#more of these guys to come i love them so much

[ariichive]

JEALOUSY☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

jealous scenarios ft. phainon, anaxa, and mydei!

gen. neutral reader

cw: anaxa is kinda crazy he puts his gun to reader, possessiveness, mentions of violence, fluff, not proofread im so tired :')

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

phainon

phainon was one to pride himself on his natural charm, he was a very easy going guy. the stark contrast between him in battle and off was admirable.

though as much as he hates to admit it, sometimes the warrior takes over his instincts. for instance, right now as he watched the droma’s caretaker openly flirt with you.

it wasn’t just the flirting—though that was annoying enough—it was the way you laughed, the way your eyes softened, the way you didn’t immediately pull away. phainon knew you weren’t his, not in the way that would justify this sudden surge of possessiveness. but logic had never been good at taming instinct.

his fingers twitched at his side, an old habit from years of battle. the part of him that thrived in combat, the part that didn’t hesitate when faced with a challenge, whispered at him to act. it would be so easy to step in, to slide an arm around your waist, to make it clear to everyone in the room—especially to the man standing too close—that you weren’t available.

but that wasn’t his place. not yet, at least. so instead, he forced himself to take a breath, to unclench his fists, to remind himself that he was phainon—charming, laid-back, not the type to pick a fight over something so trivial.

“phainon, this one likes me!”

his stoic expression softened when he realized, in fact, you were talking about the loving dromas and not that man.

phainon smiled gently at your joy, “i can tell, he sure does like you a lot!”

there was a certain edge to his voice that could’ve been missed by onlookers. you gave him a concerned glance, one which he smiled at and didn’t question further.

and yet, when the caretaker let out another laugh, explaining the most basic knowledge of dromas ever, his hand brushing against yours, phainon found himself smiling again. it wasn’t a friendly smile.

“having fun?” he asked, voice smooth but carrying an edge beneath it as he finally approached the two of you.

“yeah—!” you were quick to respond only to look up at phainon and realize his attention wasn’t on you. “phainon..”

“yes my lovely spouse, who i treasure more than any riches and i’d also kill for?” now his attention was focused on you, his smile bittersweet.

the thing with phainon is whenever he looked at you, there was always such intensity.

“don’t start, i’m okay i promise.”

there was a joking tilt to your voice, but it was enough to calm him down.

“now, come over and feed the dromases with me! this one’s name is castor, very sweet we should take him home!”

phainon let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart. "my love, as much as i would adore bringing castor home, i fear he would not fit through our door."

you laughed, reaching out to pet the dromas, who nuzzled into your touch affectionately. "we could make it work," you teased, "build a bigger door, you're strong enough. or, you know, just let him live in our backyard."

phainon hummed in thought, stepping closer until he was right beside you. "tempting," he mused, reaching out to pet castor. "but then i’d have to compete for your affection, and i don’t think my heart could take it."

you rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully. "oh, please. you already know you’re my favorite."

his grin softened into something more genuine, his blue eyes filled with something tender. "good. because my dearest, you are mine." phainon swears the dromas narrowed its eyes at him (the caretaker did too but phainon was too busy enjoying the memoment with you to get mad all over again).

you burst into laughter as the dromas let out a soft sound, clearly pleased with itself. "maybe if you were as cute as them, you’d stand a chance."

phainon clutched his chest. "wounded. utterly wounded."

but despite his theatrics, he leaned in closer, his hand brushing against yours as you both continued to feed the dromases together, the warmth between you as steady as ever.

...

"y'know, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to take one home, then we wouldn't have to come back here. i can't believe that vile man had the nerve to even look at you..!"

"phainon, my dear, we are not actually going to take one home."

"...i like the name kevin, wouldn't you agree, [name]?"

the rest of the day was spent with phainon in your ear.

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

anaxa

the carefully crafted lunched in your hands was the least of your worries as a soft click was heard from behind you followed by a pressure being applied to the back of your head.

just to think; you went out of your way to bring lunch to your oh-so-kind boyfriend and this is how he greets you?

you would say you're surprised but... this isn't the first time something like this has happened.

"do tell me, what's the foul mood for now?"

he didn't appreciate the snarky comment as a the gun pushed against your head even more.

"my [name], you seemed to enjoy yourself outside with that man. would i be correct to assume so?"

so this is what he's mad about.

you exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. "if you must know, i was just making conversation. you know, something normal people do?"

the gun pressed harder against your skull in response, the warning clear. anaxa hated being mocked.

"careful," he murmured, voice quieter now, more dangerous. "i'm already being generous by allowing you to explain yourself. do not test my patience."

you tilted your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. his expression was unreadable, but his grip on the gun was steady—too steady.

"allowing me to explain myself?" you echoed, amusement creeping into your tone. "and here i thought my oh-so-loving boyfriend would trust me a little more by now."

anaxa exhaled sharply through his nose, but he said nothing. the silence stretched between you for a few moments before the pressure at the back of your head finally disappeared.

anaxa let out a low hum, his voice smooth yet laced with something sharp—jealousy, possessiveness, something only he could wield so effortlessly. "you know how i feel about you entertaining the company of other men," he said, tilting his head slightly. "and yet, there you were, laughing as if you had no care in the world."

you sigh, "i promise you it was a very brief interaction. i even told him i was visiting you for lunch."

anaxa looked away in faux annoyance as he gently took the lunch from your hands.

"thank you, [name]." anaxa was genuine in his thanks, he understood how troublesome it could be to reach him in the grove of epiphany.

you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "i'd say 'you're welcome,' but i'm not sure you deserve it after that stunt."

he sighed dramatically, setting the lunch down on his desk before taking a seat. his movements were as measured as ever, graceful even in something as simple as this. "you wound me, truly," he drawled, undoing the buttons of his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up. "but i suppose my cruelty knows no bounds, does it? threatening my beloved over something as insignificant as a passing interaction."

"so you admit it was ridiculous?" you quirked a brow, leaning against the edge of his desk.

anaxa leaned back slightly in his chair, watching you with a gaze so heavy it felt like an unseen weight pressing against you. "i admit nothing," he corrected, voice as smooth as ever. "but even the most brilliant minds are prone to… lapses in judgment."

you let out a small scoff, shaking your head. "right. 'lapses in judgment.' is that what we're calling your absurd jealousy now?"

he exhaled through his nose, as if considering your words, before finally opening the meal you had brought him. "call it whatever you like, my dear," he said idly, plucking a piece of food with deliberate ease. "but tell me, if i were to flirt so freely with another, would you be so composed?"

your mouth opened, but the words died on your tongue. anaxa watched your hesitation with something akin to satisfaction, his smirk deepening ever so slightly.

"i thought as much," he said smoothly, taking a slow, deliberate bite of his food. "jealousy, my dear, is a universal affliction. i am simply more… expressive about mine."

you huffed, looking away, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. "you're insufferable and lucky i have the patience for you," you muttered.

he let out a soft chuckle, low and indulgent. "patience," he mused, reaching out to brush a gloved finger against your cheek, slow and deliberate. "such a rare and commendable virtue. though i must wonder..."

his touch trailed lower, tracing the curve of your jaw before finally resting under your chin. with the lightest pressure, he tilted your face ever so slightly upward, forcing you to hold his gaze.

"how much longer will that patience last, i wonder?"

you swallowed, refusing to look away. "depends," you said, barely above a breath. "how many more times do you plan on pulling a gun on me?"

anaxa’s lips curled into the faintest smirk, but his eyes flickered with something softer—something dangerously close to fondness.

"ah," he sighed dramatically, finally releasing you and leaning back into his chair. "a fair question. but, my dear, you wound me. surely you know by now that i only threaten the things i cannot bear to lose?"

you stared at him, feeling both shocked and flustered.

you huffed, shaking your head as you finally relented, letting the conversation settle into something resembling peace. and despite everything—despite his absurd possessiveness, his impossible nature, his maddeningly smug demeanor—you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

because somehow, against all logic, against every ounce of reason—anaxa was yours. and that was something even he, with all his sharp words and sharper wit, could never deny.

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

mydei

mydei always found himself in petty competitions with phainon. whether it was who could pick the most apples to who could slay the most enemies, phainon always knew how to push his buttons.

though he might’ve pushed them a little too far..

“afraid you’ll lose? i would’ve never guessed that the great mydeimos was scared of talking to a girl. or are you scared [name] will end up liking me more?”

“deliverer,” mydei said with a scary amount of joy in his voice, “tell me, do you enjoy being humiliated by a kremnoan heir?”

“so is it a deal?”

“if that’s what you wish to call it, we’ll start now. try not to make an utter fool out of yourself. you won't even be able to touch them."

there was absolutely no way mydei was going to even let phainon breathe the same air as you.

phainon grinned, entirely unfazed by mydei’s sharp tone. “oh? possessive already? my, my, what will [name] think of this? surely they've noticed your crush on them by now.”

mydei exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. “they will think nothing of it because you will not get the opportunity to so much as look at them.”

phainon laughed, tilting his head with an almost lazy confidence. “bold words. i wonder if you’ll still be saying that once they’re hanging off my arm instead.”

the barely restrained fury in mydei’s eyes was almost comical. “you delude yourself.”

“and you’re stalling.” phainon shrugged, already turning on his heel. “come now, mydeimos. unless, of course, you are afraid?”

mydei scoffed, stepping forward with an air of unwavering confidence. “i fear nothing—least of all a fool with an overinflated ego.”

the competition had begun.

mydei was the first to find you. he's always remembered the places you often frequented, the bathhouse being common among them.

mydei found you tucked away in one of the quieter corners of the bathhouse, steam curling through the air in delicate wisps. he approached silently, his footsteps barely making a sound against the stone floor.

he had always been observant—perhaps more than you'd realized. no matter how much time passed, he never forgot the places you sought comfort in.

"i thought i'd find you here," he murmured, his voice low and steady, cutting through the gentle trickle of water. "it's peaceful here," you said softly, returning your gaze to the water, watching a rubber duck float by.

after a long moment, you glanced at him, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

"you always find me."

mydei's crimson eyes softened, a rare hint of fondness breaking through his composed exterior.

"of course," he said quietly. "you're worth finding."

mydei had a huge advantage over phainon; everything that came out of his mouth was genuine.

you felt your body heat amplifying from his intense gaze, the steam from the bath worsening your situation.

the air between you two felt thick with unspoken words, the steam in the room only adding to the intensity. mydei’s crimson eyes were locked onto you with an unwavering focus, as if trying to read something deeper than just your expressions.

