS DEAD.'

God this is like when ppl are convinced QoS was Bond going on a revenge rampage when he was (1) not even rampaging (2) not on a revenge quest/storyline - that was Camille's story!!!* caveat I did not watch QoS either lol, but I did watch a video essay breaking it down which I found Very Compelling and have since incorporated it into my worldview lmao. Like, in light of me actually watching the beginning of NTTD, and then it launching into the title sequence and the song. IT ACTIVELY. REWRITES HISTORY YOU JUST WATCHED ON THE SCREEN AAAGGGHHH BITE CHOMP KILL. IT UNDERMINES THE WHOLE. ALL OF THE WORK THE FILMMAKERS DID UP TO THAT POINT IN PLOTTING OUT ACTING OUT & ESTABLISHING THE STORY TO THIS POINT.

Like. The problem of the song isn't even oh it's a limited POV thing. IT'S NOT EVEN WAHT BOND'S POV WOULD HAVE BEEN/SHOULD HAVE BEEN BY THAT POINT. Again, this is the "the bitch is dead" edit of the scene, BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT HAPPENED. THIS IS BOND LOWKEY SPIRALING AND LIKE. OVERSTIMULATED-EXTREME-EMOTIONAL-AMBUSH-IN-A-VERY-SHORT-TIME LOWKEY EMOTIONALLY SPINNING OUT. BUT THEN BREAKING THRU IT ENOUGH WHEN MADELEINE CALLED FOR HIM. TO LOCK HER OUT OF HIS SINKING CAGE. BRUH. BE SO FORREAL RN.

also lmao she clutches her torso WAY too high up, bruh that's her sternum not her belly... but ig the idea translates across still.

but yeah. god. And here I thought No Time to Die the song was just. boring & musically uninspiring. but no. it's so much worse lmao. god.

#like. skyfall has parts where the lyrics are. not very lyrical (/poetic) lmao #which NTTD at a rough scan seems to avoid. but it does that by genericizing the lyrics so much that again. this could be #any pop girlie im so edgy and betrayed breakup song #but. again. IT SHOULD. ABSOLUTELY NOT BE THAT.#also I think I'm still holding a grudge from the recapper I watched who said they liked this song but found Writing's on the Wall 'whiny'#bruh be forreal lmao. NTTD is the whiny one. WotW is like. *plaintive*. but what the hell do you call #'was it obvious to everyone else that id' fallen for a lie you were never on my side fool me once fool me twice *are you death or paradise*#like cmon now.#but god. so not only is this song lyrically generic musically uninspired. but it actually also actively undermines the #entire pre-title sequence. and lowkey ultimately the whole movie. if the lyrics of this song are the last thing on your mind going #into the rest of it...#(then again. I can't speak to the rest of it lol. but I just. don't think Bond is a man who is wangsting #given what we see of him in Jamaica. Like. this is a very different man from his first time around there #as Nina pointed out. he has hobbies and things and is like. Doing Things. this is a man living a life #like it very much is the 'he needs to take time to himself & try to recenter & heal & recover'#vs the first time in Skyfall when his life was like. drinking. woman. Scorpion.#blgh god the perception gap. of. 'this is what people think James Bond' is vs who he actually is lmao. man)

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mirrorofliterature · 3 days ago

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Hello! I have a Star Wars question for you ( I hope that's okay) . What do you think of the idea that Obi-Wan refused to kill Anakin out of mercy in Mustafar?

asks are always okay, I am simply terrible at replying to them timely!

onto the ask itself: mercy would have been killing anakin instead of letting him burn to death.

cutting off all of anakin's limbs and leaving him to burn on mustafar is the cruelest thing obi wan ever did. that is unambiguously torture: no matter what someone has done, torture is NEVER okay; human rights are universal, not 'pick and choose depending on someone's morality'. it was ruthless.

it is in character for obi-wan; it is supposed to be cruel, to be ruthless, to give an explanation for why darth vader is in his suit and why he hates obi-wan so deeply.

anyway leaving someone to burn alive is never merciful; it is cruel and inhumane.

#anakin skywalker #darth vader #q&a #obi-wan kenobi #star wars

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nanasrkives · 3 days ago

Text

Navigation : midnight records! the moonlight album the haikyuu! album

── .✦ "HOW TO LOSE A SETTER IN 10 DAYS" ─ Miya Atsumu

author's note. / It's how to lose a setter day !!<3 second chapter finally written hope you like it <33 content : post timeskip. mentions of smoking/alcohol. OSAMU APPEARANCE. atsumu being a dumbass (poor man cant catch a break). 3k words.

previous ─ masterlist ─ next

── .✦ CHAPTER 2./ A date to remember, for all the wrong reasons

The clink of chopsticks against ceramic bowls resonates softly in the cozy ramen shop.

The broth's steam rises into the air, bringing with it the warm scent of home. You sit opposite Sakusa, the quiet murmur of conversation between the pair of you creating a warm, near-intimate atmosphere. The soft slurp of noodles is the background melody to your thoughts, which are anything but peaceful.

The ordeal from this afternoon still lingers, like a song you cannot get out of your mind. Atsumu's clumsy efforts to flirt with you, the stammering, the fake smiles—and then—the volleyball hit you right in the face. It did not really hurt all that much, but man, was it embarrassing. You still cannot believe that it really happened.

You mix your noodles, attempting to divert your attention. He was just being himself, you say to yourself. He was just bragging. No big deal.

"So," Sakusa says after a pause, "how's your ramen?

You blink in surprise to hear him speak after so much silence. It is as though he has something to hide—possibly the same agitation you have felt all day. You swallow a mouthful of noodles and smile a little, baiting him to dispel the tension.

"It's fine. Though I believe your bowl's looking better than mine." You nod towards the additional toppings in his ramen—additional char siu, additional egg, simply the way he prefers it. "You always do it big."

Sakusa snorts under his breath. Naturally, you'd pick up on the details.

"It's the way to do it," he states, his usual cool composure making a showing. "Only the best for the best." He gives you a glance, not anticipating a response. You never do take the bait.

However, as much as he tries to focus on the simple pleasure of eating, his mind keeps drifting back to Atsumu's chaotic antics. The last thing he wants is for you to get caught up in whatever silly game his teammate is plotting. Atsumu might have an air of confidence about him, but there is no doubt in his mind that winning this bet is out of his league. He knows that.

She is too smart to let Atsumu get to her. He lets out another silent sigh, trying to keep his cool. And yet. what if? He chooses to bite his tongue, deeming it wiser not to utter a single word. No need getting riled up over something, which may not even be worth noticing. Instead, he watches you—studies you, reads the slight variations in your face that always have a narrative to tell even when you aim to conceal it.

You're more than capable of taking care of yourself. Nevertheless, there's something about it that doesn't feel right to him.

She won't bite, he says again, but the knot in his chest gets a bit tighter.

Meanwhile, Atsumu was at Onigiri Miya, his favorite spot ─and only ─ to pick up a quick bite when he had to take a time-out from the insanity of his day. There was the smell of hot, salty fish and rice in the air as he bit into his onigiri, not really paying attention. His mind was still on the failure of impressing Y/N earlier in the day.

Osamu, as always, did not fail to notice that something was bothering his twin, call it twin telepathy or whatever. He took a bite of his rice ball, leaning back in his chair a little and observing his younger twin with a touch of suspicion.

"You've been starin’ at that rice ball as if it owes ya money," Osamu said to him, cleaning his mouth with a napkin. "What's wrong, Tsumu?"

Atsumu sighed heavily and did not look up from his food. "I'm just thinkin’ ‘bout this bet. I need to win this, Samu." Osamu's eyebrow went up, and he leaned back in his chair as he always did. "Bet? What bet?" He already knew what Atsumu would say, but he enjoyed teasing him about it.

Atsumu leaned forward and put his chin in his palm. "Bokuto said somethin’ and I made this bet. I have to get Y/N to fall in love with me within ten days."Osamu didn't respond immediately. He just slowly chewed on his rice ball, considering what his twin had said. "And ya really think that's a good idea?"

Atsumu glared at him. “Shut yer trap. It was a disaster anyway." he said, running his fingers through his hair, trying to get it all to add up. Osamu also raised an eyebrow at him, clearly entertained by his twin. "What's wrong? Got rejected already?"

Atsumu looks over at his brother with a touch of frown on his lips. "It was worse. I—well, I tried to charm her, you see? I was going to be charming, as always, but." He lets out a deep sigh. "I ended up accidentally hittin’ her in the face with a volleyball."

Osamu stops for a moment, holding his rice ball mid-air. Then he erupts in laughter. "Come again? ‘Tsumu, I always knew ya were a dumbass but this is somethin’ else."

"I didn't intend to so shut yer trap! I was attempting to move her out of the way, but I ended up makin’ it worse. I grabbed for her wrist and then—bam!" Atsumu acts out how the ball had gone, waving his hands in wide arcs. "Direct hit."

Osamu shakes his head, grinning. "Well, at least she'll remember you for something.".

"I didn't want people to remember me for that!" Atsumu laments, covering his face with his hands. "She wasn't impressed. She didn't even care that I was trying to apologize afterwards."

"Calm down, ‘Tsumu," Osamu says to him, leaning back in his chair. "This is so stupid. Just ask her out for a drink or something. Apologize properly, like a man."

