#it just was dramatic enough to serve my purpose

[sugurusladyknightt]

what i'm thinking of right now is what if someone tried hitting on you out while out on a date with your love.

satoru would've stepped away to grab the ice cream that had you waiting in a line for what you thought would feel like forever. it was fun though, the two of you pausing your initial conversation about the days plans in favour of people watching and listening in on the very scandalous conversations of those who stood with you in line. your eyes meeting in shock or surprise every so often, doing your best to disguise your laughs and gasps with charades of idle conversation and your own scandalous conversations referencing drama that, mind you doesn't really exist in your lives at the moment.

while he was a way your getting hit on by some creep. it didn't come off that way initially, but man was this getting uncomfortable fast. can this guy not take a hint? he's asking for your number once again and your refusing once again politely at first, and more stern as the advances keep coming. your not used to people that won't listen when you speak. since when did back off mean come closer? since when did i'm not interested become im just playing coy. since when did im taken, leave me alone translate to my relationship isn't real or isn't important to me and id throw it away for someone who doesn't understand basic boundaries and uses those suffocating, nauseating colognes?

drawing closer and closer to you. face far too close to yours, breathe stank too. yuck. he's gaining confidence now,convinced the 'boyfriend' you were talking about was an excuse you'd made up. your just nervous is all. playing hard to get.

panic starts to set into your bones. he's leaning back, all cocky now.

come on doll face, this 'boyfriend' of yours doesn't have to know. quit playing so high and mighty i know you want me.

you think you might throw up. when an ice cream cone hits him right in the centre of his face. comically sliding down his face. and satoru enters the scene. sun creating a halo around his fluffy white hair, your ho is glowing. signature classes sat pretty low on his nose his skin a little flushed from the heat (hence the ice cream) he's holding two more cones in his hands, walking towards you and and the offender, mock sympathy in his voice. as he expresses apologies that to just might seem sincere if your that stupid if you tried hard enough. grabbing the cone of his face to meet his eyes.

satoru has a incredibly towering stature, and while this wasn't news to you, it's quite impressive to see its advantages in real time.

peaking down at the face behind the sweet creamy mess, satoru recoils. "ew." his tone dripping with absolute disgust. turning around to make his "bleghh" face as he presses the now ice cream less cone into the man's hair. like a sad party hat above his head an sticks on of the other two, being careful to use the flavour he knows you like least, straight back into his face. massaging it around to cover as much of the monstrosity as possible before nodding proudly for his work. a pat on the make, and he's turing on his heel towards you with that blinding smile on his face.

dramatically, satoru drapes his hands over you shoulders, and leans his weight it, a pout on his strawberry glosses lips. "babyyyyy, the sight will haunt my night mares, scary people out there" he tuts standing straight with a satirical furrow between his brows. he should have been a theatre kid with all these dramatics. though you were greatful, and relived. he makes life feel so easy. it's contagious.

he looks down at you through his sunglasses small smile playing on his lips, face no longer contorted by an expression of discomfort or disgust.

satoru hands you the last cone. after all the two he got for him have served greater purpose than satisfying his sweet tooth. strong arm loosely hangs from you shoulder as you walk off leaving behind the cheap excuse of a man now covered in creamy deliciousness far too good him. your laughing at something satoru said as he glances back to see yhe newest addition to his hit list muttering to himself as he try's to get the ice cream of his over gelled greasy hair, fake designer top and horribly ugly face. satoru thinks he should just keep it as it was. ice cream was a far more pleasant sight. he looks back down at you eating away at your cone, there's a little caught at the corner of you lips.

smirking he leans down to lick it off, taking advantage of the angle of your head above his to make his eyes wide and pretty for you the same way he would when he was licking something else. your flustered, mouth open, paused mid sentence and your eyes wider than his now. wide eyes portraying his faux innocence drop to a sultry lidded gaze leaning in to kiss away another but in the other side. your fingers going up to feel if there's anything there on instinct.

he stands up quick, back to his regular self, pinching your check acting as if nothing had just transpired. like the subtle innuendo was felt only by you. "are you blushing?? god baby your such a pervert. is that all i am to you???"

and he's back to the dramatics. rolling your eyes your shrug him of and continue. he stays, watching you, his beloved walk ahead, he feels himself let out the dreamy exhale of a lovesick fool, he'll be the first to admit that for you, he is nothing else.

a quick jog is all it takes to catch up to you. arm coming back around your shoulder he leans in like he weighs the same as the feather. burying himself close to you. you smelt sweeter than ice cream. his hair tickles your neck, and your his face.

"baby"

a hmm is all he gets in reply, to busy lapping away at your cone to pay attention to the kind sexy clown you call you boyfriend. he got your favourite flavour after all.

extravagant gestures weren't something satoru shied away from, as we have gotten to see up close today. he was loud and carefree but he was yours. and you his. walking side by side, his arm around your shoulders, head resting close to you. he can feel your pulse (his posture must've looked horribly uncomfortableto someone watching from outside the two of you). it's peaceful like this. despite the bustling crowds and busy chatter around you, you shared a feeling of peace in that moment. body held close to the one you loved, despite the heat your far from bothered by the proximity. he smells so good.

then it hits him. no sweet treat :( the gravity of the situation makes it self clear to him, but his salvation, as always, is being held delicately in your hands.

"you wouldn't mind sharing with your brave, fearless, super funny, super hot, saviour knight now would do you baby"

[ghostbusterscantcatchme]

men when their show has a lesbian subplot where one charachter sacrifices everything for the person she loves and is slightly hypocritical:

[unproduciblesmackdown]

omgg lol [guy who won't stop going "more like scapeGOATED" voice] now hold! on!! lmao [same guy just saw encanto voice] Hold on!!!

[your-local-simp-writers]

Puppy Love

Word Count: 1552

Warnings: None

Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

It was a typical day after school, one of those rare moments when Damian Wayne wasn’t caught up in some sort of mission or training. The clock ticked loudly in the classroom as you stared at your class partner. Damian was sitting at his desk, meticulously packing up his things, his movements precise, as always. He had a habit of folding his papers just so, making sure everything was in perfect order before leaving. It was almost funny how much effort he put into something so mundane.

You tapped your pen on the desk, your mind bouncing with energy, as it always did. You had an idea, a crazy, spontaneous idea. The kind of idea you always had, but this time, you had to share it with him.

"Damian," you said brightly, leaning across the desk just enough to catch his attention. He glanced up, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if preparing himself for whatever your next move was. You grinned, already knowing what he was thinking. “Do you want to go to the fair?”

His brow furrowed. “The fair?” he repeated, clearly skeptical. “I’m not sure how that could be beneficial to anything.”

You waved a hand, dismissing his doubts. “It’s just a bit of fun. You know, something different. Besides, you can’t always be training or brooding, right?”

Damian looked at you for a long moment, then sighed dramatically, an exaggerated gesture you’d gotten used to. “I don’t see the point in such... frivolity,” he said, though there was an edge of curiosity beneath the words.

You didn’t give him time to think about it. You knew he would overanalyze it otherwise. “Come on, just for a little while. You could use some downtime, and it’s not like Gotham doesn’t need a break from your endless seriousness. You’re my class partner, right? It’s just a few hours of normal fun. You’ve done worse, I promise.”

You could see the inner conflict playing out in his eyes—the part of him that was trained to be a warrior, never wasting a moment, battling with the part that was slowly learning to open up to new experiences. Finally, after a long pause, he nodded reluctantly. “Fine. I will accompany you to this... ‘fair,’” he said, his voice still laced with skepticism.

...

The fair was a short drive outside of Gotham, tucked away just beyond the noise and chaos of the city. You could tell the difference immediately, as soon as the car tires left the paved roads and hit the dirt paths leading to the fairgrounds. There was a certain charm to the place, something rustic and simple, so different from the bustling streets of Gotham or the towering Wayne mansion.

The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow over the rows of booths, food carts, and brightly colored rides. The scent of hot dogs, popcorn, and cotton candy filled the air, and the sounds of laughter and music echoed around the fairground. It was the kind of place where people went to escape from the grind of daily life, to enjoy the fleeting moments of joy that came with a simple carnival game or a ride on the Ferris wheel.

You could see Damian’s unease as you both walked toward the entrance. His eyes darted around, taking in the overwhelming sights, sounds, and people. It wasn’t quite the same as the controlled environment he was used to. But you didn’t give him time to overthink it. You grabbed his arm, pulling him toward one of the booths.

“You’re going to love the ring toss,” you said with a grin, all too eager to get him involved.

“Ring toss?” he repeated, the skepticism still clear in his voice. “What purpose does this serve?”

“It’s fun,” you insisted, though you knew he wasn’t convinced. Still, you managed to drag him over to the booth. The game was simple enough—throw rings over bottles. It was a childish game, but you loved it, and you hoped Damian would catch on to the idea of letting go, even if just for a moment.

He stood with his arms crossed, watching you carefully. "You really think I can waste my time on this?"

You gave him a sidelong glance and a teasing smile. "Well, it’s not about wasting time. It’s about... I don’t know, enjoying the moment."

He didn’t look at you, but he did take a few rings and line them up, aiming carefully. You grinned to yourself. Even when he was trying to act all serious, his precision couldn’t be denied.

With a flick of his wrist, one of the rings flew through the air, landing perfectly on a bottle. You raised your eyebrows, impressed.

“Nice,” you said. “You’re better at this than you let on.”

Damian didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as he picked up another ring. “I don’t do things halfheartedly,” he muttered, almost to himself. “If I’m going to do something, I do it properly.”

You watched him, a strange warmth spreading in your chest. The boy was so driven, so serious, yet you couldn’t help but admire his determination. It was rare for him to let his guard down, and even rarer for him to admit that something could be fun.

Soon enough, you had won a small stuffed bear, and Damian had reluctantly agreed to take it from you. You held it to your chest, practically skipping to the next attraction.

“What now?” he asked, clearly still unsure.

"Let’s ride the Ferris wheel," you said, already making your way toward the line.

He didn’t protest, which surprised you. Damian was a creature of habit and control. He liked to know what was coming next, not to be thrown into something unfamiliar. But here he was, following you as you led him toward the towering wheel. It was slow-moving and simple, but you could tell the height of the ride was making him a little uneasy.

Once you were both in your seat, the Ferris wheel creaked to life. The world below you began to shrink, the lights of the fair twinkling in the distance, and the sky above grew dark as the stars started to emerge, one by one. You glanced over at Damian, who was staring out at the lights, his face unreadable.

“You know, it’s nice up here,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “Don’t you ever just sit outside and stare at the stars? It’s so peaceful.”

Damian turned his head toward you, his expression stiff. “I prefer to watch... other things,” he said, his tone flat, almost as though he hadn’t really considered the question. “While I’m at it, I watch the bumper-to-bumper traffic and listen to the sounds of car horns and sirens.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his dry sarcasm. “That is exactly why I like to be in the middle of nowhere. No traffic, no sirens, no deadlines. Just peace.”

Damian looked at you, the barest hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Peace,” he echoed, then gave a short huff. “I don’t know that I would describe Gotham as anything remotely peaceful.”

“Well, I’ll take peaceful over chaotic any day,” you said, your eyes drifting back to the sky, the colors of the fireworks beginning to light up the air. You handed him a stick of cotton candy, offering it with a teasing grin. “Besides, I think you could use a little fun, Damian. Maybe the world won’t end if you just enjoy the moment.”