“you know, you really don’t make this easy,” you muttered, trying to divert your thoughts, the heat rising in your chest feeling like it might burst through your skin.

he raised an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving yours. "make what easy?"

you shifted uncomfortably, the faintest of blush creeping onto your cheeks. “this... this tension.”

mydei tilted his head slightly, the smallest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. “tension?” he repeated, his voice smooth and calculated. “i’m simply speaking the truth.”

you shot him a glance, his words echoing in your mind. you’re worth finding.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t heard him say such things before, but this time, it felt different. There was no teasing, no veiled sarcasm—just the raw sincerity that mydei rarely offered.

“you never do anything half-heartedly, do you?” you said, a small sigh escaping your lips.

mydei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence looming like a silent promise. His gaze softened as he spoke, but there was still a quiet intensity behind it.

"only when it’s worth it," he said, his voice almost a whisper, but it still hit you like a wave.

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

he moment hung between you two, the weight of his words settling deep within you. mydei’s presence was suffocating in the best way—an intensity that seemed to radiate from him, the kind that made it impossible to think of anything else but him.

you opened your mouth, but the words stuck. something about his steady gaze and the closeness between you left you speechless, your heart thudding in your chest.

“mydei…” you whispered, almost as if testing the air, "would you like to join me in the bath? i'm sue it'll help relieve any sores you might have?"

mydei's gaze flickered to you, and for a brief moment, the quiet intensity in his eyes softened, replaced by a curious, almost amused glint. he took a step closer, the space between you two shrinking even more.

“you offer me company in the bath?” he asked, his voice holding a hint of surprise. “how… bold.”

you could hear the teasing undertone in his words, but it wasn’t as biting as usual. there was something more… tender in the way he spoke, something that made your heart flutter despite the calmness of the moment.

“i only thought it might help you relax,” you replied, keeping your tone light, though your pulse quickened slightly under his steady gaze. “and you’re always so tense. even the crown prince needs to rest now and then.”

mydei let out a quiet chuckle at that, the sound warm and soft, like the fleeting warmth of the bath. "i’m afraid i’ve never had much time for relaxation," he murmured, his tone shifting again, darker, but with an edge of something more vulnerable. "but perhaps you’re right. it’s been... a long time since i allowed myself the luxury."

there was a pause, and you could see the weight of his words settle over him, like he’d just made a decision. his eyes softened, and he took another step closer, his fingers brushing against your wrist as he gently took your hand.

"then, i’ll join you. for once, perhaps i could allow myself this."

as mydei settled comfortably next to you in the bath, he couldn't help but wonder where phainon had been all this time.

and there was a small voice in the back of his head, saying 'if phainon found you first, would you have invited him into the bath with you?'

he glanced sideways at you, his gaze unreadable for a brief moment as he tried to suppress the discomfort he felt at the idea.

as he took in your relaxed face, mydei realized how important such moments were to the two of you. this was just the start of many more scenarios he would spend with you.

if you enjoyed please consider following/liking/reblogging :)

i just love the idea of unhinged anaxa

[justaghostwithbones]

This is so beautifully articulated. I alternate between sprinting forward to moonwalking back… sometimes years. Sometimes I take up residence in that bygone time, and wallow in trying to change it, while imaging I don’t know how that storyline tragically ends. Sometimes I sprint forward then; start building the blocks of the life that I want. I’ll get it partially built… and then… and then… and then… I’m back in the past again, somewhere else this time. Trying to prevent a different moral crime.

But for just about a month now, I’ve held still (with a moment or two of those springs to half-build things; though instead of running backward, I just pause). I’m learning to crawl. I’m building those skills.

(CW: death, grief, suicide, animal death)

Something I’ve learned, so painfully, through so many genuine tragedies—the death of my little family: first my husband of almost ten years… then the first dog we adopted together (and even the people who hate it when others compare human children to pets would fully vouch for the fact that I showed my guys more love and sacrificed more for them than many human parents of human kids), who died spontaneously in my arms from a condition that couldn’t be screened for. He didn’t suffer, it was fast. I wailed when I felt his last breath. I had never felt something die before and it rewrote some of my DNA. I never wanted to outlive my dogs, and I couldn’t believe I had to. I had these primal screams of rage at “God” for everything I had already lost, but my baby deserved peace from me, even if he wasn’t really “there” at the moment, so I swallowed my rage and I held him for over an hour. Talking about everything he was and everything he meant and all of the people he had inspired with his spunky personality as a rescued dog who had done some time in the streets. I pressed my forehead against the top of his head and health my breath, unable to accept he was gone. I listened to songs with his fuzzy, sweet body cradled close to me while I kissed his face.

His “big” brother, whom we adopted a year later than our first guy, but was triple his size deteriorated quickly, and after torturing myself with data and research, I looked into his eyes one day and knew that he was asking me for help. He’d been to veterinary specialists several times in the previous few months, but there was nothing any of them could do for him. It was just age. He was a large breed dog who was at least 14. They kept telling me I couldn’t have done more. I knew the only help I could give him was to let him go. So I made an appointment and planned for him to pass peacefully under a tree my late-husband planted. I took him to the place where my husband and I got married. I gave him all of the carbs he wanted (once he got into the double digits, he felt he earned the right to snag food, and he never met a piece of bread he didn’t love). I took pictures of him against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains in the summer. I slept on my husband’s side of the bed (because he slept in a raised bed my husband built for him there), so I could pet him all night, every night I still had him. That gold-hearted guy ended up passing two days before this wonderful vet service was scheduled to come to my house… he still couldn’t fully let go, so they made an emergency visit, and he ultimately died in my arms on my late-husband’s side of the bed, after a couple hours of me laying with him and telling him stories and playing him songs and mapping out his irises like they would be my compass, because I had to no idea how to navigate life without his protective instincts. Because I didn’t know if my bones had another loss in them. I silently begged for his wisdom and felt so selfish for not being able to stop time and reverse biology and get more time with him. He loved my husband much more than he loved me, in the beginning, and there was some real poetic beauty in where he chose to let go—he didn’t get up on the bed regularly at that point; he hadn’t for years. But for a couple hours, I got to thank him out loud for everything that I could remember to say out loud. He licked tears off my face. His tail wagged when my mom arrived. I whispered to him until I felt his heart stop, and continued after.

In under 2.5 years, I lost my husband, my career, my health (I still am not allowed to work due to my disabilities), and my babies I’d “raised” for 12, and 11 years, respectively. And I haven’t moved forward. The only reason I’m still alive is that… those weren’t my only two babies. Months before my husband died, he fell in love with a puppy we stumbled upon unintentionally while picking up something from a pet store. We didn’t know there was an adoption event held that day. So just over 5 years ago, now, we adopted a puppy. By now, he’s a “legitimate” service dog (cardiac training), and my best friend and confidante. There have been so many nights where I’ve wanted to unsubscribe from earth but just look at him and know he couldn’t live without me. He is my tether to now, and he is how I’ve navigated losing close family relationships (I didn’t suffer the loss of my husband, career, and babies in a way that was palatable for some people. I didn’t do anything crazy, they admit. I just… cried too much. Wasn’t fun to be around. So they didn’t come around. Or call. Or text. I don’t have any real “social media,” so I wasn’t suffering in their face or anything. I just… wasn’t supposed to suffer at all, somehow). He is the reason I’m working so hard in therapy (and have been for nearly 4 years, but REALLY doing painful work for the past 4 months) in the hopes that I will start to want to wake up. That I will look forward to living. That I am determined to find a way to live and not just exist. That I can build a sustainable way to move forward.

But right now, I’m proud of myself for holding still, even when it hurts everywhere and I know all my internal escape routes, all of the ways I can distract myself, all of my hiding spots, all of the ways I can bleed to distract my brain from its selfish existential suffering. But I’m not using them. I’m just holding still, sometimes shakily, sometimes while holding my breath, sometimes through hours of silent tears running down my face.

It’s a kind of poetic irony that I found this person’s beautiful sentiment—that made my neurons start firing in a way that I could write about things I’ve never been able to speak aloud with any level of detail—on the eve of “spring forward” (though I, along with literally everyone else, hates the fact that we can’t stick to either daylight or standard time year round. It’s literally the only thing there’s true consensus about in the U.S.; sincerely); because that’s what I want to do. Maybe in March I’ll only be crawling, but it’s still forward motion. Because I know I won’t make it through 2025 if it’s like 2024. The world is getting worse and I have every excuse to do the same. The world is getting worse so I refuse to do the same. The world is getting worse so I am going to get better.Not perfect. Not perfectly. Tearfully, painfully, tragically, better. I’m going to keep the coffee dates adults pretend to make. I’m going to meet the neighbors I’ve lived near for 13 years. I’m going to learn how to exist among tragedy without feeling tragic. I’m going to learn to tell the stories of what I’ve lost with the aim of learning to gain things, not as an excuse for why I don’t ever even dare to want anything because I know so deeply the pain of loss. I want to grieve, but not be the physical embodiment of grief. I want to learn how to want things. I want to learn how to say that I want things. I want to learn what I like to do. I want to learn how to find joy and not just be busy.

I want.

how do you reconnect to life after being disconnected for so long

[keferon]

Hellooo I'm loving your fibsh au so much and in love with orca boys but but

A little bit of an idea so

We know Jazz is lonely as hell due to the lifetime of captivity

But consider: Prowl also being incredibly lonely even as a wild mer. Let's say he's always been a "weird one" in his pod, quite awkward in social stuff for an orca, unable to form really strong bonds with others due to being emotionally dense (gotta come up with a reason for that but I'm just spitballing) and being feared by everyone else (oh god scary apex predator, run for your life)

Yes he hunts with his group, he's a very good hunter in fact, great strategies, he follows all the rules to a t but they never really accept him as a friend. More of a coworker. So he's always been sort of by himself, alone in the crowd

And here comes that captive orca mer who has no idea about "proper mer social behavior" and is so happy to be around Prowl and looking to him for guidance. And they're both so very lonely in different ways

Aight that's all, I just think it would be neat, for angst bfdvdf

Oh I kinda love it. You know like those lone male orcas who live mostly alone for variety of reasons?

Prowl would have merpeople around him sure but just like in canon he would probably be quite unpopular.

Then. One time he gets in a fight and ends up being seriously injured and bam. Humans found him bleeding out on a shore and decided to help. But they wouldn't instantly throw him in the same tank with Jazz right.

They would have kept him in some temporary pool that would have been hastily found. It would be awfully crowded and even more lonely.

Then someone at the aquarium would find out about him and come running in like, "Guys! We need that orca!"

And then they would have to sedate him and move him to aquarium and even then he will be placed in a separate pool at first.

....ACTUALLY now when I think about that. Being captured would be such a stressful fucking experience to him. He wouldn't just close his eyes while at the sea and then simply open them in the aquarium....