Atsumu sits up straight at attention as his brother's words hit him. It makes sense, but to go through with it does not feel right. He does not know if he wants to be with her, not like this. "Alright, I'll. consider it," Atsumu mutters, but the thought of pursuing her now is too much of a hassle.

Yet, he cannot help but feel a tug of something else—something that makes him uncertain about leaving this alone. Osamu looks at his brother, a cunning smile creeping onto his face. "Are you really not feeling anything more, Atsumu?" Atsumu scowls at the man, but there is a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. "Shuddup."

The day had stretched on longer than Atsumu expected. Training had been brutal, leaving his muscles aching, and yet, none of it had distracted him from the lingering conversation with Osamu.

“Just ask her out for a drink or something. Apologize properly, like a man.”

Osamu had said it like it was the easiest thing in the world, like Atsumu hadn’t already made an absolute fool of himself. Like she wouldn’t laugh in his face the second she saw his name pop up on her phone.

Atsumu slumped back on his couch, drumming his fingers against his phone screen. The clock read 6:03 PM. Too early for bed, too late to act like he wasn’t still thinking about it.

Would she even want to go? Probably not. Would that stop him from trying anyway? Definitely not. With a deep breath, he finally caved.

He dialed her number.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

And just as he was about to hang up, her voice cut through the line.

“…Miya?”

There is a pause after you respond. Not static, not background—just hesitation. You move the phone slightly aside and look at the screen to check if you were dreaming. But no, Miya Atsumu had indeed called you.

"Miya?" you say, raising eyebrows.

Atsumu clears his throat on the other end. "Hey. Uh. What's up?"

You blink. What's up? Did he actually call you to say what's up?

"Nothing?" you say hesitantly.

"Cool, cool, cool," he mutters under his breath, like he never actually had a plan for this conversation. You can hear him tapping his fingers against something in the distance—his knee, a table, or possibly even his own forehead because he is so frustrated.

You allowed the silence to continue until it became uncomfortable. "Did you call for a reason?"

"Yeah," he says out of the blue. Then, a bit more assertively. "Yeah. Look, uh—I wanted to, y'know… make up for earlier." You frown and lean against the counter. "Earlier?"

Atsumu makes a sound that is a cross between a groan and a cough. "Uh—This mornin’? The volleyball headshot?"

Oh.

Your hand brushes against your face involuntarily, and the sting of the slap is still recalled. You are unable to forget the moment of shame when a speedy volleyball struck you due to him.

You roll your eyes. "Oh, that. Do you feel bad now?

"'Course I feel bad!" he defends immediately, voice rising. "I had great aim—I just, y'know, got distracted."

You scoff. "Distracted?

"It doesn't matter," he huffs. "Point is—I wanna make it up to ya."

There is a pause before he eventually says, "Let me buy you a drink.".

You tilt your head, pondering the words. "Like… an apology?"

"Yeah." Pause. "And a date."

You lift an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Just a casual one!" he rapidly amends. "Like, really casual. You won't even realize that it's a date."

"That's not the way dates go, Miya."

"C'mon, don't make me beg, that's just embarrassing."

You took a deep breath, still thinking. A drink was not a major problem. You did not owe him anything, and it might be fun to see him sweat in front of you.

"Okay," you finally say. "One drink. Only if you pay".

Atsumu breathes out as though he'd been holding his breath. "Alright. Alright. I'll send you the information.". You couldn’t help but tease him a bit. "That's great. Looking forward to it, lover boy."

He groans when you hang up.

Atsumu was standing in front of the mirror, looking at himself like he was the male lead of a romcom, getting ready for a major life event. "Alright, Miya," he said to himself, brushing his hair back with his hands. "You got this. You're hot, you're smooth, and you're not overthinking."

There had been a few seconds of silence. His eyes flicked towards the door, and his thoughts darkened. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to embarrass myself?" He let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair.

As if on cue, the chime of his phone was heard. He immediately grabbed it in the hopes of hearing some moral support. On the screen appeared Osamu's message: "Try not to embarrass yourself too much."

Atsumu sighed heavily and banged the phone down onto the counter. "For fucks sake!" He cast a second glance at his reflection, then took his jacket and went out the door, ready for whatever sort of trouble was waiting for him.

You had gotten to the bar hours before Atsumu got there. You were sitting at the bar, sipping on a drink, chill. You weren't overdressed or anything—the way to be ready for anything crazy that might happen tonight. At this point, you didn't dare to hope for anything straightforward, and you had no expectations for Atsumu.

Even before checking his calls or messages, you took a sip of your drink, and your mind was someplace else. You reached for your phone and looked at your notifications. Nothing from him. Only a funny meme from one of your preferred accounts:

"If he's a walking red flag, run. If he's a red flag but funny? …Girl."

You laughed a little and typed a short reply to the meme: It might be the second one. Maybe you should run. But no. You were already here.

The second Atsumu walked into the bar, you could almost hear the theme song of a cheesy romcom playing as he gave his signature smile, clearly under the impression things were going better than they were. He took a look around, saw you, and walked to the bar like it was his personal catwalk.

But when he tried to lean on the counter and act cool, his foot became tangled with the leg of the stool. The poor man missed his mark completely, stumbling and nearly toppling over the bar. Time just seemed to stand still for a moment.

You didn't bat an eye. You took a second sip from your glass, calm as can be, and lifted an eyebrow to the chaos in front of you. "That was graceful," you stated, not even attempting to hide the sarcasm.

Atsumu looked nervous but tried his best to compose himself. He stood up straight and brushed his clothing. "Did that on purpose," he said, somewhat too defensively, giving a half confident, half annoyed smile.

You smiled faintly. "Of course you did, Tony Hawk," you replied, leaning back in your chair, obviously unimpressed. His smile got lost briefly, but it was back in place soon. "Ya'll get used to my charm," he said to her a bit too confidently. You couldn't help but roll your eyes."We'll see," you muttered under your breath, clearly doubtful of whatever was going to take place.

After a silence of a few uncomfortable seconds, Atsumu figured it was time to pull out his best ─and worst ─line. "You know, I didn't figure ya were the whiskey type," he attempted to say nonchalantly, like it was a compliment.

You raised an eyebrow and placed your drink down. "What kind did you think I was?" He scratched his head, as if he was attempting to recall something regarding your personality. "I dunno, maybe, like a girl who likes fruity drinks?"

You slowly blinked, causing the silence to drag on a bit too long. "What is that supposed to mean? Explain yourself. Now."

He blinked at you, his brain clearly thinking. The man was struggling—his brain was racing a mile a minute, but he couldn't get anything articulate out. Finally, he just shrugged and gave an awkward laugh. "Well, uh… I dunno, I guess I was wrong." You did not even try to answer. You simply took another sip and allowed the silence to say more than words.

A minute or so later, the bartender, who'd been following this entire conversation with some amusement, leaned across the bar, drying a glass. "You two make a nice couple," he said, smiling. Atsumu's face went pale. "We're not a couple!" His voice was barely high enough for you to detect the panic in it. The bartender's eyebrow went up, a little too entertained by the interaction.

You couldn't help but laugh quietly, unable to resist. "Calm down, drama queen." The bartender chuckled, his grin widening. "I was just saying—could do worse." You looked at Atsumu and saw his face growing redder. "Wow. That must be really hard on you, huh?" you joked, leaning back in your chair.

Atsumu muttered, hiding his face in his hands. "I promise I will not do it again."

However, to save face—or at least look normal, Atsumu suggested a drinking game. "Hey, let us have some fun. Just a small game so that it will not be so awkward."

You shrugged. Why not? You were not doing anything else. But he did not know that you were not just good at the games—you were fiercely competitive about anything that had to do with liquor. And tonight, you were going to win no matter what.

Twenty minutes had gone by, and Atsumu was already tipsy, talking more freely than he usually did. His words were a little slurred, and his movements were more exaggerated. You, on the other hand, were perfectly okay and unaffected.

He gazed at you in wide-eyed wonder as you beat him round after round. "What the hell kinda tolerance is that?" he asked incredulously. "I can hardly keep it together after two drinks."

You shrugged indifferently and took a casual sip. "I exist in constant emotional damage. Alcohol can't do anything about it." He looked at you carefully, trying to determine whether to laugh or inquire whether you were sad inside. "That. that's dark."

"Yeah, all right, welcome to my world," you replied with a slight, dry smile. "Now, your turn to drink." Atsumu shook his head, immensely dismayed. But he didn't give up.

Then something terrible happened.

Since he gestured with his arms excessively while relating a tall tale, he was not aware of how much extension he was making. The beverage in his hand sloshed and spilled directly onto your lap.

There was a total silence for an instant.

Time seemed to lag a couple of seconds while you stared down at your lap, where his beverage had spilled. Atsumu's eyes went wide, and he froze. "Oh… no." You raised an eyebrow and stared at him with a very stern face. Then you took a deep breath and glanced down at yourself once more. "Wow," you said sarcastically. "You are lucky I don't believe in violence."

Atsumu was almost panic-stricken now, looking for napkins, knocking some over, and getting agitated. "Shit! I—I'll fix it! Don't worry, I'll fix it!" You lifted a hand, and he halted his nervous motions. "You've done enough." The tension was thick in the air, uncomfortable and evident. You both stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do with the developing problem.