He hesitated, eyeing the fluffy treat in your hand before taking a cautious bite. His eyes flickered back to you, his voice quieter this time. “Fun. I’m not sure I remember what that feels like.”

You blinked, surprised at the admission. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You were so used to seeing Damian with his walls up, his rigid control always in place, that hearing him admit something so vulnerable took you off guard.

“Well, maybe now’s a good time to start remembering,” you said, your voice soft. “There’s a lot more to life than training and working.”

Damian didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away either. Instead, he continued to chew his cotton candy in silence, staring out at the fireworks. You could tell, even without the words, that he was beginning to relax, if only for a moment.

The rest of the ride passed in a comfortable silence, the fireworks exploding around you in bursts of color. It was a strange thing, this peacefulness, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched Damian begin to melt into the experience. For once, he wasn’t the brooding, serious heir to Wayne Enterprises. For once, he was just a boy—your class partner, Damian—enjoying the simple joy of a fair.

As the ride finally came to a stop and you both made your way back to solid ground, you felt a strange warmth between you both, something unspoken but real. You hadn’t just taken him to a fair—you’d taken him to a moment where he could simply be Damian, and for the first time, he seemed to appreciate it.

“Not so bad, huh?” you teased as you walked side by side.

Damian glanced at you, the slightest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Perhaps... just this once.”

[soltwent]

i just loathe you lately — .✦

ᯓ VI ARCANE X READER

SUMMARY : 15k word count one-shot! (sorry if you dislike longer fan-fiction) ; the secrets of highland parks are kept under lock and key, never to be whispered beyond its borders.

“whatever happens in highland parks, stays in highland parks.” — you’re a registered, licensed FBI agent who's made a name for herself in the world of crime-solving. working alongside a team of sharp-minded professionals, apart of what's become New Jersey's go-to crew for getting things done. their reputation? polished, and trusted.

then, there’s vi west: your work partner, equally sharp but just a step ahead in some ways. almost too close for comfort. who would've thought work partners could be this competitive? the irony? they’re unstoppable together, but neither is quite the same without the other.

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

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

This isn't my best work ever (i was sick writing it), but it's something.

MINORS + MEN DO NOT INTERACT! GO AWAY!

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

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

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

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

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

Not even surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just very, very taboo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've got to be kidding me.

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

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

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

You deeply appreciated that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

West.

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

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

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

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

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

"Realistically, that is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cleared your throat, forcing a thin smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What—the fuck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d had been riding her nerves all week.

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

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

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

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

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

Before you could fire back, Violet cut you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just suck it up and focus.

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

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

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

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

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

Working.

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

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

Are you lacking something?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Violet.

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

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

Why was she even here?

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

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

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

West had actually stopped making jokes around you.

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

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

So why was she bothering you so much?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your fingers stilled.

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t out of nowhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Violet had noticed.

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

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

Violet had always noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw clenched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Did you just call me a beet?”

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

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

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

Your stomach dropped.

Your pride plummeted.

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

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

But you couldn’t.

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

It made you want to rip your hair out.

“Never-fucking-mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had been different lately. More distant.

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

Then again, you had been odd lately in general.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You made things harder for yourself. She knew that.

Her gaze dropped, almost unconsciously, to your legs.

She blinked.

Weird.

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

It wasn’t exactly easy to look beyond that.

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

You weren’t… unattractive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Violet exhaled slowly.

Then, unfortunately, you caught her staring.

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

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

Violet sighed, pressing further into her palm.

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

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

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

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

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

It was… kinda cute.

Violet blinked, her lips parting slightly.

What? No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was this actually meant for you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way! You got a case?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re often both of those things.”

“Sorry—? Oh. It’s just you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Unfortunately, Jayce kept talking.

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

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

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

You snapped your gaze up, meeting hers.

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

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

Was she taunting you?

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

So unprofessional.

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

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

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

“Is there something going on, or…?”

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

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

Still nasty.

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

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

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

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

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

You almost jumped out of your boots.

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

West.

Again.

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

You weren’t the only one who had noticed.

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

Like something else.

Something you hated.

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

It made you uncomfortable.

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

You inhaled sharply.

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

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

You hated that grin.

Mostly because you had no idea what it meant anymore.

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

Humiliating. That’s what it was.

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

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

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

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

Violet did a double take.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had noticed all of it.

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

Your breath caught. You stiffened. Yes. Yes.

But your lips pressed together.

“No,” you managed.

“No?” Violet repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your fingers froze around the fabric.

Then, she stepped forward.

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

She was.

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

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

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

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

“Violet,” you breathed.

Her hand faltered.

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

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

You sounded good saying it.

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

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

You didn’t hesitate.

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

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

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

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

Violet groaned.

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

Violet hadn’t expected this ever.

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

But this?

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

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

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

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

And yet, neither of you wanted to stop.

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

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

But later.

Not now.

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

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

Then her mouth descended.

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

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

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

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

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

Everything needed to come off.

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

One by one with one hand.

Meticulously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Violet huffed, giving your knee a light tap.

"Is the pantyhose really necessary?"

You exhaled sharply. "Yes, It is."

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

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

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

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

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

She wanted to ruin you further.

Jesus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuhh—ck, Vi." Your voice cracked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was insane.

Doing this in the employee lounge? Absolutely wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

“My—God!”

The sound ripped out of you raw and shameless.

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

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

“You’re a mess, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think—I think I’m going to come.”

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

“Yeah?”

She then went faster.

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

“No—! I—Vi! I can’t—!”

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

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

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

Your back falls flat on the cool marble.

Vi had won, again.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

“Led Zeppelin? Never heard of them,” Steve lies, like a liar. Of course he’s heard of them, thinks maybe Hop’s mentioned them before. Doesn’t really know the band well, and probably definitely couldn’t name a song. But the comment serves its purpose, and the trap is set.

Eddie calls it the Zep Campaign. Every day they’ll listen to one album, and Steve will pick his favorite song from each. Eight days for eight albums. On the last day, they’ll narrow it down to one song to rule them all– because apparently even Led Zeppelin likes the Mordor books Dustin doesn’t shut up about. 

Each day, Steve struggles to pick a favorite. Day four isn’t bad– doesn’t mind a song that is actually called Rock and Roll, which is just a lazy title in his opinion– but they’re only half way through and the songs are all starting to sound the same. An endless stream of too-fast guitar melodies and weird, wobbly sounds he’s sure he’s never heard before. The vocals are his favorite part, but the lyrics are vague and confusing.

Long story short, he’s not a fan.

But this growing thing between him and this ridiculous metalhead is new, fragile. So if it’s important to Eddie, it’s important to Steve. 

“Stevie, we really don’t have to keep doing this,” Eddie concedes. It’s day eight, the final album, and he thinks even Eddie might be desperate to listen to something different. “You’ve listened to every other album and honestly this one is the worst. They were all on drugs, and this isn’t even their sound ya know? Like it’s not even real metal.”

And honestly, Steve does know. He’s been listening to this band for eight days and yeah, all the songs sound the same. But these ones are different. Softer. He’s made it this far, and he’s nothing if not persistent for the people he loves.

Sprawled out on the floor next to the boy he likes, passing a fading joint back and forth, he thinks he can suffer a bit longer. 

“No Eds come on, we’re halfway through anyways. Just flip it over and we’ll smoke while we finish.” Eddie huffs a sigh, but Steve can see the slight uptick of his lips, reminding him of why he’s doing this. He flips the record and crawls back, presses himself flush up against Steve’s side.

The next song is long, too long to keep his attention. They burn down their joint and Steve leans heavily onto Eddie’s open chest. He gets lost staring at the vinyl art. A guy dressed in a fancy white suit sits alone in a dive bar, the only splash of color against a dull background. The bartender looks gruff, like the rest of the bar, making the man stand out even more. He wonders if that’s how he looks posted up at the Hideout during Eddie’s shows. Wonders if he looks just as out of place in Eddie’s life as this man does, even though he looks comfortable there too. 

Eddie shifts his arms around Steve, bringing him back to the present. The song has changed and Steve feels the slow melody wash over him.

“Wait,” Steve cries out, flailing up and out of Eddie’s arms as he registers the new song. It’s soft with a steady beat. It’s got synth-- the sound Eddie told him he likes in pop music. This song isn’t loud and chaotic like the rest. The voice is soothing and the lyrics are mostly simple enough. It’s different, and he can’t believe it but–

All of my love, all of my love

all of my love to you, oh

“This one. I like this song. Like actually like it.”

Eddie sits up and stares at him. He can see the dramatic shock and annoyance on Eddie’s face. But it’s doing nothing to hide his broad smile and shining eyes. 

“Steven. Stevie. Baby, sweetheart, this absolutely cannot be your favorite Zeppelin song. Out of all the songs on all the albums and all the hours of poetic melodies I’ve forced upon you, you choose the most non-Zep Zeppelin song.” Steve laughs sweetly as he watches Eddie fail to keep the glee out of his supposedly annoyed voice.

The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again

One voice is clear above the din

“This song isn’t even metall!" Eddie screeches. He rants and raves, waiving his arms as he regales Steve with all of the reasons he should absolutely not like this one particular song. He's shining with happiness, dial turned up to a hundred and it's all aimed at Steve. He can't help but to gaze back fondly, enraptured in the adorably obnoxious spectacle.

"It’s all synth, almost no guitar because Page didn’t even write this one! He wrote all of them except two songs, Stevie, and of course that’s the one you chose. No one who knows good music even likes this album. It’s not even metal music and honestly I almost didn’t show it to you, that’s how bad it is!” They're both giggling, leaning falling slowly into the other's space. Facing one another, their feet tangled together, Steve twists and pulls on Eddie's rings. Just to touch.

“Well, maybe that’s why I like it,” Steve snarks, taking his hand. “Plus it’s a love song.” Daring to reach out.

All of my love, all of my love, yes

All of my love to you

Eddie’s smile dims a bit, softens at the edges as he grows serious. “It’s not a love song Stevie, not like that.” He’s looking at Steve but he isn’t. Looking past him into the back of his thoughts. “The lead singer, he wrote it for his son. His kid died of some kind of bad illness while he was on tour. Didn’t make it back in time.”

He pauses, and Steve waits. Knows Eddie has more to say, hoping his patience will pay off. Eddie’s sight refocuses and he heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes glisten as they lock onto Steve.  

“My mom used to sing it all the time. While she was cooking, or putting me to bed, or pulling weeds in the garden. She’d sing it constantly. Hell, she didn’t even know all the words, but she’d still try and sing the interludes– ya know, the music between the lyrics.” He laughs lightly, a stray tear just barely hanging on. Steve tightens his grip around Eddie’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A silent sign of gentle support and encouragement. 

“Sounds like a love song to me,” Steve whispers. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls Eddie into a tight hug. 

All of my love, all of my love, to you now

“A love song just for you, from both of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've always headcanoned that Eddie loves Led Zeppelin, because he plays guitar and loves metal and reads Lord of the Rings so of course he would.