[w0lvierama]

SFW

Boyfriend!Megumi, who tries to be sweet just for you. He’s not good at it, but he tries his best. He’s sure to tell you he loves you often, not wanting you to ever doubt your relationship with him. He kisses your forehead when you’re worried, always reassuring you that he’ll take care of things for you, no matter what. He gets embarrassed when you hold his hand in public, but he doesn’t pull away.

Boyfriend!Megumi, who is not one for pet names. He gets awkward when he tries to call you anything other than your name. However, you can’t help but notice how the tips of his ears grow red whenever you sweetly make up dumb nicknames for him. His favorite nicknames tend to be the dumber ones. He’ll sarcastically say that you’re going to make him sick with how sweet you are.

Boyfriend!Megumi, who always comes to you when he’s exhausted. He’ll melt into your arms, cuddling you as he tries to get the good sleep you tell him he needs. He sleeps a lot easier around you, and doesn’t get his usual nightmares. He likes it when you run your fingers through his hair while he’s dozing.

Boyfriend!Megumi, who summons his shikigami for you to cuddle with, because he knows how much you love animals. His shikigami are always happy to see you.

Boyfriend!Megumi, who saves up his allowance to buy you books and clothes. He won’t admit it, but seeing you light up and smile whenever he gets you a gift, makes his day so much better. Most of your jewelry is from him.

Boyfriend!Megumi, who gets his driver’s license and a car, so that you don’t have to take a taxi anymore and he can see you more often. He’ll drop you off at work, leaning over to mutter in your ear, “Have a good day. Call me if you need anything.” He’ll then kiss your cheek, and give your knee a squeeze.

Boyfriend!Megumi, who doesn't like you wearing skirts out in public because he’s worried you’ll be harassed. He’ll walk beside you on the street, a hand on the small of your back, glowering anytime someone else looks at you. He gets jealous easily, and can be a bit insecure about your relationship.

Boyfriend!Megumi, who only smiles when you’re around. You’re the only person who doesn’t annoy him constantly. He’ll act annoyed sometimes, but you can see right through him.

Boyfriend!Yuji Next! SFW again!

After Boyfriend!Yuji is Boyfriend!Choso. If you guys have any requests feel free to leave them in the comments. Otherwise, the ones I do next will probably be JJk Men as husbands. I’m not opposed to doing Part 2 of some of the boyfriends either.

[fishnapple]

How you pursue them - how they want to be pursued

I made a "how they pursue you" reading (you can read it here) so I figured a version from your side is needed. After all, it takes two to tango. This reading was done with your future spouse/lover/partner in mind.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

STRAWBERRY QUARTZ

If you're someone who's more direct, action oriented and wants thing to move at a fast pace, you might need to slow down and adopt a softer energy towards them. They need to feel an emotional and spiritual connection with you first in order to slowly fall for you. And that connection can be built based upon many small bricks of consideration and practical actions.

The first practical thing that you can do for them is probably be practical and take care of their practical needs, especially when it comes to food, feed them, prepare food for them, and take them out to eat. A fulfilled stomach makes them feel more at ease with you. Displaying emotional stoicism is another way to show them that they can be at ease with you. Being calm in the face of difficulties, rolling your sleeves to solve the problems without complaining, not overreacting or being overly dramatic. They will feel that conflicts with you can be solved diplomatically without being emotionally draining.

They're attracted to consistency and stability, if you do act consistently, it should send a message to them that you're serious and dependable, that they can count on you to not change your mind and heart suddenly and be wishy washy. I think they are wary of unpredictability and emotional unavailability, this could be due to their past experiences, they would often attract this kind of people and the experiences left a deep scar in their heart. So now they look for predictability, even repetitiveness in actions of the other party. If you say you're going to do something, be sure to actually do it, and on time. The fastest way to turn them off would be to say you forgot to do something that you had stated or, worse yet, promised to do.

Sometimes they can feel lonely or pessimistic about the future, this is when you need to be their sunshine, bring more joy to their life, get them out of that gloomy mood. You can offer to do something together, not something that would make them uncomfortable or more anxious of course, things that they can relax yet focus on the physical reality, like making pottery, going for a walk, going to somewhere with many people around, but be sure to not leave them alone, stay close to them all the time. Then subconsciously, they will gradually feel a link with you, their heart will carve a space for you, tiny at first, but will expand gradually.

ROSE QUARTZ

This person is attracted to the idea of fateful love or love at first sight. They want to feel a sense of spiritual connection with the other person. Love should feel transcendental to them. You will have better luck at capturing their attention by flitting in and out of their life than constantly being in their face all the time. A chance meeting stays in their mind longer than the face of someone they see every day, at least initially. When you guys have gotten closer, the opposite would be true, they need your constant presence to feel secure. This person can be hard to pin down with their myriad wishes and expectations, you will feel like walking in a maze when trying to find a way to get closer to them. Maybe it's their way to test your patience and resolve. Be consistent, but still show them some surprises now and then.

If you're already involved in their daily life and want to create that sense of serendipity and fatefulness, try to find any common points that you share and gently, subtly point to those in your conversation. Remember, those things have to be real, not made up just to score a point with them. They're good at detecting lies and pretense, so any display of those traits will go straight to their "stay away" list. When communicating with them, it's best to keep it real as much as possible. Be moderate with flowery words and excessive praises, it seems insincere and will trigger their suspicion, once they're suspicious of you, they will always in the mindset of looking for red flags, even when they don't exist, their walls will grow thicker around you. They actually like a more intense and straight to the point style of communication. When both of you feel comfortable enough with each other, talking about taboo or deeper psychological topics is welcomed, but mixed it with optimism and light-hearted banters here and there also. Remember, they can be a little contradictory, they welcome heavier topics, but they don't want those to dominate your conversations, they like a deep person but who won't drag them down. You can vent to them, spill out your darkest secrets, and they won't flinch. But they will begin to feel weary if that's the only thing you do without expressing any desire to make the situation better or refusing to get out of what's holding you back. Because through this, they can assess your ability to navigate future problems with them. They will also look at your aspirations, your hopes and plans for the future, it's okay if you're still confused about those, as long as you're open-minded, you can even ask for their advice and help, they like to be helpful.

They actually like it when you're the one doing the pursuing, or at least, show your intentions clearly to them, you can say to them outright that you like them or want to date them, marry them even. If they already have some feelings for you, they will reciprocate truthfully, if not, they will give an honest reply tactfully. As long as you're not being too aggressive about it, they're open to the possibility even if they haven't developed any feelings for you yet.

CITRINE

This person likes someone who is in their power and knows what they want. They like assertive and confident people. So they'll probably welcome it if you actively pursue them. But not in the desperate and clingy way, though, which is what they really dislike. Being showy for the sake of showing off is also a no-no, if you buff yourself up just to appeal to their type, they will probably sense it. They want true confidence, a little of haughtiness even. The assertiveness and directness I'm talking about here doesn't need to be directed only at them and the connection, if you show those traits outside of the connection, it's actually even better. In work, in executing tasks, in speeches, in the pursuit of knowledge, they like someone who has goals, one who dares to dream lofty dreams and is willing to put in the work to make those dreams real. You don't need to be a high achieving person or be a boss or anything, what they look for in a person is the authority over oneself, the drive to success and the vision. So sharing your dreams with them, being efficient, show off a little bit of your achievements, tastefully and subtly, mentioning them only in passing, don't emphasise them.

You can be intense and be romantic as much as you like. It might surprise them at first, but they will secretly like it. Write them notes, send them poems, share songs with hidden meaning, and give them gifts on random days, all of these will stir their romantic heart. They like the feeling of love and romance transporting them out of the boring, mundane world, like those love stories shown in novels and movies. The more repetitive their daily routine is, the more they want to feel the randomness and surprises given to them by someone else. You can do quirky things, invite them to creative workshops, somewhere they can relax and have fun. Be a little unpredictable and casual, but don't play hot and cold, you will find them disappearing faster than turning a page.

Showing your intention early on won't be a problem, but don't put any pressure and expectations on them, just state your intention like a fact, a truth that you want them to know. They will appreciate the freedom you can give them. They will also appreciate your wisdom, a beautiful mind turns them on more than any beautiful outer shell a person may have. Share the interesting things you've learnt, your experiences, especially your travel anecdotes, share what you find beautiful and touching, those things will bring you guys closer faster than any physical flirting.

RED JASPER

I think the best way for you to appeal to their heart is to show your vulnerability in the most authentic way. This person values authenticity above all else, all the messy emotions, the shame and guilt you hide, they want to see them all laid bare before them. This is a way for them to test your resolve and resilience, though they're also attracted to tenderness and vulnerability in a person. They're probably an intense person themselves, so they need someone who can match them, who's not afraid to be real with them. But don't dump your deep dark secrets on them when you're still in the initial stage of getting to know each other. They appreciate courage and a forthright spirit, but they don't want to be your therapist from the get-go. They probably need to feel appreciated too, being able to be real with you too, it's an equal give and take, an exchange between hearts and souls, not a confession session. When they feel that they can trust you enough to tell you their more private thoughts and feelings, this is a crucial and decisive moment, the way you would react and respond will be registered into their mind forever, almost like you're being observed by a judge.

Their mind can be quite heavy with dark thoughts and gloomy outlooks and they need someone who can bring more colours into their psyche. You can show they how to appreciate life's beauty more, gently lead them into a more bright place, let them have the chance to relax and be in the present moment. Something colourful will have that effect on them, you can surprise them with small gifts like flowers and plants, candies, hot drinks, soft pillows, cool water touching their feet, birds, cuddly pets, cakes, things you make yourself, things that can stimulate their five senses more. That would include your clothes or your scent. They need something to be of contrast to their grey inner landscape.

You can also stimulate their mind with conversations about all kinds of different topics, they would probably be interested in esoteric topics, spirituality, personal belief system, the unknown, travel, books. If you guys are not engaging in mental gymnastic, you can go for the physical one, swimming or skiing, roller coaster riding might be their favourites. They need to feel a sense of active and dynamic in your energy, almost like they need a warm light to surround themselves with, someone to add a touch of magical feeling to their mundane existence and introduce them to deeper facets of life.

[kvothbloodless]

Because I like creating stories! I like coming up with a plot and characters. I like worldbuilding. I like making decisions about themes and how I want to communicate them. I like figuring out pivotal scenes and how they'll play out. And while I don't love it, I also don't really have a problem with editing scenes and dialogue to fit better.

What I don't like, and indeed most days am not Able to do, is actually sitting down and converting all my well organized ideas and decisions and worldbuilding into tens of thousands of words of prose. I just do not enjoy it at all; I find it tedious and unengaging and it usually feels like pulling teeth. And even if I Did enjoy it, my disabilities make it near impossible to do anything like that most days.