Then, when the embarrassment was at its maximum, you both stepped out into the cool night air, you took the opportunity to pull out a cigarette and light it.

The sudden silence was a relief after the noise of the bar. Atsumu rubbed his neck, his face still red, trying to feel normal again. "Well… that went well," he commented, his voice a mix of amused and exasperated. You snorted and rolled your head. "That’s a date to remember," you said, straight-faced as you took a drag. "Just for all the wrong reasons. Good night, Miya."

Atsumu groaned and slapped both hands over his face, clearly humiliated.

You couldn't help but notice as you walked away, feeling a bizarre mix of amusement and sympathy for him. And maybe, just maybe, a little curiosity about whether or not he'd be okay next time the two of you chose to spend time together.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

Taglist (OPEN). / @cherrysurf @elmaa127 @arwawawa2 @ihatetakumi @koishitooru @pookalicious-hq @ohgodthevoices @itsmeaudrieee @soranihimawari @jayathelostdragon @virgothesimp @reads-stuff-quietly @beabamboo

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yume-writes · 3 days ago

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TFP x MCB crossover where Megs manages to get ahold of the metal breath by kidnapping Jun and practically ripping the brace off of his wrist with the cardbots still inside; panicked and confused of what’s going outside. The only bot who’s outside of the brace is Wild Guardy who wanted to spent time with Crest. Blue Cop got forcefully sealed by the brace and Jun is left with trauma <3

I wonder if the metal breath would reject him or the cardbots would be in his torturous command. Cause Deus Machina is probably dead by now. Can they even disobey him in protest or because of the brace they have to obey.

MCB x TFP crossover

Yeesssss!!!

Listen I love Blue Cop and Jun (they're my favorite characters) which is exactly why I have to inflict trauma on them.

For the Metal Breath either rejecting or allowing Megatron to use the Metal Breath is a bit hard to know.

On one hand, all the Cardbots are able to pick up the Metal Breath and Flame Nova is even shown to use it, or at least try to use it. He most likely would have been able to use it if it wasn't for Peruru. So if we go with this angle, Megatron should be able to use it, he is similar to Cardbots.

But on the other hand, humans can't pick up the Metal Breath unless they are chosen one's, we see this in the first episode with Theo and Edo. So maybe for other species it would depend on if the Metal Breath chooses you. If that's the case, imagine Megatron ripping it off Jun's wrist and immediately slamming into the floor, yelling for someone to get it off but none of the cons can do so.

But let's go with the first one for trauma, Megatron would become much stronger, having Heavy Iron on his side is bad enough, but with all the others is much worse. It would take a lot to defeat him. They would have to find a way to take the Metal Breath back which would be insanely difficult, trying to take a small watch from a former gladiator, yeah not happening anytime soon

And what Jun is feeling!!! We already saw what happened when Red Blitz took the Metal Breath, but this would be sooo much worse. Instead of them being sent away, they are forced to hurt their friends and allies against their will. Blue Cop is made to attack Jun, Jun can't even move, just trying to talk Blue Cop out of it, begging him to try to break free, it doesn't work of course and it's only thanks to Wild Guardy that Jun doesn't get hurt.

The amount of guilt he must feel, it would be crushing. He would try to keep his spirits up, but it would be so hard, high chance he would just start sobbing once in a safer area. Blaming himself for not doing more to keep the metal breath from Megatron. The others would try to tell him it isn't true, that it isn't his fault, but it's hard to get him to change his mind.

And don't you think I forgot Wild Guardy, his friends, his family, is forced to do things against their wills. The worst nightmare they all thought of is becoming true, they're really lucky it was Jun who got the Metal Breath. He would have to go against them, even with the Autobots help it would be a difficult fight.

Him going up against Blue Cop, his idol, the person he once looked up too (and probably still does) is beating him into the dirt, attacking anyone Megatron commands, and he can't win against him. He knew Blue Cop was holding back, but he didn't understand how much until he felt himself being beaten near death.

Both Jun and Wild Guardy would feel like they failed their friends, and this feeling would stay with them even after they get the Metal Breath back. But the others being there with them does make it better, at least they aren't alone with the Autobots there to back them up.

#metal cardbot #메탈카드봇 #transformers #mcb #tfp #transformers prime #tf #mcb x tfp #blue cop #wild guardy #jun grant #yume asks

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scarletwinterxx · 1 day ago

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hiiii! i really enjoy reading your niki aus!! if the request are open, is it possible to request a vernon or minghao x oc one-shot/short drabble based off of niki's song 'facebook friends'? i just heard it again and thought about them :((((

YOU ARE IN LUCK BCS I JUST SAW NIKI 😭 when i read this request I JUST KNEW WHAT TO DO but i'm still working on my angst writing skills but i hope you enjoy this one🥺

alsoooo for reqs, i am slowly working my way through them. it might take some time tho so just a heads up😅🤍

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You stare at the name on your email inbox, double-checking to make sure you read it correctly.

Xu Minghao.

Your fingers tighten around the edge of your desk as Jihyo leans over your shoulder. "No way," she whispers. "It’s him? The artist you've been trying to track down is him?"

It almost doesn’t feel real. The elusive, secretive artist whose work has been making waves in the industry—the one you’ve been assigned to collaborate with for the upcoming exhibit—is none other than the person you once thought might be your forever.

The one who slipped away from you like a dream fading in the morning light.And now, after years of silence, you have a meeting scheduled with him.

You exhale slowly, trying to push down the sudden wave of emotions threatening to rise. It's been years. Maybe he’s changed. Maybe you have. But there’s no denying that the name on your screen still has the power to shake you.

Jihyo nudges your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

You nod, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s true.

“I mean, what are the odds?” she says, still staring at the screen like it might change if she blinks enough times. “Are you gonna go?”

You give her a look. “Of course, I have to. It’s my job.”

“Yeah, but—” she pauses, studying you. “It’s him. You never really told me what happened between you two.”

You swallow, memories flashing through your mind—late-night conversations, whispered laughter, the way he used to look at you like you were the only person in the room. And then, the goodbye that came too soon.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “We just… lost each other.”

Jihyo hums, clearly not satisfied with that answer but choosing not to push. Instead, she gestures toward your laptop. “Well, whatever happened, you’re about to see him again. Are you ready for that?”

You glance at the email again, at the date and time of the meeting.

Ready or not, it’s happening.

The café you picked for the meeting is quiet, tucked away from the usual crowd. You arrived early, nerves buzzing under your skin, but you kept your posture composed. Professional. This is just work.

When Minghao walks in, the air seems to shift. He’s just as you remember—tall, effortlessly graceful, his presence commanding without trying. His dark eyes scan the space before they land on you.

“Hey,” he says simply, sliding into the seat across from you like this is the most casual thing in the world.

Like nothing ever happened.

Your grip tightens around your coffee cup. “Thanks for coming.”

He nods, leaning back slightly. “You were persistent.” There’s a ghost of amusement in his tone, but nothing more. No flicker of recognition beyond what’s expected. No acknowledgment of the past you once shared.

Jihyo, sitting beside you, clears her throat. “So, you two know each other?”

You hesitate. Minghao beats you to it.

“We used to.” His voice is light, indifferent. “It’s been a long time.”

That’s it. No warmth, no curiosity. Just a fact, stated and discarded.

Jihyo shoots you a glance, one eyebrow raised, but you can’t meet her eyes. Instead, you straighten your shoulders and force a professional tone. “Let’s talk about the exhibit.”

You pull out your tablet, tapping the screen to bring up the exhibit’s concept proposal. Your fingers are steady, your voice even as you start outlining the details, but you can feel Jihyo’s gaze flickering toward you every so often. She’s noticed. Of course, she has.

“This exhibit is designed to focus on themes of anonymity and identity,” you explain, keeping your tone neutral, professional. “Your work fits seamlessly with that concept. The way you obscure figures, distort reality—it makes the viewer question what’s real and what’s hidden beneath the surface.”

Minghao listens, his face unreadable. He nods slightly but doesn’t interrupt.

You glance up, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression gives away nothing. This version of him—cool, detached—feels foreign to you. The Minghao you knew was quiet but warm, his words sparse but meaningful. You remember the way his gaze used to linger, the way his laughter felt like a secret just for you.

But this man in front of you? He might as well be a stranger.

Still, you push through, keeping your voice steady.

“We’ll be dedicating an entire section to your work. Since you prefer anonymity, we can arrange for all communication to go through me directly—unless you’d like to be more involved in the curation process?”

Minghao tilts his head slightly, considering. “I trust your judgment.”

Something about the way he says it, so detached, makes something tighten in your chest.

“Then we’ll handle the layout and let you approve before finalizing. I’d also like to discuss any specific pieces you have in mind.”

Minghao hums, fingers lightly tapping against the table. “I’ll send over a selection tonight.”

And just like that, it’s all business. No hesitation, no awkwardness on his part. It’s like the years apart never happened. Like you never meant anything more than a fleeting acquaintance.

Jihyo clears her throat, leaning forward slightly. “So, Mr. Xu,” she says, feigning casual interest

“Minghao is fine”

“Right, sorry. Minghao, I heard you go way back, huh?”