[sandorswhore]

don’t you dare

summary: you were a little shit all day, chris gets fed up.

warnings: brat!reader, dom!chris, bdsm type relationship kinda, face fucking, kinda intense but not super crazy

“go put on real clothes before matt and nick get home”

chris was doing the dishes from breakfast, i was sitting on the couch in just one of his tshirts and my panties, since it was just the two of us home at the moment.

“no” i spat back quickly, not taking my eyes off my phone.

“no?” he seemed genuinely shocked by my response.

“you heard me”

“go get dressed, now”

“but i’m comfyyyyy” i whined.

“i won’t tell you again. go” he pointed toward the stairs.

i threw my phone down on the couch before getting up and stomping downstairs. when i got to our room i slammed the door, a little harder than i meant to but whatever, it served its purpose.

i looked for something to wear and decided on some short athletic shorts and a tight crop top. i chose to wear a bra so i wouldn’t get actually murdered.

i walked back upstairs and made my way over to the couch. chris looked up at me when he heard me approaching. i met his eyes briefly before he looked away, huffing and shaking his head.

❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎

“baby can you bring me a pepsi?”

i had gotten up to go to the bathroom and after i walked out i heard chris call out.

“sure” i said back, loud enough for him to hear me.

i walked into the kitchen and grabbed a can from the fridge, also grabbing myself a water. i left the pepsi on the counter, and walked back to the couch.

i could feel chris’ eyes on me as i sat down, placing my water on the coffee table and taking out my phone. i turned to look at him.

“what?” my attitude definitely came out in my voice, i could tell when his gaze changed.

“pepsi?” he asked, trying to be patient in case i actually did forget.

“oh yeah, i forgot” i quickly went back to my phone but i could still feel him staring at me. he finally turned away, lifting himself off the couch with a huff.

❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎

chris was sat at his pc while i laid on our bed. he needed to do some boring work thing, meaning i was getting no attention. i sighed as loud and as dramatically as i could, determined to get his attention but he didn’t even flinch.

“chris” i said, very monotone and at my regular volume. he either didn’t hear me or he was ignoring me.

“chrisss” i whined, a bit louder this time.

“hm?” he mumbled without turning his head.

“i’m bored” he didn’t respond. i got up from the bed and walked to his desk, leaning over his shoulder and licking a stripe up his neck to his ear. he stayed silent.

“did you hear me?”

“yes baby, i heard you. i promise i will give you attention as soon as i’m done.” he said, finally facing me.

“but i need attention nowww”

“the sooner i get this done, the sooner i can give you attention. now go sit back down and be quiet”

“whatever” i replied with such a dramatic attitude, i could practically hear him rolling his eyes. i flopped back on the bed, pulling out my phone and going on tiktok, purposely turning the volume up.

“turn that down” he said sternly.

“or what?” he spun around in his chair.

“turn it down, now” i tried to hold his stare but he ultimately won, i mean how could you disobey those eyes? i rolled my eyes, turning my phone down and rolling over so i was facing away from him.

❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎

we had all ordered a pizza and were sitting on the couch eating. i was being purposefully loud, nick was enjoying it while matt just kind of smiled to himself. the only one i was really annoying, was chris. he kept giving me looks

“y/n” i turned to him, “lower your voice”

i stuck my tongue out at him before turning back to nick. i could feel his eyes burning a hole through the back of my skull.

nick was very aware of our dynamic, being my best friend and all, so he shot me a look. i just shrugged and continued eating, getting back into my conversation, lowering my voice just a bit.

“fucking brat”

❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎

after dinner we decided to watch a movie, something none of us had seen before. we all got comfortable, chris and i on the chaise of the couch, nick laying on the main part and matt on another couch perpendicular to ours.

i cuddled into chris, even if he was pissed at me he never denied cuddles. he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.

at this point, i was frustrated. i had been such a little shit all day, why hasn’t he fucked me? or teased me at least. i noticed his hand over my shoulder and decided to bite it. not hard, just enough to get his attention. he pulled his hand away and flicked my ear, i just cuddled back into him as if nothing happened.

but i got bored again. i placed my hand on his thigh, far away enough from his crotch that it could be seen as innocent. i slowly inched my way toward the inside of his thigh before just placing my palm over his dick through his pants. he grabbed my hand and looked at me. i couldn’t contain my smirk, he was just so easy to get riled up.

chris stood up, his hand still wrapped around my wrist though the grip was tighter. he pulled me up off the couch and towards our room.

“we’re going to bed, goodnight guys”

“night” nick and matt replied at the same time, giving each other a look.

❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎₊ ⊹ ❤︎

chris harshly pulled me into his room and shut the door. he let go of me and i stood in front of the door.

“i wanted to finish the movie” i whined, knowing that i didn’t give two shits about the movie.

“so did i” he walked towards me, forcing my back against the door, “but i couldn’t because you were being a fucking brat” he spat, words soaked with venom.

“you’ve been a brat all day”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about”

he wrapped his hand around my throat, pinning me up against the door.

“you sure about that? you weren’t acting like a little bitch all day to get daddy worked up?”

i just stared at him, even if i had something to say i wouldn’t be able to get it out.

“i asked you a question slut” he tightened his grip on my neck.

“jus wanted to tease you a bit, that’s all…” my words trailed off.

he pulled me over to our bed, his grasp on my neck still firm. he pulled my face close to his after he sat on the edge.

“strip” he commanded, letting go of my neck.

i quickly pulled off all my clothes, minus my panties, he always wanted me to keep them on.

“on your knees” his tone wasn’t angry, but stern enough to make me think twice about disobeying.

i sat in front of him, on my knees with my posture straight. chris hated when i slouched. he leaned back, resting his hands on the bed behind him. i took this as an invitation, well, more of a command i guess.

i moved my hands to the waist band of his pants, slowly, in case i had misread his cues. hooking my fingers around them and his boxers, i pulled them both down, chris lifting his hips slightly so i could take them all the way off. his cock was red and angry, precum covering the tip. i went in immediately, desperate to taste him, to make him feel good.

i was interrupted by his hand in my hair, harshly pulling me back. i looked up at him, slightly confused.

“only good girls get to suck daddy’s cock, whores get their face fucked” i pouted a bit, not intentionally. i didn’t love face fucking, but chris did and i knew full well that it was a possibility when i started my act this morning.

“don’t you dare pout,” he tightened his grip on my hair, making me gasp, “you know what happens when you act like a brat”

i tried to wipe the pout off my face, hiding my disappointment that i wouldn’t get to suck him off but i should’ve known better.

“open” i opened my mouth wide and stuck my tongue out. chris stood up off the bed, slowly pushing himself into me. he kept his grip on my hair and put his other hand under my chin so he had full control over my head. he started slow, knowing that this wasn’t my favorite thing and even though he had to punish me, he didn’t want to hurt me.

the thing is, he’s just so fucking thick. when i’m sucking him off i can take my time, i have no issue taking all of him, but he’s so thick that i literally have to stretch my mouth out. so when he fucks my face, i don’t have time to get used to it and my mouth gets tired.

his thrusts got harder, sharper. i looked up at him as best i could, his head was thrown back, hair sticking to his forehead and his eyes closed. i wish i could have this image of him tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.

he must’ve felt me staring, snapping his neck down and smirking at me.

“such an obedient little whore. i knew you couldn’t keep your act up forever, just needed daddy to make you desperate enough”

i groaned around him. he knew me so well, inside and out.

“fuck you’re gonna make daddy cum baby” he praised, unable to help himself, “and you’re going to swallow all of it, you don’t wanna know what’ll happen if you don’t”

i did kind of want to know but the thought of swallowing all his cum was too appealing. i moaned around him, letting him know i understood. he groaned at the vibrations and after a few more thrusts i felt him shoot his warm load to the back of my throat.

i took it down easily, loving the taste of him. i stuck my tongue out, showing him that i listened. he grabbed my jaw and smacked me lightly.

“my perfect slut” chris reached his hands out to me, helping me up off the floor before pushing me back on the bed. i looked at him confused, he met my eyes and looked down. i followed and was faced with his still hard cock. i must’ve really worked him up.

he moved his hands down my stomach coming to the waistband of my panties, a dark spot covering my core. he pulled them down my legs, discarding them somewhere in the room.

“i’m not done with you, hands and knees”

this wasn’t a punishment for me anymore, i loved doggy, feeling his chest against my back, his hands in my hair or around my throat and his balls slapping my clit, god it was just the perfect position.

chris positioned himself at my entrance, his grip on my hips light as he sunk the tip of his dick in me. he did that a few more times, hands on my hips barely touching me.

he ran his hand up my spine, ghosting my skin, with only the first inch of his cock inside me. grabbing my hair, he slammed into me, giving me no time to adjust to his girth before pulling out and pushing back in harder, if that was even possible. i screamed, the pain to pleasure ratio too high.

“fuck so good daddy” i yelled as best i could, it came out as more of a squawk.

“yeah you like how hard daddy is with you?” he pulled tighter on my hair, “how worked up i get when you act like a little bitch,” slapped my ass, “you belong to me” then the other side.

“you are fucking mine, you obey me, listen to my orders”

“hnngggg daddy please”

“say it” i stayed silent “say. it.” he spat into my ear, making me jump.

“i’m yours, fuck i-i’m all yours”

“and so you don’t fucking forget it, i’m gonna pump my cum so far into you it’ll never come out”

“god please PLEASE fuck n-need it please daddy”

“love when you beg me like a good slut. do it some more baby, tell daddy how much you want it”

“FUCK daddy please god i need it so bad”

he grunts.

“daddy please please please i’ll be good i promise, please” i was practically sobbing, begging him to fill me up. i knew he’d hold this against me, next time i’m feeling bratty, more likely tomorrow morning.

“good girl baby, so good for me, just needed to be fucked good. that’s all, right?”

“yes fuck daddy cummmming” was all i managed to get out.

“yes baby, let go, been so good for me”

and just as soon as he told me to let go, he did too. i felt his hot cum paint my walls and i saw stars, i let out the most ungodly noise. you could probably hear it at the wendy’s down the street.

chris continued to pump into me, keeping his promise and fucking his cum so far inside me it was never coming out. he collapsed on top of me before rolling us over on our sides. i thought about trying to move away, get him out of me but i was so tired, and i love having him inside me.

“i think you should have to sleep with my cock and cum inside you” i could hear the smirk on his face. i just pulled him closer, as tight as i could, which apparently wasn’t very hard because he laughed at me and pulled me farther into his arms. i could feel his cum move around inside me as he kissed the top of my head.