And AI mostly solves that problem for me! Why Wouldn't I want to use it? Why shouldn't I use an awesome new tool that lets me find joy in creating stories I would not otherwise be able to create? Why shouldn't I want to share those stories with people?

I just don't understand tumblr user's immediate and outraged response to someone doing something that they also enjoy, just because they're doing it in a different way. I mean, I know a large part of it is because we like to equate suffering and struggle with value, but like. Cmon guys. Lets stop acting protestant (and ableist) here.

Something being harder to do doesn't make it inherently better! Hard work purely for the sake of hard work is dumb and helps nobody; you shouldn't be railing against people just because they're choosing to take advantage of a tool that allows them to produce art that they otherwise wouldn't. Or even art that they Would have made, but this lets them make it more easily! That's awesome! Being able to create a story or a piece of visual art in a day when it would otherwise take a week is amazing! What's the downside here? More art? More varied art (because now its easier to experiment and try new things)?

And yea, I will admit, AI isn't quite at the level where I can use it to create the stories I really want to Yet, its still so much better than any of the alternatives. So I ask again. Why Wouldn't I use it? Its letting me do something I enjoy, that I would not otherwise be able to do. Its not hurting anyone (please do not try to argue about how AI is killing the environment or stealing from artists unless you've actually done some reading and understand how the technology actually works). If its not for you, that's fine. Just like any tool, it won't be helpful for everyone. But that doesn't mean you should be hating on and ostracizing those who do find it helpful, nor that you should ignore any art produced using it.

Unpopular opinion but if you don't enjoy the process you should find a different thing to do.

And I think this is true in general but now I'm talking about it in the context of AI.

If you don't enjoy making art and only care about the end piece and how it'll look and how much traction it"lol get online then making art is not something for you, find something you enjoy from start to finish.

Same goes for writing: if you do not enjoy writing and rewriting and then some more and instead want AI to write for you, being a writer is not something you should pursue.

Sure, not every part of creative process is going to be equally enjoyable but you should get satisfaction from solving the problems along the way and you should get a sense of accomplishment on your way of "making the piece yours" and you should have a sense of ownership once you are done.

None of these things will come from typing in a prompt into chatGPT. And I am sad to see so many people are missing on the opportunity to experience the joy of making something with their own hands and brains.

[pupyuj]

dude I've been thinking of g!pwonyoung who is submissive and will literally do anything to fuck you, and would call you mommy typa shi🙏 and she's such a beggar like she would al say please just to get what she wants

g!p sub top mommy's girl wony my favorite thing ever !! oh i love it when you guys know just what to send in my inbox 😍😍

[cw: g!p wonyoung.]

one of the rare times wony would deliberately want to embarrass herself over and over again bcs she can’t get enough of you 🥺 you get your way with her every time bcs she never complains and it was heaven for both of you! 🤭 tell her to do ANYTHING and she'd be on it asap—the goodest of all good girls in the world and she loves it when you make it known to her 🥰🥰

wony definitely goes straight to you after a long day at work! even if you're occupied she would be allll over you, hugging you from behind while whining so cutely in your ear just to get noticed... but even if you took like, fifteen minutes to finally pay attention to her, wony would never touch you inappropriately without your permission! baby doesn't like seeing you mad... she doesn't love punishments too much either so she's as patient and innocent as they come! 🥺

and yes, she would call you "mommy"! wonyoung has such a big mommy kink it's so pathetic... she really just wants to be pampered and spoiled 💕💕 and what better way for you to do that than to take her cock after she asked so nicely? and she's totally a service top... sure, wony gets a little too lost in pleasure when she's fucking you bcs it just feels so unbelievably good to be inside you but at the end of the day, you're her world so making you feel even better than what she was feeling is always her mission! 😳💞

wonyoung is so smart too... she knows every weak spot of yours, knows what exactly drives you crazy, knows what makes you want more... and she exploits all of that bcs she loves you so much and always wants to give you the best time ever when you're with her 🥰 and she doesn't have to ask for praises bcs you're always giving them to her! it astounds her how you can speak while fucking bcs she can barely get a single word out!

there you are, getting fucked so good your brain was going haywire and yet you can still grab wony's jaw, pull her close, and tell her how amazing she was making mommy feel right up against her lips... that was always what made wony cum... but that's okay bcs she has a lot of energy to spare that all for you and you only 😵‍💫

[its-a-me-mango]

Oh hey... it's been a while Telly...

Everypony, this is URGEN, and I need your help, I have a sad TV that needs cheering up, can you help me? You guys think you can help me? Pretty please?

THIS IS A FUN LIL OC/SONA DRAWING/WRITING/WHATEVER EVENT THINGY AND YOU'RE INVITED TO TAKE PART!!!

INFO BELOW THE READ MORE!

Hi welcome to below the read more, nice down here innit.

THIS IS NOT AN EVENT WHERE YOU SUGGEST THINGS TO ME, THIS IS FOR YOU TO DO, I WILL BE IGNORING ANY ASKS RELATED TO REQUESTS FOR ME TO DRAW!

Anyway so as I said, you're invited to have your sona, your OC, your AU or heck even one of the SMG4 crew help cheer up Telly! You can do this in anyway you like, wethers it's taking them out somewhere nice like a park or city, to playing games with them, or just hanging out with them! You're in charge of picking out something fun for your character of choise and Telly to do together! They love doing anything as long as its with friends so you're welcome to do pretty much anything!

You can also make this in an medium you'd like, be it art, comics, writing, or anything else you can think of, there is no strict medium this has to be done in so go wild and most importantly have fun!

For the sake of keeping things clear in the SMG4 tag, you can use #SMG4CheerUp as the tag for this event, you are obviously free to @ me but if not, I will check the above tag instead.

Before I go any further, just want to make this clear:

THERE IS NO PRIZE! THERE IS NO DEADLINE! THIS IS JUST FOR FUN!

THIS IS NOT A COMPETITION

Just saying this as I don't want people expecting anything from me in return for this, nor do I want people putting themselves down or comparing themselves to others, I want people to have fun for the sake of having fun.

I'm obviously not super stricks on rules as this is for fun but I do have a few requests:

No just straight up brining Mr Puzzles back, that kinda defeats the point. You're more than welcome to use your AU or OC version of Mr Puzzles for this, but no actual Mr Puzzles, let him rot in prison for a bit please.

I know I said you're welcome to do pretty much anything but please keep your work age appropriate! Telly is meant to be no older than 10 at max so nothing too outrageous please! I don't mind a bit of angst or anything like that but you know, be nice to the kid alright, I will kill you otherwise /j

Also for this please don't use their teen/adult design, this is focused on them as a kid so please keep them as one, no aging up to do anything not age appropriate please.

Please keep in mind that Telly is mute and cannot talk! They can write/type to talk (as they don't know sign language yet) and they can make static noises, but no actual speaking for them!

TELLY USES THEY/THEM PRONOUNS AND NOTHING ELSE, PLEASE JUST REFER TO THEM AS A CHILD/KID

That's all I could think of lol, will add more if I think of anything else.

TELLYS REF IS HERE FOR ANYONE WHO NEEDS IT (it is also linked on my pinned post at all times) I'm not overly strict on design so feel free to add your own lil details to them, I think it's fun! :3

My media asks are off for now, as I'd rather people make their own posts, it's what Tumblr's for and I wouldn't want anyone's amazing work to sit and rot in my inbox! I will be reblogging everything I promise.

You're welcome to ask me any questions but my response will likely be either "yes" or "if it's fun for you go for it!"

There is no deadline as stated, but I'll say this is open for at least a month-ish, or at least until Mr Puzzles comes back or something lol (watch that be, this week! wow how short lived /j)

ANYWAY WITH ALL THAT OUT THE WAY, GO FORTH AND ONCE AGAIN, HAVE FUN ABOVE ALL ELSE!!! :3

[takenbypeter]

<3

Bucky Barnes x reader

Words: 682

A/N: Just a lil pure fluff for Bucky. I’m in my Bucky era again

You stared at your phone. Something was wrong. 

Right?

See you soon <3

You read the text again focusing on the heart at the end. This wasn’t him, right? It must’ve been somebody impersonating him.

You sat at the counter of your kitchen in thought with your phone laying screen up while your hands were interlaced pushed against your lips. 

You were starting to get worried. Should you call somebody, should you call Sam? No they were together, if someone got to him then someone got to Sam too. Your mind was racing in thought. The only thing that broke its focus was the sound of the front door unlocking. 

Your eyes darted to the sound as you grabbed a nearby knife. But the hammering in your heart stopped once you saw Bucky entering your apartment. 

You let out a sigh putting the knife down as he threw his duffel bag to the floor before looking at you for the first time. 

“Woah, is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. I just thought something went wrong on the mission for a moment, that's all.”

He frowned, taking his shoes off and stepping closer. “I said I’d see you soon, why would anything be wrong?”

He planted a kiss on your cheek, passing by you to grab a plum from the fruit bowl. 

“I don’t know, I guess your message just threw me off.”

He let out a hmm, sort of in agreement. But that was it. 

“Well the ending was the part that really threw me off.”

He nodded again as if that was that. 

You were going to have to yank the bull harder to get the answer from him. 

“So yeah, what was up with that? That’s not like you?”

“What?”

You pick up your phone, “Bucky, come on…” he looked at you as if having no idea what you’re talking about, you had to fill in the answer for him to continue the conversation, “the heart at the end! You’ve never done that before.”

“Oh I just thought it was a nice thing,” he shrugged it off as if it was no big deal. 

“It is a nice thing, a really sweet nice thing but it’s just it’s so random, you know?”

Bucky sighed, “yeah I figured, you know I don’t tell you enough how much I care for you, so I figured I’d start doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Telling you I love you.”

Now that. That took you aback. 

“Huh? You don’t tell me how much you love me?”

“Yeah…it took me so long to say it and some guys were talking on the mission and it just made me realize that I don’t say it as much as I should.” He finally turned to you fully, “I’m sorry, I’ll say it more often from now on.”

You wave your hands in the air trying to shut down this whole claim of his, “stop just stop. You say it all the time. It might not be verbal but you say it in the little things; when you make dinner, when I fall asleep and you carry me to the bed, when you buy me something because it reminds you of me—that’s all you telling me you love me Buck. Come on now don’t be silly,” you continue, clearly upset that he would even accuse himself like this, “and you do tell me you love me, so whatever those guys said they can buzz off. If anything it’s not you who doesn’t say it enough it’s me who doesn’t say it enough, so Bucky,” you go to where he’s now seated on a stool and you put two hands to his cheek squishing them in the process, “I love you.”

Bucky’s stoic expression breaks in your hands, knowing you’re passionate about his feelings and that you just want him to know how good he is, “I love you too.”