You shoot her a sharp glance, but she ignores it.

Minghao, to your frustration, remains utterly unbothered. He gives a slight nod. “Yeah. We knew each other a long time ago.”

That’s it. No elaboration. No emotion.

“Minghao, we’d also like to arrange a preview event before the full opening—”

Jihyo leans back in her chair, clearly unimpressed with your deflection, but she lets it slide. For now.

The meeting continues, all smooth efficiency and professional formality. You and Minghao exchange words, but none of them are personal. Nothing slips through. Still, you can feel it. That undercurrent of something unresolved.

The office is quiet except for the rhythmic clicking of your keyboard as you work on the proposal layout. You’re determined to focus, to push past whatever lingering tension is still curling in your chest from the meeting. Minghao is just another artist, and this is just another exhibit. That’s all.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you see Jihyo.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just slowly rolls her chair over to your desk. The wheels squeak slightly against the floor, making her approach all the more dramatic. You pretend not to notice.

She stops right beside you, hands folded in her lap. Waits.

You continue typing, expression neutral.

Jihyo exhales. “So…”

You keep typing.

She leans in. “Who was Minghao to you?”

You knew this was coming. You let out a slow breath, still focused on the screen. “An artist I’m working with.”

Jihyo makes a noise—a mix between a scoff and a laugh. “Oh, please.” She swivels her chair so she’s directly facing you. “I may not have known you when you two were a thing, but I know you now, and you were not normal back there.”

You sigh, finally looking at her. “Jihyo—”

She lifts a finger. “No. Don’t ‘Jihyo’ me. The tension at that table? I could taste it. And I don’t even know what flavor it was. Bitterness? Regret? Unresolved yearning?”

You groan, letting your head drop onto your desk. “Can we not?”

Jihyo pats your shoulder. “Oh, we absolutely can.” Then, after a pause, she adds, “But we won’t.”

You lift your head just enough to glare at her. “It was a long time ago.”

Jihyo tilts her head. “And yet, here we are.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because she’s right. You did react. You did feel something. And the fact that Minghao acted like nothing ever happened? That stung more than you’d like to admit.

Jihyo smirks, clearly seeing the conflict on your face. “Look, I’m just saying… If this were a movie, this would be the part where you two have a dramatic, emotionally charged confrontation in the rain.”

You deadpan. “We’re curating an art exhibit, not starring in a K-drama.”

Jihyo grins. “Yet.”

The exhibit venue is quiet when you arrive. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting long shadows on the polished floors. You exhale, taking in the open space, already visualizing how the pieces will be arranged.

You came alone on purpose.

After the meeting with Minghao, you needed a moment to clear your head. No distractions, no lingering stares, no best friend dramatically rolling her chair toward you demanding answers.

Just you and the work.

You move toward the center of the room, pulling out your tablet to review the layout. The space is perfect—high ceilings, just the right balance of natural and artificial light. The way the walls curve will complement Minghao’s pieces beautifully. You can already imagine the way his art will breathe life into the room.

You’re so focused that you don’t notice someone else entering. Minghao stands near the entrance, hands in the pockets of his coat, eyes scanning the space before they land on you.

Your fingers tighten around your tablet. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

He shrugs slightly. “I wanted to see the space for myself.” His voice is calm, casual like running into each other is just another normal occurrence. Like you didn’t sit across from each other yesterday, pretending you were just two professionals who had never been anything else.

You nod, forcing yourself to mirror his indifference. “It’s a good venue. Your pieces will stand out here.”

Minghao steps further inside, gaze flickering over the walls, the lighting, the empty space waiting to be filled. “It suits the theme.”

There’s a beat of silence. You shift your weight slightly, debating whether to say something more, but Minghao speaks first.

“You always wanted to do this, didn’t you?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“This.” He gestures loosely around the venue. “Curating. Putting together exhibits. I remember you talking about it.”

You stare at him for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. He remembers?

You shake it off, nodding. “Yeah. I worked for it.”

Minghao hums in acknowledgment, stepping closer. “You’re good at it.”

It’s a simple statement, but something about it makes your breath hitch. You tell yourself it’s just the surprise of hearing him say it, not the warmth curling at the edges of your chest.

You clear your throat, shifting the conversation back. “We’ll need to finalize the layout soon. If you have any specific requirements for how your pieces should be displayed, now’s the time to bring them up.”

Minghao looks at you, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “I trust your judgment.”

It’s the second time he’s said that, and yet, it still feels different coming from him.

For a moment, the weight of the past lingers in the space between you. But then, Minghao turns, walking further into the venue, and just like that, the moment is gone.

You pull up the digital floor plan on your tablet, stepping to the center of the space as Minghao watches. “The main area will have the larger installations,” you begin, voice steady, professional. “We want visitors to be drawn in immediately, so we’re positioning the most visually striking pieces here.”

Minghao nods slightly, his gaze sweeping across the room, already visualizing it. “This section will be more intimate. It’s meant to slow people down, to make them pause and really engage with the work rather than just passing through.”

You continue walking, feeling yourself getting more absorbed in the details. You’re in your element now curating, shaping the experience, making sure every piece has a purpose.

Then, you stop in front of a particular section of the room.

There’s something about this space. The way the light falls, the way it feels slightly tucked away yet still open. You can see it. something important should go here. Something that holds weight. But for some reason, the words to explain it won’t come out the way you want them to.

You frown slightly, trying to find the right phrasing. “This part—there’s just something about it,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “It’s like… I don’t know, it feels different from the rest of the space, like it—”

You cut yourself off, frustrated, but before you can try again, Minghao speaks.

“I can see that.”

You turn to him. He’s looking at the space, his expression soft, thoughtful. Then, he smiles—small, barely there, but real.

“You’re right,” he says simply.

And just like that, you know he understands. Exactly what you meant, even when you couldn’t find the words.

After walking through the space, you decide to stop by the small café tucked inside the venue. You were planning on going alone just a quick coffee before heading back to finalize more details but Minghao follows.

You don’t say anything as you both order, and he doesn’t make a move to leave once you find a quiet corner to sit. It’s not awkward, exactly.

Just… unexpected.

Then, as you stir your drink absentmindedly, he asks,

“How have you been?”

You blink, looking up at him. There’s no bitterness in his tone, no underlying anger or resentment. Just a simple question, asked like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitate for a moment before answering honestly. “I’ve been better.”

Minghao nods slightly, as if he expected that. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for details. Just lets your words settle between you. For some reason, that makes it harder to breathe.

Minghao watches you for a moment, fingers curled loosely around his cup. Then, in that quiet, thoughtful way of his, he says,

“You look good. More at peace.”

You freeze. Not because of the words themselves, but because of what he means.

He’s not just saying you look good. He’s talking about then. About the person you were when you left him. The version of you who didn’t know what to say, who let silence build walls between you both until there was no way back.

The wrong person at the right time.

You swallow, gripping your cup a little tighter. “I guess time does that.”

Minghao hums in response, gaze still steady, like he’s seeing through you rather than just looking. But he doesn’t say anything more.

You take a sip of your drink, staring down at the foam swirling in your cup. The air between you and Minghao isn’t heavy, but it isn’t entirely light either. It’s balanced on the edge of something unspoken. Something that neither of you seem willing to reach for.

Still, if he can acknowledge you, then you can do the same for him.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” you say, setting your cup down. “Your work is everywhere now. People are obsessed with figuring out the artist behind it all.”

Minghao exhales a small laugh, tilting his head slightly. “That wasn’t really the goal.”

You nod, because you know that. He never cared for fame, only the art itself. “Still. Congratulations.”

His eyes flicker to yours, and for a second, there’s something unreadable in his gaze. “Thanks.”

You lean back in your seat, studying him in a way you hadn’t let yourself before. He’s still him—still thoughtful, still composed—but there’s something different now. A certain ease in his presence.

“I always thought you’d make it,” you admit quietly. “Even back then.”

Minghao watches you, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course. You were never meant to be small. It was just a matter of time before people realized how good you are.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something like surprise, something softer. He looks down at his cup, fingers tracing the rim. “You were the first person who ever said that to me.”

Your heart stumbles over itself for a moment. “I was?”

Minghao nods, gaze still on his drink. “Yeah.”

You sit with that for a moment, the weight of it settling between you. Back then, you were the one who saw it—the potential, the brilliance in him before the rest of the world did. You wonder if he remembers the late nights spent in quiet corners, sketchbooks spread out between you, his voice low as he talked about what he wanted to create.

You wonder if he remembers how much you believed in him.

Minghao lifts his head again, his gaze steady. “And you?” he asks. “Are you where you thought you’d be?”

The question catches you off guard.

You let out a slow breath, considering it. “I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I worked for this, and I love what I do. But… I don’t think I ever imagined it exactly like this.”

Minghao nods like he understands. Maybe he does. Then silence settles again, but this time, it doesn’t feel so sharp.

Maybe, after all these years, you’re both learning how to sit with unfinished conversations.

You don’t expect the call.

It’s late in the afternoon when your phone buzzes, Minghao’s name flashing across the screen. For a second, you just stare at it, debating whether to answer. But curiosity wins over hesitation, and you press the call button.

“I need to show you something,” he says, skipping the pleasantries.

You blink. “What?”

“My studio,” he says simply. “Come by if you can.”