“fuckin brat”

a/n- i really really really like this it was so fun to write i hope yall enjoy

[elliespeach]

no chances | ellie williams

˗ˏˋ"scared yet?" ´ˎ˗

pairing: ellie x afab reader synopsis: you and ellie are on rival volleyball teams and your dangerously competitive nature gets the better of the two of you. warnings: 18+, foul language, sexual descriptions, men (the coaches), eventual smut (ellie n reader) i changed the rules a bit, ik liberos have rules tehy gotta follow but to hell w that for the plot author note: the name comes from the twenty one pilots song!! i lowkey had sm fun writing this, i watched womens volleyball as i did and yall....volleyball ellie has my heart fr. this is gonna be a series n im excited to see where it goes wordcount: 2k ishhh

ellie pressed her feet flat to the floor, eyes locked on the other side of the net. she was behind her usual middle blocker, her arms raised up to align themselves with her stomach, her hands interlocked and her thumbs pressed together. she waited patiently, the sweat dripping off of her eyebrow and down to the gym floor. 

she sized up the team in front of her, ellie’s team played them often as they were rival colleges, especially for women's volleyball. her eyes scanned the team, the coach called a player in from the back row, the girl placed herself on the bench with a solemn look expression. that’s when ellie saw you emerge from the far side of that same bench, once previously blocked by standing bodies. she sighed heavily and muttered “fuck.” to herself as she watched you approach your coach. a pep in your step, and ellie rolled her eyes. you took the place of the previous girl in the back row, grinning ear to ear.

ellie was hoping you weren’t playing today, the amount of times you two had gone against each other was uncountable. both of you being exceptional liberos caused a rivalry of it’s own between the two of you to manifest over months. she couldn’t stand you and it was because you were just as good and just as passionate as she was but she refused to admit it, even to herself. despite your fierce competitive nature with ellie turning sour, you thought it was funny to taunt her. her expression would change in a heartbeat, and you knew it got to her before she composed herself. but you’d be lying if you said she didn’t get to you either because she most definitely did. 

you caught ellie’s eye and waved teasingly to her, mouthing a slow and pronounced, “good luck.” and ellie darted her eyes away, not wanting to be distracted by you. she shook her head from the thought of you and heard the familiar smack of the serve from your team. the ball went up and over the net flawlessly. her team kept the ball up, passing it back over with ease and ellie glanced at you while you stared down the ball with focused eyes. your setter mistakenly hit the ball at an angle which sent you diving to the floor to keep it up, shooting it straight back into the air and the outside hitter sent it back to ellies team. 

it went on like this for a while, sending the ball bouncing between the two sides of the court. the score quickly became nearly tied at twenty-two points. for a quick second, ellie caught you staring at her and her head cocked to the side, feeling her competitive nature step forward. “scared?” she mouthed tauntingly, a fake pout splayed across her face. focusing back to her team, ellie turned with the surge of confidence flowing through her, the ball came directly to her from the setter and she took her opportunity. from the back row, ellie jumped straight up, her hand connected with the ball with a hard slap, sending it flying right at you as if on purpose. she had distracted you well enough, you fumbled, the ball bounces off your hands and to the floor.

her teammates shouted in triumph, giving her several highfives and she looked back at you through the white net as they cheered, “sorry.” she mouthed again, her shoulders coming up to shrug dramatically. your face turned into a snarl, determined to do the same back to her. ellie’s team served next, shooting the ball up and over the net and it somehow went directly to you. you set the ball to your outside hitter beside you, and ellie heard you shout “back! back! back!” indicating to return the ball to you. with this ellie lowered herself, readying for a strong spike towards her head, she didn’t know much about you but she knew you didn’t miss. 

as you jumped up, your arm swung back furiously but as your hand came in contact with the ball, you hit it lightly, barely tipping it over the edge of the net. ellie’s team was caught off-guard, missing the ball and letting it fall to the floor. ellie bit her bottom lip in frustration, resetting her stance and glaring at you up and down. your uniform was form-fitting, of course your black shirt standing out among your teammates making it all the more easy for her. you didn’t meet ellie’s gaze once while your team celebrated their small victory and that upset her more than if you had.

there had been times during previous games that you two had gotten in arguments across the court, resulting in sitting out for the rest of the game. “you did that on purpose!” ellie would shout, her finger pointed directly at you accusingly, stepping towards the net. “only because you did it first!” you would scream back, your teammate holding you back from approaching the net while ellie egged you on, shouting obscenities that you so kindly returned to her.

 it was always childish arguments like this, and your teammates could feel the tension building on the court as the game went on, everyone was competitive but you and ellie took it to another level that made people uncomfortable. “pretentious bit–” ellie’s coach would approach her, cutting her off in fear of being disqualified. “oh, i'm pretentious?” you would bypass your team, walking up to the net furious. “you’re a fuc–” your team pulled you back and kept you quiet for the same reasons. 

nearing the end of the game, ellie was sweating hard, her auburn hair sticking to her forehead from the hot gym. she watched as you readied yourself, your arms moving up swiftly and you flicked your head to the side to remove the hair that was plaguing your face. she was staring for a little too long, stuck in some kind of haze, her ears rang and her vision went fuzzy. her teammates moved in a blur around her as the ball landed on her side of the court and she snapped her head, regaining her focus quickly, moving her hands to set the ball. it fell short and ellie threw herself forward on her stomach to reach it. she managed to bounce it but not anywhere near where she had to, her teammate fell short to get it and it fell to the ground. 

ellie cursed under her breath, bringing herself to her feet. she earned a look from her teammate beside her and she shrugged, annoyed. a dangerous look plastered on her face she scanned through the net for the black shirt. she spotted you fist-bumping the girl next to you and as if you felt ellie’s eyes on you, your head turned caughting her gaze. you smirked, a confident gaze settling over your eyes that ellie could see from afar. her tongue pressed against her cheek, trying to keep her cool like her coach instructed her to do. but as you two stared into each other you mouthed a steady, “scared yet?” a dumb look on your face as you mocked her. 

ellie bubbled over, her hands balled at her fists and she stormed up to the net. her cheeks were on fire and her chest felt extraordinarily heavy. her coach was on his feet, but he couldn’t reach ellie in time before she opened her mouth. “you know what? fuck you!” she shouted, making sure you heard her. 

you did, loud and clear. you practically fought your teammates to get to the net, only a few feet separating the two of you. your chest was heaving between the anger that filled you and the game you’ve been playing. ellie’s white libero shirt piercing your eyes compared to her team's mutual black shirts. “i didn’t do anything you didn’t fuckin’ do!” you yelled back with such aggression that it made your voice hoarse. 

you watched as ellie’s coach grabbed her arm but she didn’t break eye contact with you, her hateful stare intensifying. her coach dragged her away and you turned, your heart beating even faster than before. “you’re out of the game, williams!” her coach tells her sternly, ellie tried to rebut but he told her to sit on the bench. she groaned, rolling her eyes and sitting down with a huff. 

you watched as this happened a small smile crept onto your lips as she sat down, ellie never looking in your direction. your head turns to your coach who is approaching you. “you too, go!” the coach says with conviction, pointing his finger to the bench on your side of the court. your smile disappeared within an instant. 

“i didn’t say anything!” you try to defend yourself, but your coach just shakes his head and repeats for you to leave as well. you throw yourself onto the seat, not daring to look at ellie for the rest of the game, and ellie avoids your gaze too.

the game didn't last much longer, within thirty minutes everyone was loaded on the buses to head back to their campuses. as ellie’s team waited for a few more people to show up on the bus, she sat in her seat to go home, wanting to desperately just forget this whole day so far despite her team ending up winning – just without her. the panging feeling of her bladder became too strong to ignore anymore and the bus ride back was over an hour. as her team celebrated from the seats, she snuck by and off the bus back into the building where they had just played. 

she practically ran down the hallways to the nearest bathroom, pushing the door open and going straight to relieve herself. she heard someone in the stall beside her, it didn’t bother her until she was washing her hands and you came out of the stall. you stared at her in the mirror while approaching the sink next to her, remaining quiet.

you were wearing a large gray hoodie, similar to one that ellie has tucked in her closet somewhere. your hoodie came down below your shorts, hiding them. ellie felt strange seeing you this way, your usual hard exterior being present in your uniform. but looking at you now, all comfortable and sleepy, ellie felt a pang in her chest and before she could stop herself her mouth opened. 

“sorry ‘bout that.” she spoke calmly, even though her stomach was turning over inside of her. you glanced at her, her usual black shirt replaced with a gray windbreaker and black sweatpants though her hair remained in the same half up half down style, her demeanor felt different but with your team losing, especially since you couldn’t even do anything, you were still angry. 

“sure,” was all you said in response, turning back to the sink to finish washing your hands. ellies expression hardened, her arms crossing over her chest. 

“really? you can’t just accept my apology?” her voice raised in defense, pivoting her body towards you. 

“i don’t wanna,” you said, keeping your gaze on your hands in the sink, over washing your hands by a mile. 

ellie shoved your shoulder, not hard but enough to make you look at her. “fuck you, dude!” 

you shoved her back, your face growing hot because of her yet again. “no, fuck you, dude!” you mocked, your patience going thin and your heartbeat rising in your chest, heaving you pointed a finger in her face, continuing your rant. “you’re too fucking competitive.” 

ellie scoffs and reaches up to grab your hand, lowering it down between you two. her breathing was getting aggressive with her anger, she moved her face closer to yours, not letting go of you. “me? have you met you!” she all but shouted in your face. you noticed just how close she was to you, breathing heavy and a daring look in her eyes. butterflies erupted in your stomach instantly, feeling so much anger towards the girl in front of you it felt overwhelming but this time you felt it between your legs. ellie could see your chest pounding up and down with force and in a weak moment she glanced at your lips. 

when her eyes darted back to yours she found them bouncing between her eyes and parted lips. without thinking she quickly let go of your hands and brought them up to your face, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss. 

the kiss intensified as your hands found her hair in a frenzy and you both exhaled through your noses loudly. ellies hands left your face, wrapping around your back to pull you against her. your body smashed into hers as she parted your lips with her tongue, slipping it in roughly. for a reason unbeknownst to you, you rolled your body on hers and ellie grunted into your mouth, though it sounded like she was stifling a moan. 

she pushed your back to the wall, her tongue still flicking around your mouth furiously. her hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your sweatshirt. her warm hands planted themselves firmly around your figure as your fingers still danced in her hair. ellie bit your bottom lip softly, resulting in a moan escaping from your mouth and she gripped down on your skin. 

the sound of the traditional goodbye honks from the buses separated the two of you fast. you looked to ellie with an unreadable expression who forced her eyes to be anywhere but on you. the realization slowly hit you and you jump past her. ellie turns her body, watching you run out of the bathroom and into the hallway. it only came to her then that the buses were leaving and she cursed before running after you. 

you exited the main doors, throwing them open and not bothering to hold them for ellie who smashed through them only a few seconds after you. ellie came up beside you, panting from all the exertion and watched as the buses turned onto the street, leaving the both of you alone. “all my stuff is in my seat, fuck!” ellie remarked, her voice rising ever so slightly. 

you sigh beside her, your tone filled with anger, “me fucking too.”

part two

[mc-lukanette]

"I can't believe you," Marinette huffed, pouting and gently cleaning the dirt from Luka's arm.

He frowned sympathetically. "Marinette..."

She didn't respond, shaking with emotion on all the bruises and marks left on him. She knew it wasn't serious and it wasn't like it was his fault. She wasn't angry with him either, just confused.

Did all this really happen over pizza of all things?

She only really knew what he'd told her. Apparently, he'd been working at his part-time job and an adult thought they could just "take the pizza off his hands." Maybe they were in a bad mood, or they simply thought they could take advantage of a teenager, but Luka had gotten knocked off his bike and a scuffle ensued when he refused.

How adults were somehow less mature than half of the teenagers she knew, she had no idea.

Nevertheless, Luka was decently fit (he could lift an entire Marinette when ice skating and rode his bike around everywhere, after all) so he managed well enough, eventually ending up in Marinette's room. She'd forced him to sit on the chaise lounge despite his concerns about getting it dirty, his hoodie and jacket discarded so she could properly tend to him. His Jagged Stone t-shirt was sleeveless and allowed her easy access to his shoulders.