You grin and kiss him chastely. “Now aside from that, the heart was a cute touch. I'm definitely screenshotting this.”

Bucky rolled his eyes while a smile continued to decorate his lips. 

[complete-clownery]

some fun facts about this whole picture

(also just because I share all of this with you guys, nothing is set in stone, if you have your own theories that's the coolest thing ever!!! Share them with me please!!)

🍜Some of y'all said that Macaque was sitting alone but believe me just because Bai He turned around to chat with MK and Mei she is only there because Macaque came and Macaque is only there because Bai He bagged him to tag along,

THEY COME IN A PAIR DO NOT SEPARATE IN GROUP PICTURES!!!

🍜 You might have noticed that some of the chopstick holders and sauce holders have stickers on them. Those were put there by MK. He first did it when he was much younger to help decorate the shop because he overheard a convo between Tang and Pigsy discussing renovation and finances - it was a whole thing - Pigsy even got mad at MK, but they figure it out eventually and nowadays when the stickers get too worn MK replaces them with new ones

🍜 Mei is showing Bai He a puppy video you can hardly see it

🍜 Mei hardly even touches Red Son in the illustration, Red Son is just completely distraught by the idea of being so close to someone. (He's very embarrassed they might be blushing a bit too (I just went able to draw that properly lol))

🍜MK is sitting on outside of the boot because he keeps on getting up and helping pigsy around (it's not even conscious anymore, whenever they sit down with the others he sits somewhere, where he can easily get up to land a hand to Pigsy (or to anyone))

🍜 Yeeah Yeah okay,,, I know there is a shadowpeach shaped question in the room bugging your minds like: omg clownery is it on purpose that they are the only characters that we can't see the faces of???

And my answer to that is: I made this drawing on a whim, I started drawing it purely to mess around with perspective and expected to give up halfway bc it looked ass, I could have hardly given it any deeper meaning or thought. How could've I possibly planned anything? The core elements of this picture are all managed to get made up while I was drawing it...

Except from this one ;]

See when I sat down and got an idea about a group picture I wanted to differentiate the celestial monkeys (excluding MK) from the main group

This picture takes place some time after season 3 and a bit before season 4. I would like to say that Wukong and Macaque are not a part of this group. Especially in season 3 both of them have done terrible shit and regardless of where they're sitting and what they are doing, they're not part of it all.

For Macaque this is pretty easily illustrated, he is the one who stands out the most, not a lot of people want him there since they did try to kill members of the group even if he was under the influence of LBD. He's at a different table MK invited them bc MK genuinely wants to be friend Macaque, but this was already stated: Bai He wants Macaque to be there - I have a lot of head canons about their relationship but I'm not going to talk about this here cuz this rant might get even longer - but Bai He at first was scared as fuck with Wukong around, she only felt better when Macaque was there. She has gotten better since then, as you can see she's pretty comfortable with MK and Mei (even Red Son surprisingly), but she still needs Macaque there.

Making Wukong stand out and look isolated is a bit more tricky... He's in the group seemingly chatting with Sandy, he's there part of the whole thing, but there are subtle hints about his environment and body language you might notice:

Well for once he is turned away from the pov, we cant see his face already distancing him from you guys the viewers.

His body language is also closed off, arms crossed, legs just next to each other tightly, he's not comfortable, he's somewhere else, Sandy is there but his talking at Wukong rather than talking to him.

Also It has been made pretty evident in the show that Wukong loves eating right? If he was perfectly comfortable and at ease he would at least have 3 bowls of noodles yet he barely touched anything, he's not eating.

I mean he almost got Mei killed and the whole plan screwed since he was unwilling to cooperate and share his plans with the others. I like to think that Mei just straight up ignored him for a while,, same with pigsy,, those two had enough of Wukongs past getting MK in trouble, they do not like him (and them being so buddy buddy with him in later seasons is annoying af to me,,, maybe season 5 gets some form of pass, because more time has passed and Wukongs actions in season 4 were considerably better, but they were waaaaay too comfortable with him at season 5,,, it bugged me a lot)

I think they're also very aware of each other's presence (I have a whole au that plays between season 3 and 4 explaining how Macaque started living on the FFM with Wukong, so in that context,,,, damn they are having a BLAST especially Macaque, he would like to be anywhere but near Wukong :] )

🍜Also they're sitting away from each other as far away as possible, and (this was not planned and got pointed out by one of my friends) Wukong is sitting closest to the sun and Macaque is the one who is in the shade the most

Sorry about the big monkey rant, I am just so extremely shadowpeach pilled that it distracts my brain form everything else

And once again: I tell all this stuff to you guys, but feel free to come up with your own theories about the illustration, details, backstories, whatever you have in mind. You guys have different interpretations makes it all the more fun!!

Please share your theories with me in the comments I would love to hear them 🍎🍊🍊

I'll edit this if I have more ideas 💡

Wow okay

[leafbowl]

You know that thing bikers do when they see a police car? The tap on their helmets? Yeah so Arsenal, Red Hood, Red Robin and Spoiler (who I think are the only ones who ride motorbikes outside of their vigilante personalities) do it whenever they see Nightwing. And you better believe it makes others so fucking confused.

Nightwing: *Drops down into the fight.*

Red Hood: *Stops everything he's doing to tap the top of his helmet.*

Spoiler: *Sees it and then stops to do it too.*

Red Robin: *Gets a giddy little grin and starts tapping the top of his head.*

Thugs: *All collectively very confused.*

Thug #1: Wha... What're they doin'?

Thug #2: Uhh I dunno.

Thug #3: Hey, isn't that what bikers do when they see a cop?

Thug #2: Nah. Nightwing's not a cop, dumbass.

Thug #1: Yeah, he's a vigilante. Wha's he need with bein' a cop?

Thug #3: But he's the type to snitch tho.

Thug #1: Well... I guess. Maybe that's why they do it, cuz he's such a snitch.

Thug #2: *shrugs* Maybe.

Thugs #3: Uh, guys...

Thug #2: What?

Thug #3: Ya 'ere that?

Thug #1: *Pauses but doesn't hear anything.* Uh nah.

Thug #3: Exactly. Where'd the fightin' sounds go?

Thug #2: Shit.

The fighting had stopped because everyone else had been taken care of. The batfam had just been waiting for them to finish their conversation like Alfred taught them to. He would be proud. Probably of the broken and fractured bones that followed. Well, he'd be proud of their technique, they reckoned. (To be honest, Alfred would be proud no matter what.)

Arsenal: So he just... told you all to stop?

Red Hood: *Shrugs.* Pretty much.

Red Robin: I don't get why B wants us to stop using 'dick' as a term of endeerment. It's a compliment! Being like Dick is the highest honour.

Red Hood: And that has nothing to do with the fact the Baby Wonder finds it enfurieating?

Red Robin, grinning: Cassie hating it is an upside, I won't lie.

Nightwing: *Drops down next to where they're all gathered on a roof.* Hey guys, sorry I'm late, I-

Red Hood:

Arsenal:

Spoiler:

Red Robin:

Robin:

Orphan:

Nightwing: Uh guys? *Starts sweating because there's something wrong with the way they're all blankly staring at him.* How- how's everyone?

Red Hood: *Starts tapping helmet.*

Nightwing: *So concerned that something's wrong he doesn't clock it right away so he just stares, a crease forming between his eyebrows.*

Red Robin: *Taps against his hair.*

Nightwing: Wait a sceond-

Arsenal, Spoiler: *Taps their heads.*

Robin and Orphan: *Looks at each other. Holds eye contact and then starts tapping their heads to fuck with Nightwing.*

The next day a photo of Nightwing standing with his head bowed in defeat whilst being surrounded by Red Hood, Arsenal, Red Robin, Robin, Spoiler and Orphan who are all patting their heads is trending. People think they're in some kind of cult and that they were either sacraficing Nightwing or they were summoning something. The fact that Nightwing isn't spotted for the next week makes everyone lean towards the sacraficing.

(Jason made him promise he would play into the bit by not going out and letting his friends and/or his siblings patrol his city. Dick has never been good at saying not to his little brother. And, come on, Dick fucking loved the idea of people thinking he was being sacraficed. Also, he doesn't mind the head patting. Batman was the only one who thought it might reveal his identity. Dick was with Stephanie on it all, really. There was no way people would connect him to Nightwing and if they did, it's not like anyone else would believe them.)

It gets to the point that it's not even to fuck with Batman anymore. It becomes a normal greeting, something that bleeds into their civillian lives. People understand it more when it's directed at Dick Grayson but it's very endeering to see it. It all fuels all the Bruceman shippers when Tim Drake-Wayne is caught doing it to Nightwing.

[theonottsbxtch]

WHEN THE WORLD GOES QUIET PT.2 | LN4

an: i'm seeing a lot of love for this and i'm glad! i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing this - i'm now omw to the library to write some more stories for you guys hehe

wc: 6.1k

part one

FOR DAYS, SHE MOURNED.

She barely left her bed, drifting between fitful sleep and hollow wakefulness, the hours melting into each other like wax from a candle burned too long. The world outside continued - newspapers shouted about the war, footsteps echoed in the stairwell, rain pattered softly against the windowpane - but none of it touched her. It all felt so distant, like she was floating just outside of reality, unable to reach it, unwilling to try.

The soldiers had come back two days later after the first visit. They handed her a small box - Lando’s belongings. He didn’t have much. A pocket watch, the glass cracked but the hands still ticking. A battered deck of playing cards, edges worn soft from use. A few letters he never sent to her, some half-written, some only a few lines long. A book of poetry she gave him with his name scrawled inside the cover, the pages dog-eared and stained with ink. He lied to her, he said he’d never read it. A cigarette case, dented, still holding one last cigarette as though he was going to come back and smoke it with her in the rain while she sang.

She ran her fingers over each item carefully, as if memorising the feel of them, as if holding these things would somehow bring him back. She placed the box on the small table by her bed and left it there, untouched after that, unable to look at it for too long.

A week passed. The grief didn’t lessen, but it settled into something quieter, heavier, pressing down on her ribs with every breath.

And then, on the seventh day, there was a knock at the door.

It was weak. Barely there. Just a soft, uncertain tap tap tap, as if the person on the other side wasn’t sure they had the strength to knock at all.

She ignored it at first - probably some children selling biscuits. She barely had the energy to move, let alone answer the door. But then it came again, a little stronger this time, though still unsteady.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, wrapping her dressing gown around herself as she crossed the small, dimly lit room. Her body felt leaden, her mind sluggish, and for a moment, she thought it must be one of her neighbours - maybe Mrs. Holloway from downstairs, coming to check if she was still breathing.