And just like that, you’re standing outside his studio a few hours later, staring at the discreet entrance of a space you never expected to see. Minghao lets you in without a word, leading you through a warmly lit, open space that’s somehow both chaotic and meticulous. Canvases lean against the walls, paintbrushes sit in jars, and sketchbooks are stacked on nearly every surface.

It smells like paint, ink, and something distinctly him.

You take your time looking around, scanning the pieces scattered throughout the room. Some are finished, others half-done, waiting for something only Minghao knows. His style has evolved—bolder, more refined—but you can still see the traces of the artist you once knew.

Then your eyes land on something unexpected.

A random piece of paper, slightly worn at the edges, tucked between a few sketchbooks. And on it—

You.

A sketch, delicate and detailed, as if he had drawn it absentmindedly but with careful intent. The lines are softer than his usual work, more personal.

It looks like he made it a long time ago.

Your breath catches for just a second. You carefully pick up the paper, running your fingers over the edges. “This is…”

Minghao glances over, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t look surprised that you found it.

You look at him. “You kept this?”

He holds your gaze for a moment before shrugging. “It was never meant to be thrown away.”

There’s something in his voice—something quiet, something real—that makes your chest feel too tight. Minghao doesn’t acknowledge the sketch any further. No explanation, no lingering stares, no sentimental comments. Just a simple, indifferent shift in attention—like it was nothing at all. Like it wasn’t a quiet echo of something neither of you had spoken about in years.

Instead, he steps past you, gesturing toward a set of canvases against the wall. “These are the pieces I’m considering for the exhibit.” His tone is smooth, professional. As if the last few minutes never happened.

You exhale, steadying yourself before setting the sketch down carefully. If he wants to act like it wasn’t there, like it didn’t just pull you backward in time, then fine. Business as usual.

“I want this one in the main space,” Minghao says, tapping a particular canvas. It’s bold—strong lines, movement that commands attention. It’s exactly the kind of piece that pulls people in.

You nod. “It’ll work well as a centerpiece. We can adjust the lighting to enhance the depth here.” You gesture toward a section of the painting. “It should be the first thing people see when they enter.”

Minghao hums in agreement, moving on to the next one. He explains the intention behind each piece, his voice calm, collected. You listen, taking notes, asking the necessary questions. You keep your posture straight, your tone even. Like you’re just a curator working with an artist.

Like you didn’t just see a version of yourself from years ago, sketched on a piece of paper he never threw away.

You sit in the small office area of his studio, notebook open, pen moving as you jot down notes. Minghao sits across from you, leaning slightly against the desk, his arms folded as he explains his vision for the exhibit.

“This one should be near the entrance,” he says, tapping a photo of a piece. “It sets the tone.”

You nod, writing it down. “And the smaller installations?”

“Scattered,” he replies. “I want people to explore, not just walk through.”

You hum in understanding, scribbling another note. Your focus stays on the page, on the structure, on making sure everything is recorded properly.

Then—silence.

You don’t notice it at first, too absorbed in organizing his ideas into something tangible. But after a few beats, the quiet lingers, stretching between you like something waiting to be acknowledged.

You pause. Slowly, you look up.

Minghao is watching you.

His expression isn’t unreadable, nor is it piercing. It’s just… thoughtful. His dark eyes steady, observant, like he’s studying something beyond the notes you’re taking.

You hold his gaze, but he doesn’t speak.

It’s the way he used to look at you—when you weren’t paying attention, when you were lost in thought. Back then, you had pretended not to notice. You wonder if you should do the same now.

Instead, you blink, shifting slightly in your seat. “…What?”

Minghao’s lips curve just slightly, something almost amused flickering across his face. Then, as if nothing happened, he looks back at the notes.

“Nothing,” he says smoothly.

And just like that, he continues as if he hadn’t just looked at you like that.

Jihyo orders the second round before you even finish your first. She gives you a knowing look over the rim of her glass, waiting, letting the weight of the night settle around you. The bar is loud enough that no one else is paying attention to your conversation, but not so loud that you have an excuse to avoid it.

You sigh, pressing your fingertips against your temple. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Jihyo leans forward, eyes glinting under the dim lights. “How about the part where you and the mysterious, elusive Minghao actually have history? Because I’m still recovering from that revelation.”

You exhale a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “We met in university.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We were… close.”

Jihyo raises a brow.

You roll your eyes. “Fine. We were together. Sort of.” You take a sip of your drink, letting the warmth settle in your chest before continuing. “It wasn’t like some grand, dramatic thing. One day, it was just… us. And it made sense.”

Jihyo watches you carefully, sipping her own drink. “And then?”

You grip your glass a little tighter. “And then one day, I left.”

She stills, waiting.

You swallow, staring at the ice cubes clinking softly against the glass. “It wasn’t planned. Or maybe it was, but not in a way I let myself admit. One day, I was fine, we were fine. And then the next, I told myself it was too much. Too fast.” Your fingers trace the rim of your glass absently. “I convinced myself I needed space. That if I stepped away, I’d figure things out. And when I was ready, he’d still be there.”

Jihyo doesn’t say anything, just watching you carefully.

You let out a quiet laugh, but it’s hollow. “That was just me being selfish.”

There. You finally said it.

“I came back,” you continue, voice quieter now. “I thought—maybe I’d say something, maybe I’d fix it. But by then, he was gone. Really gone. And I couldn’t blame him for that.”

Jihyo exhales slowly. “Damn.”

You huff out a weak laugh. “Yeah.”

She tilts her head, eyes searching yours. “And now?”

Now.

Now, you’re a curator, standing across from him in a professional setting, acting like none of it ever happened. Now, he’s a well-known artist, more self-assured, more composed, as if the years that passed had only refined him.

Now, you sit here, trying to be happy for him. And you are.

But there are moments—like when he looked at you in his studio, like when he spoke about his art the way he always used to—when you wish you met now.

When you wish he met this version of you.

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “It doesn’t matter. He’s doing well. I’m happy for him.”

Jihyo gives you a long look, then sighs, taking another sip of her drink. “You can be happy for someone and still wish things were different.”

You close your eyes briefly, exhaling. “Yeah.”

Neither of you say anything for a while, just letting the weight of old memories and unfinished stories settle between you.

Then Jihyo knocks back the rest of her drink and slaps a hand on the table. “Okay, I love you, but that was depressing as hell. We need another round.”

You let out a real laugh this time, shaking your head. “Fine. One more.”

Jihyo grins. “Atta girl.”

And for now, that’s enough.

A few days later you go back to check the venue. With the event fast approaching you wanted to make sure everything is perfect.

The venue is quiet, save for the occasional shuffling of canvases and the soft hum of the overhead lights. It’s late—too late for the rest of the team to still be here—but you stayed behind, double-checking the placements, making sure everything looked just right.

Your footsteps echo lightly as you walk through the space, stopping in front of one particular painting.

It’s larger than you remember.

You know this piece. Or rather, you know the first version of it, the one that used to sit in Minghao’s dorm back in university. He had painted it late one night, the room dimly lit, colors swirling on the canvas as he worked in quiet concentration. You remembered watching him, sitting on the floor with your back against his bed, knees pulled to your chest.

A voice breaks through the stillness.

“I didn’t think you’d still remember that.”

You turn to see Minghao a few steps away, hands tucked into his pockets. He isn’t surprised to see you here. Maybe he expected it.

Your lips curve slightly. “Of course I remember.” You glance back at the painting. “It’s right here.”

Minghao steps closer, stopping beside you. His gaze lingers on the canvas, something unreadable in his expression.

“This was the first piece I ever made public,” he says after a moment.

You blink, turning to him. “Really?”

He nods. “After you left, I thought about getting rid of it.” He exhales, tilting his head slightly. “But I couldn’t. So instead, I made it bigger. And when the time came to submit something for my first exhibit, I chose this.”

Something tightens in your chest.

You look up at him. His expression isn’t unreadable, nor is it particularly wistful. He’s just… there. Present. Real.

And maybe that’s enough. Maybe some stories don’t need rewriting. Maybe some things aren’t meant to be undone, only understood.

You look back at the painting, taking in every stroke, every layer of color. It’s the same, but it’s different. Like you. Like him. Like everything that’s changed between you.

You swallow, voice quieter now. “So this was it. The start.”

Minghao nods, his voice just as soft. “Yeah.”

You don’t know what else to say.

The painting stretches before you, a silent testament to the history you share—one that neither of you ever really put into words. You keep your gaze on the painting, the familiar swirls of color pulling you back to a time when things were simpler—when you didn’t question what you meant to each other, when you just were.

Your voice is quiet when you ask, “Why this?”

Minghao doesn’t answer right away. He stands beside you, hands still tucked in his pockets, his head tilted slightly as he looks at the painting.

Then, after a long pause, he says, “Because I thought even if we parted ways we were still under the same stars.”

Your breath catches.

His voice is steady, like he isn’t saying something that shakes you. Like it’s just a simple truth. “And maybe,” he continues, softer now, “somewhere, on rare days… you think of me too.”

You blink, staring at the painting but not really seeing it anymore.

Because the thing is...

he’s right.

There were days, rare but sharp, when your mind drifted to him. When a passing song or a quiet night sky would remind you of a version of yourself you hadn’t spoken to in years. A version that had loved him, once. A version that had left.