She glared, inspecting his arm once more to be certain it was clean, then got up and sat on his other side to inspect the opposite arm. Being clumsy, she'd gotten many injuries over the course of her life and thus was basically an expert at first aid. The fact that it was Luka she was tending to made her even more determined to do it right; she might've gotten a little lazy with it if she'd been doing it for herself.

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "I hate worrying you."

She shot him a look, but it crumbled at the sadness in his eyes. Sighing, she held his arm a little closer than necessary and retorted, "No, it's okay. I probably worry you all the time too." With a dramatic flair, she added, "So we're even."

He gave her that lopsided smile that always seemed reserved just for her, then let her continue in pleasant silence. Marinette, staring at his upper arm, noted that she'd never actually seen it before due to how often he wore hoodies and jackets. Just as she'd imagined, there was a bit of muscle there, and she wondered if she might've seen it if she'd gone below deck when she visited Juleka at the Liberty one night. Perhaps he would've been in his pajamas, and—

Marinette cleared her throat, forcing the thought out of her head. Catching his curious gaze, she hurried to say, "I-it's nothing. You're toned, that's all."

Her face flushed at the Freudian slip, but Luka took it in stride. With a tilt of his head, he asked playfully, "Because I like music?"

He'd known exactly what she meant, yet gave her an out. She squeezed her eyes shut, blushing deeper as her mind screamed, You're too good for me!

"Anyway," she carried on as casually as she could. She searched lower on his body and experimentally prodded at his ribcage, which she'd been planning on doing before but now served the purpose of an excuse not to make eye contact with him. "Does it hurt here?"

Bless him, he went along with it. "No."

She poked lower at his stomach. "Here?"

"No."

She peeked through the rips of his shirt just to be sure, but thankfully didn't see anything concerning. "What about over here?"

She gently pressed her fingers into his side and felt him tense, a startled hiss coming out of him. Carefully, she lifted his shirt and winced at the sight of the bruise forming there.

"Does it hurt normally?" she asked, trying to delicately feel around the bruise to confirm that nothing was actually damaged. Everything felt okay, but he took a sharp intake of breath like it wasn't. She looked up, surprised. "S-sorry! Was my hand cold?"

"Don't worry," he assured oddly quickly. His cheeks were a light shade of pink. "It's nice."

"Oh."

She turned to her phone briefly to text her parents about getting an ice pack from the freezer whenever they had a moment to spare, then set it aside to focus on Luka again. Figuring it was better than nothing, she kept his shirt raised and slid the back of her fingers along the bruising, appointing herself as a substitute for the time being. He shivered at the contact, but didn't complain.

They both weren't looking at each other now. She thought she'd gotten rid of her blush, but the mood in the room brought it back.

"Ah, so... were you that worried about your boss?" she asked, because the topic of the day appeared to be changing topics.

"Hm?"

She let the shirt fall, only supported by her fingers against his side, so she could grab his forearm and turn it over. Eyeing the place that'd clearly been scuffed when he caught himself against the pavement, she pointed out, "You could've handed the pizza over; it wouldn't have been that big of a deal." She paused, thinking it over. "Unless—maybe you were delivering to a really poor family? And that pizza was the only food they were going to get that day?"

It sounded like something Luka would do, so she was already worrying over the fictional financially-challenged family she'd just made up in her head.

He chuckled. "No, it wasn't like that. My boss was upset about me getting beat up, but they would've had to take it out of my paycheck if I didn't deliver anything."

"But was it worth it?" She tried not to sound like she was scolding him. "Are you saving up for something?"

He didn't respond right away and she dared a peek at his face. Though his head was turned away from her, she could almost see the debate going on in his head over whether or not he should say anything.

"Luka?" she called, wondering if this involved a surprise of some sort. "Is it about someone's birthday or something? I won't tell—"

"Next week," he finally answered. The idea of her getting the wrong impression must've stirred him into action.

She blinked. "What about next..."

She trailed off as it clicked. While she didn't have extensive knowledge of Luka's schedule, she did know that Luka hadn't had plans next week aside from one thing, as they'd chosen that week together because neither of them had plans otherwise. They'd set up a big day together to just have for themselves: a trip to the aquarium, going to the cinema for a movie, picking a random place they'd never been to eat, and so much more that she couldn't even remember in her state of shock.

"We promised to split the cost," Luka confirmed, aware that she'd already come to the correct conclusion. "I wanted to make sure I had as much as possible, just in case."

Her mouth dropped open, heart wrenching while simultaneously picking up in pace. He knew - must've known - that she wouldn't have cared if he came up a little short. She would've been more relieved that he'd avoided a physical confrontation.

But it'd been important to him to have money he could spend on her, on the two of them together. Perhaps it was just how he felt, or some standard he was holding himself to even if he wasn't aware of it.

Her hands shot up, one to grasp at the strap of his shirt closest to her and the other at his face to turn his head towards her.

"Ah." He grimaced. "You didn't do anything wrong, Marinette. I was the one who—"

She pulled him in and kissed him with a vengeance. She kissed him for all the kindness he'd given her, all the time they'd spent together, how utterly stupid he could be around her while thinking that it was normal, and also because she desperately, deeply wanted to. He stayed frozen the whole time, entirely unlike the calm, melodic movements everyone knew him for.

There was a loud "popping" noise when she broke away from him, out of breath and face feeling hot enough that she thought she might start sweating. Her grip on Luka's shirt had been so tight that her nails left tiny impressions in her palms as she let go, the wrinkled strap falling loosely off his shoulder.

Luka was wide-eyed, staring unblinkingly at her.

"D...don't do that ever again. You're too precious to me," she murmured, the situation slowly catching up with her. She had to metaphorically drag the embarrassment out from the back of her mind or risk being totally lost to the euphoria of kissing the boy she loved. The words may have left a vague implication that he belonged to her and she didn't want anyone so much as laying a hand on him, but she didn't take it back or clarify any further.

Barely remembering to breathe, she tore her attention from him to his lap. She could only hope that he wouldn't be upset in any way. "I-I should, um... check here too. Pull your pant legs up."

She reached a tender hand out to touch his thigh, but Luka's hand was suddenly on her wrist, keeping it in place. She jumped, initially anxious, but noticed that his grip wasn't so tight as to hurt her.

"You don't have to do that," he said. Given the situation, it sounded like an odd thing to say.

"W-what?"

She met his gaze, confused, and saw in his eyes that he wasn't the least bit upset. In fact, his eyes were gleaming, his body turning towards her and his face closing the distance she made. She watched with captivated eyes and he raised her hand up, kissing her palm where the impression of her nails had been.

Somehow, she heard his voice over the pounding in her ears, soft and loving as he whispered, "You already kissed me better."

In a perfect mirroring of what she'd done a few seconds ago, his other hand cupped her cheek and pulled her back in. It brought their lips together once again and she melted, needing no further explanation to understand. She leaned back intentionally to fall back on the chaise lounge and let him on top of her mid-kiss, not wanting to risk the tempting urge to climb onto his lap when his legs might be hurt.

She couldn't bring herself to care if her parents showed up right then with an ice pack. The tiny part of her mind that could focus on anything but the kiss was too busy planning out a few extra "events" for next week.

[nanowrimo]

5 Essential Tips for Mastering Scene Writing in Your Novel

There's many parts involved when writing a scene. Knowing how these different pieces work together may help you move forward in your novel. NaNo Participant Amy de la Force offers some tips on brushing up your scene writing knowledge. Scenes are the building blocks of a novel, the stages where characters spring to life, conflicts brew and emotions run high. Mastering the art of scene writing is crucial for any aspiring writer, especially in the lead-up to NaNoWriMo. But what is a scene, and how do you effectively craft one? 

What is a Scene? 

A scene is a short period of time — in a set place — that moves the story forward with dramatic conflict that reveals character, generally through dialogue or action. Think of writing a scene as a mini-story with a beginning, middle and end, all contributing to the narrative. 

Why Scene Writing is Your Secret Weapon in Storytelling

Well-crafted scenes enhance your story to develop characters, advance the plot, and engage readers through tension and emotion. Whether you're writing a novel, short story or even non-fiction, scenes weave the threads of your story together.

Tip #1: Scenes vs. Sequels

According to university lecturer Dwight Swain in Techniques of the Selling Writer, narrative time can be broken down into not just scenes, but sequels. 

Scene

The 3 parts of a scene are:

Goal: The protagonist or point-of-view (POV) character’s objective at the start of the scene.

Conflict: For dramatic conflict, this is an equally strong combination of the character’s ‘want + obstacle’ to their goal. 

Disaster: When the obstacle wins, it forces the character’s hand to act, ratcheting up tension. 

Sequel 

Similarly, Swain’s sequels have 3 parts:

Reaction: This is the POV character’s emotional follow-up to the previous scene’s disaster. 

Dilemma: If the dramatic conflict is strong enough, each possible next step seems worse than anything the character has faced.  

Decision: The scene’s goal may still apply, but the choice of action to meet it will be difficult. 

Tip #2: Questions to Ask Yourself Before Writing a Scene

In Story Genius, story coach and ex–literary agent Lisa Cron lists 4 questions to guide you in scene writing:

What does my POV character go into the scene believing?

Why do they believe it?

What is my character’s goal in the scene?

What does my character expect will happen in this scene?

Tip #3: Writing Opening and Closing Scenes

Now that we know more about scene structure and character considerations, it’s time to open with a bang, or more to the point, a hook. Forget warming up and write a scene in the middle of the action or a conversation. Don’t forget to set the place and time with a vivid description or a little world-building. To end the scene, go for something that resolves the current tension, or a cliffhanger to make your scene or chapter ‘unputdownable’. 

Tip #4: Mastering Tension and Pacing 

A benefit to Swain’s scenes and sequels is that introspective sequels tend to balance the pace by slowing it, building tension. This pacing variation, which you can help by alternating dialogue with action or sentence lengths, offers readers the mental quiet space to rest and digest any action-packed scenes. 

Tip #5: Scene Writing for Emotional Impact

For writing a scene, the top tips from master editor Sol Stein in Stein on Writing are:

Fiction evokes emotion, so make a list of the emotion(s) you want readers to feel in your scenes and work to that list.

For editing, cut scenes that don’t serve a purpose (ideally, several purposes), or make you feel bored. If you are, your reader is too. 

Conclusion

From understanding the anatomy of a scene to writing your own, these tips will help elevate your scenes from good to unforgettable, so you can resonate with readers.

Amy de la Force is a YA and adult speculative fiction writer, alumna of Curtis Brown Creative's selective novel-writing program and Society of Authors member. The novel she’s querying longlisted for Voyage YA’s Spring First Chapters Contest in 2021. An Aussie expat, Amy lives in London. Check her out on Twitter, Bluesky, and on her website! Her books can be found on Amazon. Photo by cottonbro studio

[jisatsuwaifu]

Life is incredibly frustrating, stressful, and exhausting. Everyday I think “it’s okay, it’ll get better, try again tomorrow” but it just keeps proving me wrong. When I think things are getting better and I can finally relax, something else comes along and puts me right back into panic mode. It’s always something, there’s never a break. I never feel safe. All I do is complain about how sad or frustrated I am and I’m sure everyone around me is sick of hearing it. Which is fine, I wouldn’t want to be surrounded by misery when my life is good either or listen to a broken record when there’s much better music to be heard. I am my own responsibility, I shouldn’t rely on others.