She unlocked the door with tired fingers and pulled it open-

And nearly collapsed where she stood.

Lando.

He was standing in front of her, barely upright, swaying slightly on his feet like a man who’d been fighting gravity for too long. His face was bruised and still slightly bloodied, one eye swollen, a cut running along his temple. His uniform was tattered, stained with dirt and dried blood, his left arm cradled against his side as if even the weight of it was too much to bear. He looked ruined. Wrecked by something that should have killed him.

But he was here. 

Alive. 

A slow lopsided grin pulled at his split lip, his voice rough and hoarse as he rasped-

“Missed me, sweetheart?”

Her breath hitched, her vision blurred. For a moment, she could do nothing but stare, her hands gripping the doorframe to keep herself upright.

Then, before she could think, before she could stop herself.

She threw herself at him.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her body colliding with his so suddenly that he let out a low groan of pain, but she didn’t care for a brief minute. He was solid. Real. Her fingers curled into his torn uniform, her face buried in his shoulder, and the sob that has been trapped in her chest for weeks finally broke free.

He let out a shaky breath, his good arm tightening around her waist as he whispered, “Took a long bloody way home, but I got here, didn’t I?”

Home.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands cradling his face, her thumbs brushing over the bruises there. He winced slightly but didn’t pull away.

“You-” Her voice cracked, raw from days of silence. “You died.”

He gave her a faint, crooked smirk. “Nearly died. Big difference, sweetheart.” His voice softened. “They shot us down over France. I-” He swallowed, something dark flickering through his bruised gaze. “I shouldn’t have made it.”

Her fingers trembled against his jaw, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs “But you did.”

“Yeah.” His voice was barely a whisper now. “Yeah, I did.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her breath uneven, her thoughts a tangled mess of grief and disbelief and absolute, crushing relief.

Then she grabbed his collar, yanked him forward and kissed him.

He made a low sound in his throat, startled, but he melted into her, his lips warm despite the cold that clung to his skin. It was desperate, messy, edged with too much pain and too many unsaid words, but neither of them cared. 

When they finally pulled apart, he let out a breathless chuckle, his forehead resting against hers. “Blimey. If I’d known I’d get a welcome like that, I’d have come back sooner.”

She huffed out a tearful laugh, skating her head as fresh tears slid down her cheeks. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, his fingers brushing weakly over her wrist. “You love me anyway, don’t you?”

She didn’t really know what love was growing up, she was raised knowing that she could only love God and the Church. But here, staring at this messy boy with his messy curls and lopsided grin, she thought of how much she mourned him, the lie she voiced for him and realised that yes, she did love him.

She exhaled, her fingers still cupping his face, and nodded.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I do.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting it sink in, letting it steady him. Then, with a small, pained sigh, he leaned into her touch and muttered-

“Reckon I might need a lie-down, sweetheart. Nearly dying’s exhausting work.”

She let out a watery laugh, shaking her head as she finally pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them.

She still didn’t know how this was possible, how he was here, when she had already mourned him. She didn’t know if she would ever stop waking up in cold sweats, thinking it had all been a dream.

But for now, he was here and that was enough for her.

Once inside, she took care of him. Took care of him in the only way she knew how, with love.

The small flat wasn’t much, but it was warm, and it was safe, and for now, that was enough. She helped him out of his tattered uniform with careful hands, breath momentarily taken away as she took in his build. Her fingers ghosted over the bruised ribs, torn skin, the places where war had left its mark on him. He hissed when she pressed a damp cloth to the cut on his temple, but he didn’t complain, only watching her with a look that made her chest tighten.

She tried not to meet his gaze, tried to focus on the task at hand. But then-

“So,” he drawled, his voice still rough, still weak, but carrying the familiar edge of teasing. “Heard you called yourself my fiancée.”

Her hands froze.

Her stomach plummeted.

Her eyes snapped up to his, wide with horror. He looked far too smug for someone who had nearly died, his bruised lips curling into something that might have been a smirk if he wasn’t so exhausted.

She stammered, struggling for words, but before she could say anything, she glanced down at her hand.

And her heart stopped.

The ring.

It was still on her left hand. She had never switched it back.

Heat flooded her face so quickly she thought she might faint. She dropped the cloth to his lap and yanked the ring off, shoving it back onto her right hand, fingers trembling, her whole body ablaze with mortification.

“That was- I had to,” she spluttered. “They wouldn’t have told me anything otherwise, and I needed to know.”

Lando let out a low chuckle, wincing at the movement. “I dunno, sweetheart. Sounds an awful lot like a proposal to me.”

She picked up the cloth and threw it at his chest.

He let out a breathless laugh, catching it before it fell to the floor, but the sound faded quickly, something heavier settling between them. She swallowed, focusing on cleaning his wounds, pretending she wasn’t still burning from the embarrassment.

“You really did that?” he asked for a moment, his voice quieter now, “You went all the way out to Bovingdon?”

She nodded, dabbing gently at his brow. “Didn’t have a choice, did I?”

Something flickered in his gaze- something unreadable, something deep. “That was dangerous darling, what if something happened to your train?”

“I needed to know, Lan.”

He went quiet after that and she continued to work, washing away the blood, the dirt, the remnants of everything he had endured. The worst of it was his ribs, bruised and maybe cracked, but there was nothing she could do except wrap them, murmuring soft apologies when he flinched beneath her touch.

When she was done, she sat back, studying her work.

“You should be in the military,” Lando muttered, voice laced with exhaustion. “Proper little nurse, you are.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “I would be in the military, if they let me fight.”

His gaze softened. “I reckon you’d win the whole bloody war if they did.”

She scoffed, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. For a moment, just a moment. Things almost felt normal.

But then, Lando let out a slow breath, the teasing fading from his face.

“I lost Oscar,” he said.

Her heart clenched.

Lando’s right hand-man. His best mate. She had met him once- just once, outside the bar, both of them too drunk to be serious about anything. He had been tall, full of quick wit and easy laughter, and Lando trusted him with everything.

She didn’t know what to say.

Lando didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed somewhere far away - empty. “We were shot down over France. They got us good. We tried-” He exhaled, his hands twitching, curling into fists. “We tried to jump, but Oscar- his parachute wouldn’t open. I saw him go down. Couldn’t do a damn thing.

She reached for his hand instinctively, gripping it tightly.

“I don’t know how I made it back,” he admitted. “I ran back for Oscar, took him as far as I could and gave him a final prayer. Silly right?” he chuckled. “I took a bullet to the leg after that, nearly starved, but some French boys found me. Got me out before the Jerries could.” His throat bobbed. “But Osc-”

He didn’t finish. 

She squeezed his fingers, her heart aching. “I’m so sorry, Lando.”

He nodded once, slowly. But she knew this wasn’t something he would ever truly move past.

The war took and took and took.

And yet, somehow, against all odds. Lando had come back.

She let the silence settle between them, her fingers still wrapped around his. It wasn’t comfortable, not with the weight of what he had just said, but she knew better than to rush him. Lando seemed like the type of man who carried his grief quietly, let it sink into his bones where no one could reach it.

After a while, she exhaled softly and asked, “So, what happens now?”

Lando tilted his head back against the wall, his bruised face illuminated by the dim glow of the gaslight. He looked tired. Bone tired. But the ghost of a smirk still tugged at his lips.

“Well,” he drawled, “I’m on the injury list until I heal. Not much use to ‘em like this, am I?” He gestured vaguely to himself, to the cuts, the bruises, the way his left arm still hung stiffly at his side. “Can’t fly, can’t fight. Means I’m stuck here for a bit.”

She nodded, trying not to let the relief show too plainly on her face. He was here. He wasn’t being shipped back out - at least not yet.

Lando glanced at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Father O’Connell said I can stay at the Church until I’m good.”

That made her pause.

“The Church?” She repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He huffed a quiet laugh, as if he had been expecting her reaction. “They’ve got a spare cot, and it’s better than the street, sweetheart.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting a smile. "You? Sleeping under a roof dedicated to the Lord you don’t believe in?"

Lando smirked. "Reckon I’ll be fine, so long as the walls don’t cave in the moment I step inside."

She laughed then, shaking her head. "Blasphemous and injured. You’re on dangerous ground, Lando Norris."

"Wouldn’t be the first time," he murmured, wincing slightly as he shifted.

She hesitated for a moment, watching him carefully. He was exhausted. She could see it in the way his body sagged slightly against the chair, the way his hands trembled faintly from either pain or sheer fatigue. He was trying to keep up the bravado, but she knew better.

"Stay here."

The words left her mouth before she had fully thought them through, but as soon as she said them, she knew she meant them.

Lando blinked at her. "What?"

She crossed her arms, feigning nonchalance. "You heard me."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Offering up your flat to a war hero, are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Just an injured man who can barely stand upright."

Lando chuckled, but then he really looked at her—like he was trying to understand if she was serious. "I don’t wanna be a burden."

"You won’t be," she said, softer this time.

He studied her for a long moment, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to argue. Then, finally, he let out a small, resigned sigh.

"Alright, sweetheart," he murmured. "You win."

And for the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe.

She looked after him because someone had to.

She changed the bandages on his ribs with careful hands, wiped the dried blood from his temple, made him tea even though he grumbled that he wasn’t some fragile old man. She forced him to eat, nudging a half-stale biscuit toward him when he thought she wasn’t looking. And when his body ached too much to sit upright, she guided him to the small bed in the corner of the flat, ignoring his protests as she threw a blanket over him.

It was quiet work. Steady. Something to keep her hands busy, something to stop her from thinking too much about the fact that just two days ago, she had been mourning him.

She was pouring him another cup of tea when she spoke, her voice quieter than before. "I prayed for you."

Lando, sitting up against the headboard, glanced at her. His injuries had settled into something duller now—still painful, but less sharp, less all-consuming. He wasn’t wincing as much when he moved, but his face still bore the bruises of war.

He studied her, something unreadable in his gaze. "Did you?"

She nodded, fingers tightening around the cup. "At the church. When I thought—when I thought you were gone."

His jaw tensed slightly, as if the thought of her grieving him was harder to bear than his own suffering. Then, after a pause, he exhaled and said, "I prayed."

Her head snapped up.

Lando Hargrove, the man who scoffed at church, who smirked every time she wore her cross, who always had something sharp to say about the God she wrestled with.

She swallowed. "You mentioned, you were serious?"

He nodded, looking down at his hands. His voice was quieter now, rougher around the edges. "When I was out there. Alone. Before the French boys found me, with Oscar." His fingers curled slightly, as if remembering the feel of the earth beneath them, the cold, the hunger, the absolute isolation. "Didn’t know if anyone was listening. Didn’t know if I even believed it." His gaze lifted to hers, raw in a way she wasn’t sure she had ever seen before. "But I thought of you."