You exhale slowly. “I did.” A pause. “I do.”

Minghao doesn’t react right away. But then, almost imperceptibly, his lips curve—just slightly, just enough for you to notice.

Neither of you say anything for a while. You just stand there, in the quiet of the venue, looking at a piece of art that holds more history than either of you are willing to say out loud.

Then, finally, Minghao shifts. “Come on,” he murmurs, glancing toward the exit. “You shouldn’t stay here this late. I’ll walk you out.”

You hesitate, just for a second. Then you nod.

But as you follow him out, you glance back one last time—at the painting, at the stars you once saw in it.

And you wonder how many times you’ve looked up at the same sky, thinking of him without realizing he was doing the same.

The event is a success.

People linger in front of Minghao’s pieces, murmuring their admiration, pointing out the details, the emotions woven into every brushstroke. Critics and collectors alike speak highly of his work, and you hear words like breathtaking and transcendent float through the air as you move through the crowd.

And yet, he’s not here.

You knew he wouldn’t be. Minghao had always been private, letting his work speak for him rather than stepping into the spotlight himself. But still, as the evening progresses and the venue slowly empties, you find yourself glancing at the entrance, wondering.

When the crowd finally dies down and most of the guests have gone, you take a quiet moment to breathe.

Then the door opens.

You turn

And there he is.

Minghao walks in without ceremony, effortlessly slipping into the space that had been dedicated to him all night. He looks around briefly, taking it all in, before his gaze finds you.

And in his hands a bouquet of flowers.

You blink, caught off guard. “You bought me flowers?”

His lips curve into something close to a smile. “It seemed fitting.”

You accept them hesitantly, fingers brushing over the petals. They’re simple, elegant not overly extravagant, but thoughtful. Like him.

He exhales, looking around at his own work before settling his gaze back on you. “It turned out even better than I imagined.”

You nod. “People loved it.”

Minghao hums, glancing at one of the paintings. Then, after a beat, he says, “Thank you.”

You look up at him, tilting your head. “For what?”

His expression softens. “Because you were the first person who ever believed in me.”

Something catches in your throat.

You think back to university, to late nights spent watching him paint, to the way you had always known—even back then—that he had something special. That the world would recognize it one day.

“I just saw what was already there,” you say quietly.

Minghao holds your gaze for a moment before letting out a small breath. “Still.”

You don’t say anything else. You just stand there, surrounded by his art, by his success, by the quiet weight of everything that has led to this moment. And this time, there’s no regret. Just something warmer, something steady. Something that feels a little like peace.

You glance down at the flowers in your hands, fingers brushing over the petals. The colors are soft, warm—not unlike the way this moment feels. When you look back up at Minghao, he’s already watching you. Not expectantly, not searching.

Just seeing you. The way he always has.

“I’m glad we met again,” you say, voice quieter now.

Minghao’s gaze doesn’t waver. He doesn’t ask what you mean, doesn’t press for something deeper. Maybe because he already knows. You’re content to meet this version of him. And you’re happy he got to see this version of you too.

Minghao exhales softly, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he nods, just once. “Me too.”

Minghao reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He hesitates for just a second before extending it toward you. You take it carefully, unfolding it with steady hands.

And there it is—the original sketch of his first painting. The one you used to watch him work on in that tiny university dorm, the one that reminded you of the stars. The one that started everything.

You trace the faded lines with your fingertips, feeling the weight of time in every stroke.

Minghao exhales, tilting his head slightly. “It’s fitting that you have it.”

You look up at him, surprised. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “You were the first person who saw something in it. In me.” A small pause, then, softer—“It should be yours.”

Something in your chest tightens—not with regret, not with longing, but with something steadier, something like understanding.

You fold the paper carefully, holding it close. “Thank you.”

Minghao doesn’t say anything else. He just gives you a small, knowing smile before turning back to look at his own paintings. The pieces of himself that the world finally sees.

And as you stand there, with the past in your hands and the present settling around you, you realize—this is closure.

And it’s enough.

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m4iya · 2 days ago

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🧋— MYA'S BOBA SHOP! (100 followers Event)

Oh, hi! Have you come back for a different order this time around? Or maybe you're a new face? I'm always picking up a new skill - this time it's making boba! So, my shop is open! Are you going to invite a friend to sip and chat? Or do you want to grab something for yourself instead?

This is my 100 followers event! I honestly never expected to see myself actually making one of these, so to those of you who are kind to me, my friends, or even if you've never seen my account before, here is an event in the form of a boba shop! To 'order', choose one thing from Base, flavour, and sugar level. You can have up to three add-ins; but keep clashes in mind!

☁︎ - Choose your base!

Green tea - Fluff

Black tea - Comfort

Oolong tea - Angst

Milk tea - Crack

☁︎ - Now what flavour?

Mango - Hinata Shoyo

Blueberry - Oikawa Tooru

Strawberry - Kuroo Tetsuro

Peach - Bokuto Kotaro

Brown sugar - Sakusa Kiyoomi

Apple - Suna Rintaro

Lychee - Iwaizumi Hajime

Matcha - Kenma Kozume

☁︎ - Sugar level?

100% - Complete fluff

50% - Drama (conflict and resolution)

0% - Complete angst

☁︎ - Ice level?

100% - Older (post highschool)

50% - Younger (highschool)

☁︎ - Any add ins?

Rainbow jelly - Childhood friends

Black pearls - Mutual pining

Pudding - Resting after a long day

Milk foam - Academic rivals

Basil seeds - Coming to your rescue

Aloe vera - Healing after rejection

Lychee jelly - Misunderstanding

Coconut jelly - Forced proximity

Popping pearls - Unexpected meeting

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kataraavatara · 3 days ago

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“The human lands.”

“The…what?” Feyre was flabbergasted. Weren’t expecting me to do that, were you?

“You heard me. I’d pick the human lands over being locked in a house with that prick.” She knew refusing to address Cassian directly would set him off. She could almost picture the indignation on his face, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him either.

“Now she’s just being difficult on purpose.” Amren said. Nesta was right. Being talked about as if you weren’t there was infuriating.

“Nes, you can’t actually mean it.” There went Cassian, trying to sound like a kicked puppy.

“Yes, I can.” She felt resolute.

“Think about what life in the human lands would mean, Nesta,” Rhysand urged, false concern ringing through his tone, “Even though we worked together to defeat Hybern, Fae and human relations are…far from ideal. You’d be-”

“Surrounded by people who hate me? I already am.” Nesta spat. “At least the people chasing me with pitchforks and torches will be upfront about it instead of hiding it in some bullshit about being concerned for my well being.”

“We don’t hate you, we want to help you-” Feyre tried to interject, but Nesta cut her off. “But I hate you. This is the best thing that could have happened, actually. I never want to see your face again.” Feyre just sighed.

“That is enough!” Rhysand snarled, “Feyre has been too generous with you, time and time again, and you will not throw it in her face like this.” Both Cassian and Feyre shot him a warning look. Nesta wanted to scream.

“Nesta,” Rhysand tried again, using his look at me I’m being so patient and paternalistic and wise voice, “Have you ever heard the phrase 'cutting off your nose to spite your face’?”

Nesta just glared at him. “The human lands. You said I could choose.” She reveled in the looks of shock on their faces. “I bet you’ll be happy to finally send me away.”

There was dead silence. Nesta reveled in it. “So who’s going to winnow me there? Mor? Rhysand? Azriel?” She turned to Feyre, who gaped at her like a fish. “You?”

“Azriel can.” Rhysand cut in. “He’s more familiar with the human lands than any of us,” he closed his eyes briefly, “And he’s on his way.”

Both Feyre and Cassian whipped their heads towards Rhysand in shock and indignation, confirming Nesta’s suspicions that the human lands were a bluff. Feyre tried to protest, but Nesta cut her off. “Rhysand is fond of giving females choices, right? Prides himself on it. So I choose exile in the human lands. Unless you were lying, and there was no choice at all?”

Feyre looked stunned. “Nesta, please think of what you’re doing.”

“I’ve thought about it. I’m done. Honestly, I hope a mob with pitchforks comes and puts me out of my misery. I bet that would make you happy, wouldn’t it? Never having to deal with your evil sister again?”

“That’s enough!” Rhysand snarled, but Nesta had already shouldered her way past Cassian and grabbed the handle of the door. “I’ll wait for Azriel outside.”

I’ve picked up the pen again, read the rest of chapter one: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62741350/chapters/160621048

#nesta archeron #pro nesta archeron #ao3 writer #ao3 link #acosf critical #acosf fic #a court of silver flames #nesta fic #pro nesta fic

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berenwrites · 1 day ago

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Kindle Book Download - The Faster Way

So I saw a post on Tumblr yesterday, which I am sorry I cannot find again. It was talking about how Kindle are removing the download ability on the 26th Feb and one response mentioned a Tampermonkey script to help with downloading all of our Kindle books. If someone can point me to the post, I will credit the person who mentioned it - thank you.

Well the script makes it about half as frustrating to download everything as the only way Kindle provide it and it took me a while to figure out how to use it, so I thought I would elaborate. I went from being able to do 8 pages of books in a day, to doing 37 - I have another 20 to go.