My thoughts consume me. Not in a cutesy I’m just a girl cringe kind of way but in a “I need to go to sleep as soon as possible to prevent an accident” because I cannot trust my own head to comfort me but to only make scenarios worse or feed into my paranoia. I am not built to be left alone. I constantly feel like I’m too much and not enough. I’ve never felt more loved but also so alone in all my life. Everything is black and white there is no grey areas with my mind.

I just don’t think anyone knows or understands how thin I’m being stretched and how badly I’d just love for everything to stop and to be able to catch my breath. Just for a day. I’ve cried for help but I don’t think the one person I need help from genuinely hears me. I dont trust many people to begin with. There’s only so much a single person can take before it starts to cripple them. And I know I can be over dramatic and too emotional at times but this genuinely feels like the end, I can’t see past this point in my life. And the sad part is I do not know how I got here. Or this far to begin with. But I am so tired. It’s times like these I wish I had my mom back or even just a family to lean on and seek advice from, but I can’t even entertain my own sister long enough to talk on the phone with me. I don’t understand why I exist or what my purpose is if all I’ve ever been exposed to is pain and abandonment. There’s some aspects of my life that I know I serve a purpose for and want to make proud, I’m trying my hardest for that one thing. I just don’t want to cause anymore damage than I already have. I can’t be like my mother.

I just needed somewhere to vent, some outlet. It won’t change anything. I feel hopeless and empty again. I might just delete everything. I don’t know.

The best I can do right now is try again tomorrow.

( if you read all of this thanks for listening to my rant and I’m sorry I wasted your time when you could have been scrolling onto something cooler like tiddies or anime idk but ty anyways <3 )

[littleplantfreak]

Liar Liar - Sou Hayato

So this is the first part to a soulmate au that I wanted to try doing a series for. Just a small thing I'll definitely add to soon so here ya go!

AU prompt: You can't lie to your soulmate

SFW - not really anything to tag

“Are you three ready to order?” you ask, grabbing the pencil you shoved in your ponytail and wait for the boys to start.

“Ah I’ll have the number 5 with veggies, please.” The sweet orange-haired boy says as he points to his menu.

“Of course!” You turn your attention to the boy with the eye-patch. Is this a chuuni thing? Is there really no eye there? Did he lose it in an accident? It’s none of your business but everything about this boy screams different. Even the third boy with his hair two different colors seems somehow tamer. The one eye you can see is a deep mahogany and his tassel earrings sway when his head turns toward you.

“I’ll just have the green tea. I’m not on a diet.” He says, but his eyes widen slightly at the last part.

"Eh- Suo-san you said the other day you were on a diet! The orange haired boy cried, taking his notebook out and erasing something he'd written prior.

"It's a secret Nirei," Suo sends a tight-lipped smile back at him. "By the way," he turns to you again, "do you have any recommendations for my other friend? He's- what's your favorite thing from the menu?" Suo, eye-patch wearer who isn't on a diet, kicks his un-named friend in the shin before he can speak.

"Actually I hate the food here," you say bluntly, your sentence shocking yourself. That was NOT what you were going to say, and you can tell Suo knew that. How he knew that is something you'd very much like to ask but you were at work. You try saying something similar to what you intended to say a second ago, leaving your own opinion out of it to parrot what most would say the best meal was here. You look back and around to see if your manager heard, but to your relief everyone working was either on break or busy on the other side of the room.

"I already know what I want so can I order?" The third boy breaks you out of whatever weirdness just happened and you jot his order down before turning on your heel and heading to the kitchen. Walking back, you can hear Suo telling his friend he was rude to interrupt and his friend shoots back some response you can no longer hear.

The rest of the interactions with the group were normal enough as you tried to answer any questions vaguely. You catch Suo staring before they walked out the door to leave and found that he'd left contact info on a small page of the same paper the orange one, Nirei if you remember right, had in his notebook.

Pocketing it, you think back to your slip up earlier but eventually chalk it up to fatigue from work. It would be weird to text someone who left you their number...but he left if for that very purpose so saying hi couldn't hurt. He was kinda cute and you definitely want to find out what's behind that eye patch and IS he on a diet or not? While you're suddenly plagued by thoughts about a guy you just served tea to at work, Suo walks home wondering if tomorrow is too soon to come back to a restaurant whose food he also doesn't like.

(*Note Chunni is short for Chunnibyou which is slang for like...the type of kid who thinks they're a superhero and is super dramatic and embarrassing about it. Usually its just younger kids being delulu if y'all haven't heard the term before. Google is better at explaining it.)

[thequietkid-moonie]

Celebrating S/O's birthday

[ HEADCANONS ] [ 9S, Tamaki, Marin, Link ]

[ NieR Automata ] [ Ouran High School Host Club ] [ My Dress-Up Darling ] [ Skyword Sword ]

This a special birthday gift for my special cutie friend <3333 it was make with love, Sugar, flowers and ton of flowers! Hope you like it my cutie V-chan!!!

9S

Something like birthday isn't really common for the androids, they are made just to serve the purpose of YoRHa, they are just instructed with all the aknowledge they need to fullfil the role they recived, nothing more nothing less

Even so that have never stoped 9S from being curious about the humanity, so having a human partner is a win win situation for him, always willing to heard all the stories you are willing to share with him about humans

Thats how he ended up knowing about birthdays, he may already know a little bit but with your help he will finally be able to understand the full concept and even getting to know how common is for humans to celebrate it, and he actually love it! 9S thinks that celebrating a birthday is a way to show a person how much you are happy to know them since you are celebrating that they were born in the first place

9S loves learning anything but learning about birthdays is more special for him, and he totally think that it would be amazing to be able to celebrate your birthday with you (he may don't say it out loud for feeling a little bit shy, and if he does he most likely get all flustered and will try to come up with a excuse but not denying that he wants to do it)

9S will ask you all he can until his heart is content about how it is a birthday celebration, paying close attention to everything you say and making some mental notes about what he has and wants to do to celebrate your birthday (and he tries to keep it as a secret, he want it to be a surprise for you, even if at the end isn't a surprise party since he will probably ask for your help, he still want to make a surprise what he is planning to do, so he won't say anything about it until he has enough things prepare), he tries to be discreet and covering up his questions as his usual curiousity

One thing that 9S will do is ask your help to recreate a calendar like the one humans used to use just to be able to mark your birthday and others festivities you tell him about (if you decide to add one day as his birthday too 9S will be quite flattered, taking a moment to just be embarrassed but excited before shyly agreeding)

Even in the conditions the world are on 9S does his hardest to find things that could be of use for a birthday party, asking indirect help the the androids of the resistance camp and his other friends (just because this is something he wants to share with you and you alone, at least the first time, maybe later you can celebrate your birthday with everyone else), he is so focused on trying to make a good party for you that 2B is also helping him because of how distracted he is by it

9S will love to make your birthday celebration for just the two of you, but if he knows that it will make you happy then he will then take into consideration all the other androids (but will stress himself a little because now he has to explain what he is doing to everyone), 9S is trying really hard to make everything perfect because he doesn't want to disappoint or even upset you because this may not be the best party you could have (but he tries to don't show you how nervous he is)

At the end, you being happy makes all it worthy, he still feel a little sad about not being able to make a birthday party as amazing as it could be made by the other humans but if you are happy he is happy, besides he has being able to express his inmense feeling of happiness and gratitude for having you in his life so at least the party have fullfil its purpose

Tamaki Suoh

Tamaki tent to be loud, dramatic and even exaggerated and he is even more when it comes to the love he has for his partner, he is loving and caring and there is not even the slighest doubt of how much he loves you because Tamaki can't not express his love in diferent ways, be by words, actions or gifts (normally not much with physical affection just because he gets quite shy)

Tamaki will not waist any chance to be able to show you off and express how much he loves you, any kind of celebration is good for him so is sure to say that Tamaki will make a big deal out of your birthday. Even when he seems to use this kind of special day as a simple excuse to show off and spoil you, the reality is that is not like that, Tamaki is really caring and loving, he considere you his whole world, just as important and meaningful as the host club, so if he makes a big deal out of this celebrations is because he wants to show you how important and special you are for him, just as great and exaggerated are his celebration are his feeling too

He may have some few problems with his family and his birthday but that won't stop him from doing what he wants, he knows what it is to don't be appreciated or even not wanted and he doesn't want that for you, so he wil make sure to express it on the celebration of your birthday

He makes sure to have enough reminders to don't forget when it is your birthday (even if you don't mind much or even don't like much celebrating your birthday he won't forgive himself if he forgets it), and just as the day get closer he start planing everything for the inmense party, Tamaki even involves the rest of the host club to help him organize the best party that you've never imagined

His plans are to make a really big party, inviting all your friends and the host club (and whoever is important in your life, he will know who to invite somehow), even if there are just a few people he will still make a really big party, full of things that are just your style, pleasent the the view and gracefuly matching, elegant and beautiful. The party is almost obligatory for him, so there will be no shortage of gifts from his part, he tries really hard on think on things that you will really like and love (he is willing to give you exactly what you want, and since is your birthday you have the excuse to ask whatever you want even him tells you that you can take advantage of the special occasion)

Tamaki wants to make the party a surprise for you, but knowing him (and probably the twins being mischievous) it wont be dificult to get to know what he is planing, he will be quite frustrated and upset if you get to know about the party but will promise you that the party will be really amazing! (just wants to keep as a surprise what will be on the party, and will do puppy eyes to prevent you from asking more details, he doesn't want his plans be ruined)

But if the case is that you don't want a big party and will prefer something calmer or even just spend time with him then he feels like his whole world is crashing down, he had an inmense and perfect plan and now is all ruined! although, he doesn't blame you, you are his precious lover and wants nothing but your happiness, and if a big party will make you uncomfortable then there isn't going to be any big party, the problem comes when he anxiously walks back and forth trying to come up with a whole new plan, a smaller and simpler that still express his inmense and undying love for you, it will take him a while to get out of his depresive state come up with a plan but once he does he will not waste time and start to work on it (with the host club help, of course)

Not matter how things turn out at the end the important is that you are happy and that Tamaki is able to express how much he loves you

Marin Kitagawa

Marin is completely loving and entusiast about her relationship with you, she loves showing her amazing partner and is as if she can't just not talk about you with her friends, there is not even the slighest doubt about how much she loves you. As well, even when is quite obvious that you two are in a relationship, Marin is totally the type if person who is the best friend of her partner, so your relationship constantly goes from the romance to the joy and siliness of a friendship

For Marin being expressive and telling what it is on her minds is just part of her nature and she doesn't see anything bad on doing it, but even when she is constantly reminding you how much she loves you (directly and indirectly) she likes to take seriously and make special things for special dates, such as Valentine's Day, anniversaries, celebrations and, of course, birthdays

Marin thinks that a birthday is a really special event and has to be celebrated! She finds it so important and is so excited by it that she has it marked in her calendar and even has reminders in her phone so she won't forget about this important day for any reason

Marin is so excited by the idea of celebrating your birthday with you that she has a lot of diferent plans about what you two could do even before the day is close! She end up daydreaming about a perfect and beautiful date so much that she just end up flustered and excited, just wishing that your birthday came already!