Her breath caught.

She didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to unravel the knots twisting in her chest. So she just nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

The night carried on, slow and steady. She cleaned up the small mess from their tea, doused the gas lamp until only the dim glow of the streetlights filtered through the curtains. Lando had already sunk lower into the bed, exhaustion pulling at him with an unrelenting grip.

"You should sleep," she murmured.

His lips twitched. "And where are you planning on going, sweetheart?"

She hesitated. The flat was small—there was only the one bed, and the chair in the corner wasn’t much of an option.

Lando let out a quiet chuckle, shifting slightly to the side. "Come on, then. I don’t bite."

She rolled her eyes but, after a moment, relented. Carefully, she climbed in beside him, keeping a respectful distance, but the bed was small, and warmth carried between them in the sliver of space that remained.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, just as her eyes were beginning to slip shut, Lando’s voice came, barely above a whisper.

"Still wearing that ring?"

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t open her eyes. "Go to sleep, Lando."

He let out a quiet, tired laugh.

And with that, for the first time in what felt like years, they both let themselves rest.

The night was still. The distant hum of the city had quieted, leaving only the occasional echo of footsteps on the cobbled streets below.

She had been deep in sleep, cocooned in warmth, when the bed jolted beneath her.

Then—

"Oscar!"

Her eyes flew open.

Lando was thrashing beside her, tangled in the blankets, his face twisted in something raw, something agonising. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his fingers clenching around the sheets as if he were still there, still on the battlefield, still losing his best friend over and over again.

"No—Oscar—wait—"

His voice cracked, broken apart by a sob.

She moved before she could think, shifting onto her side, reaching for him. "Lando—Lando, wake up—"

But he wasn’t awake, not really. He was trapped in the depths of it, in the nightmare, his chest rising and falling far too fast, his body trembling under the weight of something she couldn’t see.

Her heart ached.

She touched his face gently, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. "Lando, love, it’s alright," she whispered, voice steady despite the tightness in her throat. "You’re here. You’re safe."

His breathing stuttered.

She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to bring him back. "It’s not real. You’re with me."

His eyes snapped open.

Wild. Glassy. He was still lost, still caught somewhere far away. But then his gaze landed on her—really landed on her—and something in him broke.

A strangled sound escaped his throat, and then he was clutching her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. His body shook, and before he could turn away, before he could hide it, she felt it—

The tears.

Hot, silent, unstoppable.

Lando Norris was crying.

She didn’t hesitate. She lifted herself up, pressing soft kisses to his damp cheeks, tasting the salt of his grief. She wiped the tears away with her lips, her hands, her whole being, as if she could take the pain from him, as if she could bear it for him instead.

His hands curled into the fabric of her nightdress, his breath shuddering. He didn’t speak, and neither did she.

Instead, she held him.

And then, quietly, she whispered a prayer.

She didn’t know if he believed. Didn’t know if she believed anymore, not fully, not in the way she used to. But she prayed anyway, murmured soft words into the hollow space between them, words for Oscar, for Lando, for the war to end, for something greater than all of this.

Lando’s breathing slowed.

His grip on her loosened, just slightly.

She stroked his hair, pressing her forehead against his temple. "Sleep, love," she whispered. "I’ve got you."

He let out a shaky breath, and for the first time that night, he let himself fall.

And she held him, long after sleep claimed him again.

The rest of the night passed in fits and starts.

Even as Lando drifted back to sleep, his body remained tense, like he was waiting to be dragged back into the nightmare. Every so often, he’d shift against her, his fingers twitching in his sleep, a quiet murmur of Oscar’s name escaping his lips.

She didn’t let go.

She kept him close, her arms a steady anchor, her warmth something solid against the cold weight of his grief. When his breath hitched, she whispered reassurances into his skin. When his body shuddered, she ran soft, soothing strokes through his hair. And when dawn finally crept through the curtains, bathing the room in a muted grey light, she barely realised she hadn’t slept at all.

Lando stirred first.

It was slow—his body unwilling, his mind reluctant—but eventually, his brow furrowed, and he let out a low groan, pressing his face into the pillow.

She smiled softly. "Good morning."

A pause. Then, groggy, voice rough with sleep, he muttered, "Bloody hell."

She huffed a quiet laugh. "That bad, is it?"

He peeled one eye open, squinting at the light before shifting onto his back with a deep exhale. His gaze flickered to her, taking in the way she was propped up beside him, watching him with something gentle and knowing.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, voice lower now, almost hesitant.

She hesitated before answering. "You were already asleep when I came back," she murmured, "but you weren’t resting."

Lando’s jaw tightened. He looked away, exhaling slowly through his nose. "I—" He swallowed, then shook his head, running a hand over his face. "Shit."

"You don’t have to say anything," she said, watching him carefully. "Not now. Not ever, if you don’t want to."

Lando was silent.

And then—quietly, reluctantly—he said, "I dream about it."

She stayed quiet, letting him find his own words.

His fingers curled slightly into the sheets. "Sometimes it’s just flashes. The airfields, the engines, the bloody gunfire. Other times…" He exhaled sharply, his throat bobbing. "Other times, it’s Oscar. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. He’s still there, still trying to hold on, and I can’t—I can’t—" His voice faltered, raw and uneven.

She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

Lando blinked hard, then let out a small, humourless chuckle. "God, you must think I’m pathetic."

Her grip tightened. "I think you’re human."

He glanced at her, something vulnerable in his expression. Then, without a word, he squeezed her hand back.

The moment lingered.

Then, as if suddenly aware of their closeness, Lando cleared his throat and made a weak attempt to sit up.

She rolled her eyes. "Slow down, soldier."

"I was never a soldier," he muttered. "Just a bloody pilot who got too good at running from death."

She didn't argue. Not about that.

Instead, she shifted out of bed, stretching her stiff limbs. "Come on, then. You need tea, and I need breakfast."

Lando gave her a lopsided smirk. "That an offer to cook for me, sweetheart?"

She arched a brow. "You think I’d let you in my kitchen with your injuries? You can barely stand."

Lando chuckled, wincing slightly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Reckon I should milk this while I can, then."

She threw a pillow at him.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the morning felt light.

The days passed in something dangerously close to peace.

For the first time in months—years, perhaps—she felt as though time had slowed, folding itself neatly around the four walls of her flat. Outside, London was still at war. Air-raid sirens still screamed through the streets, rations still stretched thinner by the day, and grief still clung to the city like fog. But inside, in the small space she shared with Lando, there was warmth.

Routine.

Something almost like a life.

She looked after him, of course. Changed his bandages when he let her, scolded him when he tried to do too much, forced food into his hands when he muttered that he wasn’t hungry. But he, in his own way, looked after her too.

He made her laugh, sometimes without meaning to. He occupied the space beside her like he belonged there, like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. He helped her with supper, standing over the stove with a cigarette perched between his lips, poking at potatoes with the wrong end of a wooden spoon.

One evening, after she had taken a pan from his hands with a sigh and done it herself, he leant against the counter and smirked.

"You know," he mused, watching her work, "you’d make a bloody good wife."

She nearly dropped the spoon.

The words caught her off guard, lodging themselves in a place she couldn’t quite reach, settling into the corners of her mind like an ink stain.

She glanced at him, half-expecting some cocky grin, but his expression was unreadable. He was watching her in a way that made her chest feel tight, made her hands shake ever so slightly as she turned back to the pan.

"Shame, that," she said, forcing lightness into her voice. "Don’t suppose anyone’s taking applications."

Lando hummed. "Well, I dunno about that," he said. "I did hear you’ve already got a fiancé."

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I knew you wouldn’t let that go."

"Course not." He grinned, stepping closer. "Imagine my surprise, waking up from the dead to find myself engaged. You could’ve at least let me propose first."

She swatted at him half-heartedly, but the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her.

It stuck with her more than she wanted it to.

After that, the thought wove its way into everything.

When she was brushing flour from her hands after baking the world’s most pitiful loaf of bread, she caught him watching her, and the words you’d make a bloody good wife flickered through her mind before she could stop them. When he reached for something on a high shelf, when he nudged her with his shoulder as he passed by, when he said ta, love with that easy grin—

It settled in her chest like a secret, like a whisper of something neither of them dared say out loud.

The week and a half passed like that. Cooking together, filling the flat with the scent of onions and broth, losing themselves in the simple pleasure of warm meals and soft laughter. The war felt distant, just for a little while.

She knew it wouldn’t last.

But God, she wished it would.

Another week passed, a haze of quiet mornings, warm meals, and the occasional conversation that lingered too long, as if neither of them wanted to break the fragile cocoon they’d woven around themselves. There were days when they barely noticed the outside world at all, as though the war had turned into nothing more than a distant rumble, something happening on the other side of a window that had been carefully closed.

The mornings had become routine—her getting up first, brewing tea, him shuffling into the kitchen in a half-awake stupor, ruffling his hair as he grumbled about being woken. The evenings fell into a rhythm too, with them sitting on the small couch, half a room away, each wrapped in the comfort of the other’s company, while the world continued its war somewhere beyond the windows.

One morning, she woke with the warm weight of Lando's arm around her, his breath soft against the back of her neck. She hadn’t realised it at first, but somehow, during the night, he had pulled her close, and now she lay pressed to his chest, his hold tight, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

She shifted, careful not to disturb him, and the soft sound of bells reached her ears—faint at first, a distant chime that grew louder. She frowned, trying to make sense of it. It wasn’t the air-raid sirens, and it wasn’t a church bell for a funeral. No, this was different. This was... celebration?

She carefully pulled herself out of his arms, wincing at the small space between them, and padded quietly across the room. Her fingers brushed the curtains aside, and she peered out of the window.

The street below was buzzing with life. People were spilling into the streets, laughing, shouting, and cheering. Flags were being waved. And there—there were the children, dancing in circles, holding hands like they were marking the end of something heavy. The sounds of joyous voices drifted up to her.

Her heart began to pound. No... it can’t be…

"Lando," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

She turned back toward the bed, her heart thundering as she crossed the room in a few quick strides. She leaned over him, shaking him gently at first, then more urgently. "Lando, darling—wake up!"

He groaned, rolling over and blinking up at her with a dazed expression, his messy hair sticking up in all directions. His face softened when he saw her, but it didn’t last long as the sound of the bells filled the room.

"What—?" He froze, his eyes suddenly clear, his breath catching.

She couldn’t contain the excitement in her voice, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Lando, the war—it’s over. They’re celebrating. Can’t you hear the bells?"

His eyes widened, then narrowed as he slowly pushed himself up, confusion flickering across his face before realisation dawned on him. The sound of the bells reached his ears, clearer now, and he could hear the cheering too. The world outside, the noise, the celebration—it was undeniable.