Tampermonkey is a plugin for the browser which allows a script to be run to alter the page - spent a good hour trying to work out how to run the script because I thought Tampermonkey was the name of the author or something😆 . It can be found here: https://www.tampermonkey.net/

There is an FAQ about how to install it here, along with how to install scripts: https://www.tampermonkey.net/faq.php

The script to alter the Amazon download page is here: https://github.com/chrishol/greasemonkey-scripts/blob/main/download-all-kindle-books.js

The script puts a button at the top of the page on the right that says "Trigger Download" (seen in green below)

This button when pressed will do all the button presses for the downloads for you so you don't have to click everything yourself. All you have to do is confirm the save to your computer.

On my PC I can set it going, wait for the first save to come up, then click away and leave it for about 3 mins while I'm doing other things and then click save 25 times once it's done. Others have to click the save after 8-10 saves have been queued up or it sits there just waiting - not sure why, but it happens.

If the script does not work and the button does not appear for you after you have told Tampermonkey to run on the page, check the line in the top of the code that starts with

// @ match (no space after the @ in the actual script)

The script is set up for Amazon.com, so if you are on Amazon.co.uk like me, or another of the Amazon sites, you will need to edit this, to have the right amazon in the URL.

E.g. mine looks like: https://www.amazon.co.uk/hz/mycd/digital-console/contentlist/booksAll/*

The rest of the URL will be exactly the same.

The match line is basically telling the script what page the script should run on.

Also of note - in the code it allows you to change which Kindle device you are picking in the list if you have more than one. If your Kindle is first in the list, you're all set. If not, scroll down to line #77 until you find this part and follow the instructions in the comment:

clickElementWithin(dropdown, 'span[id^="download_and_transfer_list_"]'); // Choose the first Kindle in list // If you want the second Kindle in the list, change the above line to this instead (for the third, you'd change the [1] to [2] and so on): // dropdown.querySelectorAll('span[id^="download_and_transfer_list_"]')[1].click();

And those are the only things that tripped me up - so happy downloading. Hope it all works as well for you as it is working for me.

#Kindle #Amazon #Downloading ebooks #ebooks #tampermonkey

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peace-hunter · 3 months ago

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tfone au where OP is created as the last of the primes but way after them, a sparkling born at what were thought to be the last days of the war against the quintessons, the beginning of a new generation of peace after eons of war. a child meant to be loved and raised knowing nothing of war nor sacrifice.

he's kept mostly out of the spotlight by his siblings, who don't wish to expose him to everyone's optics so young, and want to wait until the war is done and over to properly introduce him to their people.

except of course the primes are betrayed and murdered by sentinel, the war is lost and everyone who knows and cared for the truth is either banished or outright killed in order to suppress it.

and the high guard, the ones the primes trusted the most, the ones that were supposed to protect them, the ones who failed in their most important duty, have to make a choice. to take the last prime, their last hope, with them to the surface, a hostile environment where there's little to no supplies and where they'll be hunted down by both sentinel and the quintessons as the biggest threat to their regimen.

or hide him in plain sight. place him where sentinel won't think to look for him. one more sparkling among many. and hope it will be enough to keep him alive. pray to primus that he'll protect his last child long enough for them to come back for him when it's safer (even if most of them have already lost their faith on him when he allowed the rest of his children to be massacred like that)

they almost lose their resolve when they realize they will have to take the little one's cog away in order to make him blend in with the rest of the newborns (and oh do they burn with murderous intent when they see what sentinel has done to their people but it's not the time yet-) but in the end they decide an impaired little prime is better than a dead one.

and so in the chaos of thirteen dead primes and a sudden energon crisis, a little sparkling who very few mechs really knew about and even fewer had seen completely vanishes. and in the depths of iacon a mech in charge of a new batch of newborns scratches their helm in confusion as they realize they must have miscounted the first time.

optimus prime is quietly erased from any official records by sentinel, written off as dead when they find a sparkling's frame mangled beyond recognition after an attack on the base of those rebels that insist on being a thorn on his side. killing the sparkling hadn't been precisely in his plans, he probably could've found some use for it after all, but he's not particularly upset about it either.

and orion pax grows up with an ache on his spark that tells him he's missing something far more important than a t-cog and dreams of gentle and loving hands, cradling him against the frames of mechs he cannot recall the faces of.

#i talk a lot <3 #transformers #transformers one #tfone #optimus prime #orion pax #baby prime orion au #this is mostly an excuse for me to draw the primes and baby OP later on. just to be clear.#i WILL be drawing this at some point lmao #tbh i'm a little uncertain how i want things to progress #because on one hand it would be very tasty and tense if sentinel recognized optimus during the race #but that means a lot of changes very early on in the plot and i would have to do a lot of Thinking on how to justify getting the gang #to still pick up bee and elita. cause i love them <3 #i do think it'd be very funny if the high guard's plan worked like a charm except for the very tiny fact that they didn't count #on orion being an absolute hellion. like. this kid is Not Going Unnoticed and it's completely his own fault lmao #in this version maybe a member of the high guard stayed behind to keep an eye on orion and is able to get them out before they're killed #but instead of taking them to where the primes fell they take them directly to the high guard #which is very awkward because it's a very moving and emotional moment for the high guard who are finally reunited with their little prime #all grown up and healthy and blessedly *alive*. except orion doesn't fucking remember any of them and is very confused as to why #the legendary warriors of cybertron are getting all weepy over him. they finally explain the truth to him which is a Fucking Bomb #to drop on anyone but especially a group of kids who almost got killed by the person they all thought the world of just hours ago #they also return orion's t-cog to him which would create some tension between him and the rest of the gang because this time #he's the only one getting his cog back. add to it that they were just told he's the equivalent of a demi-god and... well.#there's a gap between him and them that wasn't there before #on the other version of events that follows canon more closely everything goes the same up until the gang finds the primes in the cave #and wake up alpha trion who now not only has to deal with the fact the rest of his siblings are dead but that he missed fifty cycles #of his baby brother's life. that the only sibling he has left does not remember him or his true identity at all.#he has to choose between telling him the truth which has the risk of unbalancing him in a critical moment where he cannot afford to #be distracted because they're being hunted down. or let him remain unaware. let him forget their family and the love they had for him #but letting him remain free of the knowledge of what he lost and the heartbreak it would bring.

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icewindandboringhorror · 8 months ago

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What would you choose? :0c

(note: original image is from HERE (link) - but I edited it to add a wider variety of options.. also added $3 extra to the total, even though I know that makes it more uneven lol, I thought if you're adding 10 whole extra items, the money to spend should at least be increased slightly, if that makes sense..)

#I would get orange juice. black coffee. AND iced coffee ($3) because I love the variety of having multiple drinks #then sausage and scrambled eggs ($8). Then sauteed mushrooms ($3)....AND... hrm.. then spending the remaining $4 would be hard #I wish I could get waffles (as they are my favorite and are superior in every way compared to pancakes. donuts. etc.) but I'm not willing #to give up the other savory things just to get them. so... then maybe I could get a biscuit or english muffin? and just put jam or #honey butter or something on it so it can be my replacement 'sweet and bready' thing instead of something from the $5 row??#OR I could also just assume that having the orange juice plus iced coffee would provide enough of a 'sweet element' to the meal #(since I largely prefer savory foods. I only like a tiny bit of sweet added for variety) and thus forego any sort of #'bready' thing entirely and just get the bowl of beans/onion/tomato (I'd leave the avocado since I don't like the #texture of them really lol). THEN I'd have $1 left to get the milk or the black tea... increasing my total of random drinks..#which is always the goal of course.. as a chronic ''person who is sipping at 5 different drinks at their desk simultaneously always'' perso #OR... I could just do.. waffle. scrambled eggs. sausage. mushrooms. and black coffee and orange juice.. which is... okay variety #augh... so difficult.. As my Ideal Breakfast is like a buffet type thing or something where you have like 25 different things to choose fro #and can get a little tiny bit of everything. My eating style is very much like.. I'd rather pick at a small amount of a ton of #different things than just have a very large amount of only one or two things. Thats why I LOVE sample platter type stuff.#So it's like... augh... the ideal option would be a tiny portion of EVERYTHING actually lol...#Difficult to choose...#ANYWAY.. Also no idea why I added croissant instead of bagel. I only thought about that afterwards. I do actually like bagels.#I've only ever even had a croissant like 2 times in my entire life. Yet I've had many bagels. For some reason it stuck out in my mind more #when I was considering 'essential breakfast foods' somehow... how could I forget them... bagels my beloved...#Blame it on the hot weather... 'What in the blazes? The sun hath obliterated the concept of bagels from my miind!'#(< meant to be said in a silly overdramatic elderly wizard accent or something)#Also I don't think ''bowl of beans. onion. avocado. and tomatos.'' is necessarily a breakfast classic or something gbhjjh #but I was just trying to think of a versatile vegetable-ish side that could be full of common breakfast additions #so people could do stuff like ''oh I get the toast option and then the bowl of stuff and I put the avocado on the toast'' etc.#Like a mix and match. You could mix ingredients from different parts. You could put scrambled eggs and bacon and onion #on the bread or soemthing. etc. I just feel like something is always missing if a Full Breakfast Spread #doesnt have some sort of onions or beans or mushrooms or asparagus or spinach like... some sort of thing that isn't just eggs and meat and #bread.. you know? lol..#But then again.. I am the Sampling Plate Style Variety Lover and Tiny Portion Of Food Picker so maybe thats just a me thing.