When the day is finally coming close Marin is completely excited and it is obvious, she wants to organizate a big party for you, inviting your and her friends to celebrate, making sure the party is full of things you love! Marin is so excited that it is even a miracule that she is able to keep it as a secret from you (she wanted to make a surprise party but it is quite obvious what she is planning, so the surprise comes with what she is planning for the party). However, if you prefer to don't have a party and rather prefer to just celebrate it with her then she'll happily plan a special date for you two, making sure to make a plan for all the day where is just you and her

Even if you don't like much celebrating your birthday or doesn't give much importance Marin does because, for her, it represents a really important day for you (is the day you born some years ago after all!) and is one day that she can use to remind you how important you are for her and how much she loves you! and, honestly, her entusiasm and excitment can be quite contagious so you may just end up waiting for the day as excited as her

For her what she planned to do to celebrate (a party or a special date) is something completely apart of the birthday gift, so she will also spend some time thinking on something she can get for you, she want it to be special and personal so she will think really hard on what to get you, she'll probably will try to ask you about what could be the perfect birthday gift (she tries to ask discreetly but is quite obvious what she is trying to do)

At the end of the day, despite her big plans and efforts, what Marin really wants is to make you feel loved and appreciated on your birthday, wants to be able to make you genuinely happy, she doesn't even expect it in return on her birthday she just wants to be able to see you happy, and if you are happy then all her efforts make it worthwhile

Link

Link is a really caring and loving boyfriend, and despite being easily flustered by the romantic stuff he still is the type of person that is best friends with his partner. There is not even the slighest doubt on what Link feels for you for the loving and adoring way he always looks at you

Link loves spending time with you and is a little clingy, he just love you too much to hide it, and, honestly, knowing that your birthday is close makes him quite excited because he finds it like a perfect excuse to be as clingy and loving as he wants (and don't feels like he is being too much or even embarrassed) because he wants to show you how much he loves you

Honestly, Link doesn't really think on making a big deal out of your birthday but he does want to celebrate, so he may just up to have a special date where is just the two of you doing what you want to do. Link knows he wants to do something special but he doesn't really knows what to do, so he may just end up asking Zelda for some advice wich end up helping him a lot (although, she tease him a little because of it before giving him the advice and wishing him the best)

For Link, the best plan is to just have a romantic date you two, but if you want something else, like a big party, or your friends/family are already planning something for you then he will offer his help with that plan, as long as he is with you and you are happy he is happy

Even if there are others plans he still will continue with his plan of as special date, he will just make it other day (maybe a few days after your birthday but is still to celebrate you). The whole date he is planning is going to be full of activities he knows you like, this is your day after all, so why not just do what makes you happy?

Link will actually be good at hiding his plans, somehow he managed to keep it as a secret to surprised you without making you feel like he had completely forgot your birthday

If you are someone who prefers to don't make a big deal out of your birthday or doesn't really care about that day then Link is going to respect your wishes! he will still make a special date but is a simple one, just being you two enjoying your company

No matter if there is a big party or just a simple date, Link will like to give you a gift in any case, he just thinks your birthday is special because it represents your life and your pass on time, so he doesn't want to let the day be forgotten and he wants to give you a meaningful gift, so it may be something you really wanted or probably even something homemade, something he did that has a lot of meaning for you two

Although, if it happens to be that you two celebrate your birthday when being under the sea of clouds then is more likely that he will plan a date to visit and explore the most beautiful place he have visited during his journey (in this case he will be pretty excited and will drag you somewhere safe, but if there are danger he will make sure to keep you safe, even if you can defend yourself he insist on doing it himself)

Even if the case is that your birthday happens to be when he is too busy with doing something crucial in his journey or even close to fight against demise he still will take at least a moment to sit down and relax with you, wishing you the best and giving you a small gift (like maybe a flower) along with the promise to return safe and sound to you and even make it up once he manage to fullfil his duty

[torchship-rpg]

Dev Diary 17 - Complex Dice Tests

We lied! Today was going to be about the meta-campaign mechanics, but we did a really cool system overhaul instead and we simply have to tell you about it.

Basically, we overhauled a part of our dice system in a pretty major way. It’s involved some fairly dramatic changes to how rolls are done, though all the other systems we’ve created plug pretty seamlessly into it (and as we’ve integrated it, it’s actually let us effectively cut systems now that they’re covered automatically by the new system). It’s one of the deftest bits of game design we’ve ever done and we gotta brag about it.

Development of the Previous System

One of the things that has been a problem for Torchship for a long while is that it wanted to be a dice pool system (roll X dice, looking for Y amount of Z+ results), which doesn’t just have binary pass-failure outcomes. We wanted players to feel competent in their fields, but we also needed there to be interesting difficulties and complications so that stories aren’t just a stateful progression of experts effortlessly performing the tasks they’re experts in.

This is surprisingly difficult!

Nailing down exactly how it would work has gone through about a half-a-dozen iterations, all of which always felt like hacky temporary solutions. The version we came up with before this, which the game has been using for about a year, involved two thresholds on each roll; a “Difficulty” to do the thing, and a “Complexity” tacked onto it that you had to reach to do it without any extra problems.

This served the purpose, but its various incarnations slowed the game down a lot more than it should have, and put too much stress on the GM to work out what these two targets would be and how complications would emerge from it. It was a clunky solution which required a lot of experience to use properly, functioning just well enough to build systems around without ever being stellar on its own.

It Must be Tuesday

While working on Must be Tuesday: Revived Edition, which uses a similar dice pool system, my wonderful editor Lexie came up with a really clever system while we were working out the dice odds. In that game, you have a “Skill” target from 6+ to 3+ with a variable dice pool and a number of Successes needed. 

Our partial successes there comes from a concept of ‘Scrapes’; dice which are 4+, but don’t meet your Skill target. If you reach the number of Successes you need when you add your Scrapes to your rolls meeting your Skill, you get a partial success! Brilliant, isn’t it? That means everyone has a chance to get by on even hard checks using their worst skills, but it’s never easy.

When we poked at Torchship stuff after testing that system out, we found ourselves wondering if something similar wouldn’t fit here as well. It wouldn’t translate 1-1; Must be Tuesday is about teenagers fighting monsters in a horror/comedy setup, where nobody is doing anything really complicated, and even the people who are the best at things are still only as good at it as, you know, teenagers. It’s not a good tone fit, but it inspired the system we used.

Complexity Certs & Complications

The solution we came up with, which we are so proud of we bumped a whole dev diary for it, is the idea of Complexity Certs.

Basically, we’ve ditched the previous Complexity target from before. Your dice Test just has a single, easily determined Difficulty. In ideal circumstances, you roll a number of dice determined by the tool you’re using, needing to get results over your Cert target. Get as many of those as the Difficulty, you succeed, otherwise you fail. Simple binary outcome to a simple problem.

But you’re playing cosmonauts. You know, you boldly go places you probably shouldn’t. You don’t face simple problems.

When the GM calls for a roll, they can tack on Complexity Certs in accordance to the situation you’re facing. Essentially, they’re saying this roll is a test not just of the ‘Primary Cert’ that determines if you pass or fail, but it’s also a test of some extra skills that have come up because of the number of moving parts involved in the situation.

So while you still only have one Difficulty, you need to meet that difficulty using multiple dice targets to succeed without qualifiers. If you just meet the difficulty on your Primary Cert, but not the Complexity Certs, then the GM can hit you with a Complication that can emerge naturally from the Cert in question. Conversely, you could end up in a situation where you have a better value on your Complexity Cert than the primary, so you could fail, but avert other disasters.

Or you could fail at both, and now you have two problems!

This system elegantly compresses a bunch of things the system needed to do into one quick judgement call by the GM in the moment. We don’t need to have specific penalties for working remotely through a robot, working in a spacesuit, or doing things in low gravity; the GM can just add the Drone Operator, EVA, or Cosmonaut Certs to the Test as Complexity Certs. There’s no limit to the number of Complexity Certs that can get added either, so you can sum up really complex situations with a single roll.

It also made the game’s group test mechanics much simpler and more impactful. Helping can be a complex game design challenge; you want people to be able to give each other a hand, but you need to make sure people can’t simply do it on every single roll to avoid slowdown and the trivialization of gameplay challenges. The way Help works now is allowing you to lend a friend one of your Certs to take on a Complexity Cert, basically monitoring a potential problem for them while they focus on the main task. 

As you get XP for Helping or being Helped on Checks where somebody is rolling with a higher Cert than you, you might want to point out potential problems with people’s plans that relate to your expertise as they come up so you can be the one to solve them. It also means that the presence of a Complexity Cert acts as a prompt for characters to step in and help one another out, and rewards a properly multi-disciplinary crew working together to tackle complex problems. 

You know. Like… like a Star Trek.

Examples

The example we use in the game rules is as follows.

Let’s say you are at a shooting range with your laser pistol, and you want to shoot a target. That’s a straightforward Sharpshooter Cert test. You either hit the target or you don’t. Easy!

But let’s say you’re doing the same thing but in a combat situation where you might get hit in return. The GM can (and is encouraged to) add the Soldier Cert as a Complexity Cert to the roll; Soldier is the Cert that covers tactics, movements, and the use of cover, so if your dice meet the difficulty using your Sharpshooter target, but don’t from your Soldier target, then you probably hit the target but exposed yourself to danger in the process.

Suddenly, we can see the difference between an Olympic target shooter and an infantryman.

Or let’s say you’re a guard posted in a reactor room; if you are doing some shooting there, the GM could throw in Damage Controller as a Complexity Cert to represent the chances of you breaking something vital in the antimatter reactor by throwing lasers everywhere. Suddenly, you have a really good reason to cross-train your guards in engineering skills, at least enough that they know not to shoot the matter/antimatter exchangers.

Or maybe you’re trying to incapacitate an unfamiliar alien creature without killing it; the GM could add Life Scientist. What if you’re doing it in a spacesuit? Add EVA. Knocking out a piece of machinery? Add Technician. Aiming a remote turret instead of doing it yourself? Drone Operator.

Which means you could, conceivably, be in a spacesuit operating a tablet controlling a gun drone non-lethally shooting a strange device on a strange alien in a combat situation inside an engine room… and it all happens with one roll and no need for infinitely stacking penalties.

Knock-On Changes

The biggest knock-on change this has caused is a need for finer gradation between Certs so that the differences come up more often and are less severe. For that reason, we moved the game to d10 pools from d6s; yes, this was an enormously annoying change to make through our draft, and we’re still working out how to rebalance advancement through it. It also means we have to do yet another pass through the Traits, which we were midway through… oh well! 

(We have a cool new lever that’s come out of, actually; we can have Traits just make Complexity Certs just not count in appropriate circumstances. Freefaller characters get to ignore 0g penalties, for example, which includes adding Cosmonaut as a Complexity Cert to a lot of rolls). 

I’ve submitted Torchship to Metatopia again this year, and I’m really looking forward to running it on the other side of a year of rewrites and de-heartbreakerification. I’m confident it’ll go much better this time around. 