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sayakxmi · 3 months ago

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Saiouma Puella Magi AU, but Kokichi takes Madoka's role and Shuichi takes Homura's.

For one, Kokichi's too naturally distrustful to just hear "I can grant you any wish :)" and not think ok where's the hook. So he just does what no one ever has & essentially interrogates Kyubey, so he knows it all even before he gets to make a contract. So, some of his classmstes are MGs & he won't become one himself BUT he still ends up tagging along to just protect them in his Kokichi ways. (Though I'm entertaining Kokichi lying about being a magical girl, because, well, it's Kokichi).

(I also got a small idea of Gonta being a magical girls and Kokichi originally tagging along him into labyrinths, Gonta also makes him a magic gun from the toy one he had, and at some point witches out & Kokichi manages to kill him with that gun. So he always has that spare Grief Seed on himself, bc it's still his best friend & he can't handle the idea of just giving it away or using it himself (he does anyway in the end).)

Shuichi prolly ends up being a new kid & it isn't like MadoHomu, the ppl who reach him first are Kaede & Kaito, classic. Kokichi's there, too, but he's his usual sus self. He's actually discouraging ppl from making a contract when they find out magic and miracles are real, which absolutely includes Shuichi. He's very vocal abt it, but he won't explain stutf, bc 1) he's a liar, so who'd believe him? and 2) he doesn't want them to witch out upon finding out the truth or, idk, murder everybody Mami-style.

Anyway, fast forward, bad things happen bingo & by the end of the run most charas are dead, there's Walpurgis nachting, and he makes his wish to bring back the ppl who died notably not as magical girls. Contract signed, he fights & fails, rip. I also thought it was similar to how he thought he could end the killing game by himself - he though he could finish Walpurgisnacht by himself, too. And he failed in both times. Whatevs.

Shuichi doesn't actually make his time travel wish for Ouma specifically, he wants to save all his friends. Timelines are messy esp at first bc he either tells then or it backfires or just makes himself look very sus bc he's trying not to tell them. He also realizes why Kokichi hadn't told anybody aby witches at some point, bc, yeah, it messes them a lot, assuming they believe it.

Still, Kokichi ends up one of the few people who are nearly always giving him a chance, not necessarily out of belief, but out of pragmatism - bro can stop time & knows the truth, that's just too useful. So they often work together & Shuichi grows closer to him but still we ain't there yet. But the thing is, Shuichi's time travel still makes Kokichi more & more powerful with each timeline, bc Shuichi usually goes back after Kokichi dies, so the universe figured out this guy's life's important. Anyway, another notable thing is the iconic Homura kills Madoka scene, but it's Saiouma with guest stars of Kaito & Maki. It's Walpy, it's not defeated yet, but the training trio are spent & just kinda accept their fate of turning into witches together. And then, boom, Kokichi appears & steals their Soul Gems for a sec & he's like did u know you can cleanse your Soul Gem with a darkened one? But it's a lie & he quickly tells them so, he just had a spare Grief Seed after cleansing his Soul Gem & he needs them to do some stuff. Shuichi can travel back in time & fix things, and Maki & Kaito are needed to fight Walpy here. He actually questions what happens to the timelines Shuichi leaves behin, and ofc he doesn't know. There's a chance they remain, so Kokichi needs Maki & Kaito to fight Walpy here.

Kaimaki leave, and Shuichi finally looks at Kokichi & realizes sth is Wrong. Kokichi struggles to hide how he's trembling & grimacing, and it's Kokichi, so obviously it must be extremely bad. Shuichi dreadfully realizes something worse, and he weakly asks Kokichi why aren't his wounds healing. And Kokichi just falls, laughing weakly, and Shuichi catches him & searches for his Soul Gem and, God, he knew it. It's nearly completely black. Kokichi laughs & admits he lied abt having two Grief Seeds, he only had one he never wanted to use. But they'll have the second one soon, so no need to worry. He asks Shuichi to maybe destroy his witch form as it's hatching, so he'll have the Grief Seed without any fighting… and he admits that he hates fighting, he hates this magical world and all its violence. He says that Kaito was right in calling him a coward, even here he just can't handle the idea of fighting any longer, he's so sorry. And Shuichi tells him he ISN'T a coward. He was scared, but he always followed everybody, trying to help, and when push came to shove he would always make a contract for the benefit of others rather than himself. He's a lot of things, but a coward isn't one. Kokichi actually tears up hearing that, and Shuichi promises he won't let him fight ever again, and especially he won't let him turn into a witch and hurt anybody, because he knows it's the last thing he's ever wanted. Even now he only accepts turning into a witch to help them fight to keep others safe. So Shuichi won't let him. Kokichi probably apologizes and thanks him and then he dies.

Keeping Kokichi from fighting starts off as a side quest that gains importance with time, bc it's something Shuichi won't compromise on (ah, trauma), which leads him to occassionally neglect others a bit, which makes them more likely to get hurt & ironically Kokichi more likely to make a contract, especially since he gets more powerful & Kyubey is more interested in him with each timeline. And that also makes him witch out super quick. Shuichi's paying more attention to him & over time grows resentful of others for how they're treating him. To Shuichi it's no question that Kokichi cares & is just doing his best to help, but nobody realizes that.

But the biggest obstacle in keeping Kokichi from fighting is actually Kokichi himself, bc he's too smart and nosy, lmao. Even if he knows nothing, he will find out quickly. Doesn't help that Kyubey wants him to make a contract.

Also, obviously Kaito is Sayaka-coded and Maki could be Kyouko-coded, so that's a thing, BUT it's usually Maki that witches out. Kaito is usually pretty close, but Kokichi intervenes & he survives, but Maki later cracks on her own (and since in the new timeline Kokichi isn't there, Kaito's the one to die, so he's still the secretary). So it's Kaito who gets the dramatic sacrifice. I imagine he genuinely hoped you could bring somebody back if you tried Very Hard & Kokichi called him a moron bc obviously it's not possible. If it was there'd be far less witches that there are. But it's Kaito, he doesn't listen to reason. So, Kokichi follows him to the labyrinth. At first Kaito's mad cuz what if Kokichi being there ruins the plan? Maki hates his guts! But eventually he gets hit pretty hard, and Kokichi is near immediately by his side, trying to help him get up, which kinda makes Kaito short circuit a little bc wait Kokichi's trying to help? But witch!Maki attacks them & Kokichi pushes Kaito away & gets caught himself (and choked until unconsciousness, naturally). Anyway, Kaito gets him away, Shuichi catches Kokichi & Kaito makes up his mind about going down with Maki & asks Shuichi to tell Kokichi that he's sorry. He doesn't get him, but he got hurt trying to protect him, so he'll believe in that if nothing else. F.

As for The WishTM, in the last timeline Shuichi lashes out at Kokichi for his willingness to just become part of the system. In no timeline has his wish actually helped, it did NOTHINHG, which OUCH but it also makes Kokichi think out of the box more & he becomes the Law of Cycles. And Shuichi realizes what is happening & freaks out bc Kokichi's doing it bc of what he told him & like Homura they end up having a momentTM in space & Shuichi remembers. He feels a lot of guilt even tho he also questions whether anything was real, but if it was, he pushed somebody he far too realized he loved into erasing himself from existence.

#hope it's not too long but i'll make it a read more if somebody thinks it is #i spammed discord i spammed bsky it's only fair i post it on tumblr too #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #saiouma #danganronpa #like obviously normally you'd go for something like Kokichi as Homura and Shuichi as Madoka and I'm just not that sure of it myself #like the vibes match at the first glance but the more I think about it the less it actually works for the characters in question #one of Kokichi's most defining chracteristics is that he cares a lot about everybody and frankly more than probably any other V3 character #but in a very... general sense if you get me. characters like Kaito and even Shuichi pick some people they like to care for and everybody #else is like whatever - sucked but now it's done like after Korekiyo's execution he says nothing abt him while both Makoto & Hajime offer #Celeste and Mikan some more thoughts and compassion; anyway obviously Kokichi doesn't care about say Kaede more than Shuichi but he still #gives all their lives the same amount of respect just for the sake of it; that's what makes chapter 4 so horrifying from his perspective #and also why in chapter 5 he isn't willing to do the same anymore and instead chooses to die himself so Maki of all people can survive and #so Kaito can go in a blaze of glory. and these two are arguably the two characters who treated him the worst (not that anybody treated him #well save for maybe Gonta and Kiibou). so i can't imagine Kokichi in Homura's role - reaching the point where he cares about only one perso #surviving while everybody else can die in a ditch bc the one time he picked his life over anybody else's he had a wholeass breakdown & then #killed himself several days later even though logically it would've made more sense to either kill Kaito who's dying anyway or throw Maki #under the bus since she was the one to fuck things up in the first place and proved herself to be a danger to the group.#Shuichi meanwhile he absolutely could given his lack of regard for some of the dead (Rantaro Ryouma idk abt Angie but I remember little #Korekiyo Miu and finally Kokichi himself) so he could snap at some point #anyway time to shut up it's getting long in these tags

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