Anyway, next Dev Diary will be about the Zinovians, and then we’ll do the meta-campaign mechanics. Unless something even cooler comes up.

[doukeshi-kun]

𝙙𝙖𝙙!𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢

content ⨳ fluff, family scenario, fem!reader, oc kids: yuri (first son), mari (second daughter), karol (little gremlin)

notes ⨳ dedicated for homies in discord and especially @quansoda! we love dad nikolai and bsd dads agenda ehe ❤️ p/s, you're also the baby mama and this might seem unpolished and all lol im tryna escape the burnt-out

“Alright, kids. Who wants ice cream?”

“Me!” “Me.”

Yuri and Mari who are sitting at the back immediately raise their arms. Karol on the other hand is sleeping on your lap. He almost cries because he doesn't like sitting in the middle of the back seat. So you prompted to settle him down on your lap instead and now he's oddly sleeping peacefully despite the nauseous drive — uh, only Yuri is nauseous.

“We're gonna get ice cream?” you ask your husband who has been driving the car for almost an hour and a half now. The journey still has around three hours to go.

Nikolai grins. “Yurochka looks too fatigued,” he says slowly, just so his first son won't hear him. You try to get a peek at Yuri who sits behind you but your movement is limited since Karol is sleeping.

“Yuri, do you want water?” you ask.

“It's okay, mom...” you hear his voice. He tries to make himself sound like everything is fine but you and Nikolai can clearly tell he feels nauseous because of the ride.

Within five minutes, Nikolai stops by a rest and service area, complete with many open premises and petrol stations. The rest stop is not crowded with people, so he finds parking just quickly.

“Mama...” Karol shifts in your lap as he wakes up. You smile and pat his back.

“We're gonna get ice cream, Karol,” you say and his eyes gleam almost immediately. He hugs you and tries to open the car door in excitement.

“Kuh-kream! Ice cream!”

“Okay, okay! Don't run, Karol— Oh my Goodness!”

Leaving you dealing with the chaotic little gremlin — he actually opens the door and almost falls face down first — Nikolai goes to open the back seat door. He helps Mari to get out, as well as Yuri.

Nikolai crouches in front of Mari, fixing her blouse and ponytail, as well as her glittering purple pouch sling on her body. Yuri is just standing close to him, keeping an eye on you and Karol who are in minor chaos.

“Yurochka.”

Yuri turns to his dad and Nikolai grins at him before he brushes Yuri's hair, purposely messing it just to have Yuri pushes his hand away. “You good, Yurochka?” he asks and Yuri flashes him a regretful look. Yuri shakes his head and Nikolai nods. He reaches to Yuri's hair again, now styling it like a government secretary's hairstyle, which makes Yuri sighs at his dad's teasing.

“After this stop, you will sit at the front, 'kay?”

“What about mom?” Yuri asks. Coincidentally, you and Karol finally get to the three, with Karol hopping joyfully. Your face looks like you just overcame a war. Yuri huffs and smacks the back of Karol's head lightly.

“Ack!”

“Behave.”

“Behave!” Mari points her finger at Karol, supporting her brother but the youngest clenches his tiny cheeky fist before he bites Mari's finger. “Waaa!”

You pull Karol back and Nikolai gets to Mari. You sigh when Karol just giggling like some sort of villain character in one of his cartoons. You look at Nikolai. “He's very like you.”

“What? Darling, that's very offensive!” Nikolai clutches his chest, seeming to be offended by your remarks. Yuri scrunches his nose, seeing his dramatic dad. Without even saying anything, Nikolai knows Yuri is judging him very hard right now.

With Mari holding Nikolai's hand, Karol in his arm and Yuri holding your hand, all of you walk to the rest stop. Nikolai leads you to a cafe that serves waffles, ice cream and some drinks. You find a table just enough for your family of five near the window.

“What do you want to eat, kids?” Nikolai asks before he hooks his sunglasses on the collar of his shirt.

“The pink ice cream!” Mari says, giving Nikolai a fake pink card to him — as if she's paying.

“The choco waffle with vanilla ice cream,” Yuri says after he looks at the menu board at the counter.

“I'll take whatever you take,” you reply as you are braiding Mari's hair.

“Aaa... kreammm!” Karol.

Nikolai nods as Karol makes a biting gesture with his hands on Nikolai's hand — acting as if his fingers are dinosaurs' teeth. He twirls Mari's 'credit' card in his fingers as he looks at the menu. Swaying his hand gently from Karol, he walks to the counter to order. Having nothing to bother, Karol repeats the action at Yuri's arm instead.

“Mom,” Yuri calls you who are accessorising Mari's hair with pins and ribbons. You hum, looking at him. He is just letting Karol play with his arm. “Dad says he wants me to sit at the front...”

“Oh. Sure, Yuri. You can sit at the front.”

“But...”

“Yuri, you don't feel good sitting at the back, right? So, sit at the front later. Besides, dad can look after you. Or me, if I'm driving after this.” you say softly. Yuri looks at you and nods — he always listens to you the most.

Mari looks at her brother and raises her body on the table. “Yurochka, are you sick?” she asks, concerned. She reaches to Yuri to feel his forehead but ends up palming his face instead.

“No! I'm not sick.” Yuri moves Mari's hand, pouting.

Several minutes later, Nikolai returns with a tray of two plates of waffles, three drinks and two ice cream. Mari and Karol are quick to reach their ice cream and Yuri knows well to sit beside you so he can enjoy his choco waffles to himself. Nikolai gets both of you the same coffee and a plate of waffles to share.

“Pa! Naaaa!” Karol tries to feed Nikolai his chocolate ice cream which Nikolai gladly opens his mouth to, only for the spoon to land at the corner of his lips, smearing some chocolate.

You chuckle when Nikolai looks at Karol with a judging face. He turns to you, pouting. “What are you laughing at? Clean me.” he shakes your arm, making you chuckle more.

“Aren't you too old to not be able to clean yourself?” you tease, wiping the ice cream with your thumb. Nikolai snickers as he licks your thumb shortly, just fast enough that the kids do not even notice — but you notice.

“Tsk. Playful,” you grumble, shyly. Before you can pull away, Nikolai grabs your wrist, kissing it before he rests his cheek on your hand.

“I'm tired...” he mumbles. Since you two are sitting side by side at the round table, it allows you to talk with Nikolai personally. You look at your husband and it's clear that he is quite tired of driving — also adding with how he came home late the night before the journey, he oughts to get some sleep.

“I'll drive later. You, sit at the back and take care of Karol and Mari,” you say tenderly, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Nikolai smiles at the kiss, laughing softly — his laugh is just contagious, even if it's short and simple, and that's what makes you love to be around him. He makes you smile too easily too.

Not to mention, his voice is just the best.

“Mari is easy to take care of. My hardship begins when Karol wants to slop on my head like a koala to sleep.” Nikolai comments as he takes a piece of small waffles from the plate and feeds it to you.

“Well, if I'm a koala, I want to sleep on your head too,” you say before you reach his hair, brushing your hand against his white soft locks. “Soft... fluffy... and fragrant.” you tighten your hold on him, trailing your hands to his cheeks, squishing him as you glimmer with apparent happiness in your face.

“My husband is so cute.”

Squishing his face so his lips would pucker, you take a quick chance to peck his lips before releasing him. Nikolai's face is completely basked in a crimson hue, flustered by your aggressive affection. It's often him who does that to you, so receiving it himself makes him feel giddy inside.

“I love you too...” Nikolai says, slow enough only for you to hear. He cannot help himself from smiling and shifting in his chair like he just met his first crush. The sweet waffle cannot make him forget about the sweet short kiss of yours and the warm coffee cannot calm the fluttering butterflies in his stomach.

“Ugh, adults.” Yuri grunts.

“Shush, Yurochka. You can't even cut a potato.”

©doukeshi-kun 2023 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[bhobbiel]

General Analysis Lens

this will not be legible writing but I wanted to get my thoughts down~ and may add/edit

My past analysis is through that lens that Yashiro and Doumeki are foils whose experiences and personalities interact in a captivating way. They both make each other face the most difficult parts of themselves. Being forced to not ignore trauma and unhealthy coping. They both change perminently

Doumeki: No longer as naive/ putting Yashiro on a pedestal. Emotionally protects himself with aloofness (this specifically seems to bring out many different feelings of different readers). *expresses sexuality/desire vs yearning for ongoing impotency (pre time skip). Is forward with sexual desire. Still feels guilt as he describes himself to both Tsunakawa and Yashiro as having "no morals" for basically having sexual desire at all

Yashiro: In the most literal physical way- cannot get aroused like before with anyone. Craves gentleness. Is more aware of his trauma and cannot go back to previous ways of being. Views himself as stuck but in a different way then before... Before he used self effacing "humor" about being a hopeless pervert. Now he is in this limbo and does not know what after experiencing emotional intimate sex and having a pstd episode after

This specific aspect is one of the things that makes saezuru a story close to my heart.

As a reader (with my subjective experiences)- it can feel like healing can be this mountain- this more or less linear climb that you can push through. Then there is the shattering moment where you realize it is not. That just doing the scariest thing will not be enough. Yashiro faced the scariest thing possible- it happened-

My words cannot give justice to this part of the story. It means a lot to me. It can feel suffocating when your actions are not enough where there is no top of the mountain beautiful view for your effort. But instead a scrambling lost way of trying something new and different then a linear moment. It can feel terrifying and confusing, and like you are lost. You your previous way of being of when you understand when you did not fully accept identifying abuse/trauma, you lose the efficacy of your previous (unhealthy) coping mechanisms, and the bravery of facing your fear is not singular nor enough.

I do not view Yashiro and Doumeki as adversaries. I think more than anything- I view Saezuru as a tragic romance, a story that shows trauma in a profoundly meaningful way, about isolation/stuckness, about stitching your past and current coping mechanisms to survive.

But the dramatic push and pull is well written and serves a purpose-- but I am rooting for them yea? I do not think it is realistic (at least right now) to just be vulnerable and express their love and hurt directly to each other. Even the healthiest relationships (where neither is yakuza lol) this is difficult. That level of vulnerability is difficult. Even though they are in this stalemate (that is so visceral as a reader!) they actually have been more vulnerable in a short amount of time then I expected. They are both self protecting, warping things due to their insecurities, being round about , secretive, and passive aggressive about how they ultimately want each other. And are jealous of other people who they are with romantically/sexually.

*but Yashiro also said "I like (it/you)" which is very telling choice of words. And Doumeki is agreeing their bodies are compatible- but more than that Doumeki is more assertive/confident with sex. He wants to look Yashiro in the eyes, he wants immense amount of intimate foreplay, he wants to kiss him. And he does. Doumeki (at this point) shows desire physically. But it so clear as a reader that (due the beautifully drawn) expressions that this the kind of sex that only happens when you are emotionally invested and care about someone

I read the "villian" as trauma. As this amphorous thing that changes and shifts, even after you work to face it. The yakuza environment to me emphasizes this. The danger of the yakuza environment is just as much as hurdle for Yashiro and Doumeki's romantic relationship as yakuza (admit not as deadly)

It has been interesting to read other people's analysis- who have completely different pov of the characters and their relationship

Of course I am not saying reading Saezuru through (my usual) lens is the only way or best way

But! I guess I want to clarify/write this- to articulate that most of my thoughts come from this POV.