He sat up, blinking as he rubbed a hand over his face, disorientated for a moment as if he were still in a dream. Then, a half-laugh, half-sob escaped him, and for a moment, he didn’t move. He just looked at her, his gaze flickering over her face.

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. "Is this... is this really happening?"

She nodded, her own disbelief mirrored in her wide eyes. "It’s true, Lando. They’re celebrating. The war’s ended. It’s finished."

He sat there, silent for a beat too long, before shaking his head as if to clear it. Then, he suddenly sprang from the bed, moving quickly, as if the news had sparked something deep inside him, something that couldn’t be contained.

In a few long strides, he was at the window beside her, his eyes scanning the crowds below. People were hugging, crying, dancing in the streets. And for the first time in years, there were no sirens, no orders to follow, no planes overhead.

Lando’s hand reached for hers, his fingers squeezing with a kind of urgency she hadn’t felt in days. His voice was soft, still somewhat stunned. "It’s over," he whispered, his lips curving in something fragile—something that might have been a smile, if not for the look of wonder in his eyes.

She nodded, her heart swelling with something she didn’t know how to name. "It’s over, Lando."

He turned to face her, his hand still holding hers, his thumb rubbing along her knuckles in a slow, tender motion. His eyes softened, the hardness that had lingered around the edges of them for so long finally ebbing away. "What now, then?" he asked quietly, as if the question itself was almost too much to ask after everything.

She thought about it for a moment, the uncertainty of the future heavy in the air between them, but the weight of the moment didn’t seem as daunting now. The war had ended. The world was open. And somehow, impossibly, they had made it.

"I don’t know," she replied, her voice soft, "but we’re still here. And that’s enough for me."

Lando smiled then, the warmth returning to his face, and for the first time since she’d met him, it wasn’t just a smirk or a teasing grin—it was something full of hope, something genuine.

Then, without another word, he leaned down and kissed her.

The moment his lips met hers, the world outside—the cheers, the bells, the war that had just ended—ceased to exist.

Lando kissed her like he had waited his whole life to do it, like he had been holding it back for weeks, months, maybe even longer. His hands cupped her face, rough and warm, his fingers sliding into her hair as he pulled her in like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

She gasped against his mouth, barely catching her breath before he kissed her again, deeper this time, more desperate, more real. Her hands clutched at his shirt, fisting the fabric like she needed to hold onto something solid, like if she let go, she might slip away into whatever fever-dream this felt like.

His body was warm against hers, his breath uneven as he pressed her back against the wall, his lips trailing from her mouth to her jaw, then to the hollow of her throat. She shuddered at the feeling, at the way his hands mapped out every inch of her like he wanted to memorise her in case she vanished before his eyes.

She felt alive.

After everything—after loss and grief, after nights spent in silence, after waking up to a world that had been at war for too long—this was the only thing that felt real. This moment, here, with him.

His forehead pressed against hers as he caught his breath, both of them dizzy from the weight of it all. His voice was low, rasping against her lips, breathless and full of something she couldn’t quite name.

"Well, what to do with my life now?" he murmured, his mouth quirking into something like a smirk, "s’pose I’ll just live here then. With my fiancée."

She let out a breathless laugh, her hands still tangled in his shirt. "Oh, will you now?"

"Reckon so." He grinned, but there was something warm and certain behind it. "Would be a bit odd for me to be staying with a woman I’m not engaged to, don’t you think? The people they’ll talk and your reputation. It’ll be ruined."

She raised an eyebrow. "Lando, you do know you never actually asked me, right?"

For a second, he looked taken aback, as if the thought had never even crossed his mind. But then, without hesitation, he stepped back, took her right hand in his, and before she could say another word—

He dropped onto one knee.

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering wildly as she watched him, watched the way his fingers gently pried the ring from her right hand and held it between them.

His eyes found hers, and for the first time, there was no teasing, no bravado—just Lando, raw and real, looking at her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered.

"I haven’t got a real ring," he said, voice quiet, steady, "not yet, anyway. But I’ll get one. I swear it." He swallowed, his thumb brushing against the band between his fingers. "I’ll find a job—something stable. I could go to school, or work at Billy’s pharmacy, or whatever pays enough to get us something real, something good. And then..."

He took a breath, his lips quirking up into a lopsided smile.

"Then, if you’ll have me, I’ll marry you proper. But for now, all I can do is ask."

He reached for her left hand, slipping the ring onto her finger where it belonged.

"So what d’you reckon, sweetheart?" His voice was softer now, his eyes never leaving hers. "Marry me?"

She stared at him, her chest tightening, her whole body light and heavy all at once.

And then, with the weight of the war finally lifting, with the streets outside alive with celebration, and with the man she loved on his knee before her—

She nodded.

"Yes," she breathed, tears pricking at her eyes. "Yes, Lando."

And before he could even stand, she threw herself at him, kissing him again like she would never stop.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore @driverlando

[chrrific]

綺麗 IT’S A BAD IDEA, RIGHT? 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 & 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

slytherin! 엔하이픈 x 𝑓. gryffindor! reader wc 2.005k ─── fluff forbidden relationship au est. relationships l’avis kissing pda pining nicknames like ‘doll’ & ‘pretty’

for : love 💌 mick’s coming back from the dead ?? this one’s for my love ai ( @jjennuine ) >< she’s mine y’all !!!! stay away 😾😾 and go support our collaboration series — lovestruck ! — @lovestruck-show-official

read more fleur

LEE HEESEUNG forbidden relationship

“y/n?”

a whisper echoed through the silent astronomy tower, the only source of light being the moon glimmering through the small window and the stars glimmering above, clearly visible through the enchanted ceiling; it wasn’t enough for heeseung’s eyes to adjust to the dark.

you tiptoed out from your hiding place, and gave him a silent wave and a smile. his lips instantly tugged up sat the sight of you, and he stepped forward, arms finding their home on the nape of your waist as he looked at you.

the look in his eyes was lovesick; wistful.

he hoped and dreamed so hard of the day when the two of you wouldn’t have to hide your relationship, and when you wouldnt have to meet in secret at night.

because this wasn’t right. slytherins and gryffindors just didn’t belong together.

the way you looked in the moonlight was breathtaking, so much so that he swears you’d put amortentia in his porridge that morning. but no, he knew you didn’t. that’s just how much he was in love with you.

PARK JONGSEONG hot boy x unnoticed

jay was the it guy of your year. girls would probably fall at his feet even if he didn’t ask them to. and for some, totally random, unknown reason, it made you almost jealous.

you could almost feel your gaze hardening whenever you saw him with another girl; a girl thats not you. I mean, it’s not like you like-liked him, right? he’s just hot. that’s all it should be, and that’s all it can.

but is that really true?

with the way he’s been shamelessly staring you down from the other end of mcgonnagal’s classroom, you’re sure he can hear your heart pounding from where he’s sat, arms crossed against his chest and gaze set on you in a way that made your breath hitch.

your gaze locked with his, the confidence in his eyes almost intoxicating.

you sighed in relief as the bell rang, snapping him out of your little staring competition before he shoved his stuff into his bag and got off his chair, almost lazily.

just as you were about to walk out of the classroom, a hand wrapping around your wrist stopped you from moving ahead.

“what class do you have next, pretty?”

needless to say, you could feel the ghosts of his fingers around your wrist the entire week.

SIM JAEYUN cocky rival

“good morning, class. today, we are going to be making the love potion known as ‘amortentia’. anyone who knows what it is?”

snape’s cold voice rang around the room, the sound monotonous. everyone knew — of course they did, they were just too scared to answer. there were only two people who were willing enough to answer his question; you and jake sim.

“ah, l/n, yes. so tell me, what is amortentia?” snape asked, shooting jake a glance from rhe corner of his eyes, as if to get him to shut up; like he wanted to see you fail, like he thought all gryffindors did.

you cleared your throat, making sure your voice was loud and clear, wanting your stone-minded, biased professor to see you shine. “amortentia is the most powerful love potion, that is characterised by its—”

you were cut off by another voice, that came from behind you.

“the scent. it is multifaceted, with the scent varying with different people”

a slight frown found its home on your lips, annoyed that jake just had to cut you off in between. “yes, professor. it’s scent.” you muttered, giving jake a glare.

“alright, since the two of you seem to know a lot about the topic, you two will be partners for the entirety of this class.”

you almost wanted to combust right then and there, from those words. why him? why not karina, or jungwon — your friends. at this point, you’d even go to the length of partnering with pansy parkinson, the slytherin girl who acts like she owns the world.

after a reluctant sigh, you shifted your things so jake could move next to you.

as you began to make the potion together, you found yourself struggling with one thing, just one; measuring the pearl dust.

it was so iridescent and was flying all over your workstation, creating a sheen layer that shone even in the dimly lit dungeon.

“need some help, doll?”

PARK SUNGHOON shy x tease

the smell of books overtook your senses as you stepped into the large library, overflowing with shelves upon shelves.

the library was surprisingly full today, and from what your eyes could catch, there was only one seat left; a seat next to a slytherin.

he was focused on whatever he was reading, and it was honestly kinda cute to you. you caught yourself staring for a moment before you got yourself out of it, reprimanding yourself inwardly for a second, before you gathered the courage to go talk to him.

“hey,” your voice rang through the somewhat silent library, even though it was relatively soft. “can i sit here?”

his eyes shifted from his book to you, before he gave a small nod.

you put your bag at the bottom of the chair, and sat down on the seat, not paying much heed to the discomfort the hard cushion underneath brought.

you pulled out a thick book on transfiguration out, starting to read it. it wasn’t like you really liked the subject like rei did, but you had to; you were very close to failing.

as you were starting to get into the book, you felt a pair of eyes on you. you glanced up, only to see said boy sitting next to you being the one looking.

he quickly looked away, pale skin undeniably flushed, staring at the table as if it was an art piece in a museum.

you smirked inwardly, before looking back at your book. maybe sitting next to a slytherin wasnt so bad after all.

KIM SUNOO sunshine x grumpy

sunoo; he just had a way with his persona. that is, he knew exactly how to trick anyone into doing absolutely anything for him, without them realising what trap they fell into.

as you tried to take a step into flitwick’s charms lesson, another person entering made you stop. you glanced behind your shoulder to see who it was, and it was sunoo — cheery smiles and all.

“go ahead,” you murmured, stepping back to let him go ahead. you were met with a too bright ‘thank you!’ before you stepped in yourself.

your eyes scanned the room, only to find that your usual seat at the back was taken already, and the last seat remaining was the one next to him. bracing yourself for the cheery sunshine-ball that sunoo was, you took a step to the desk, plopping down on the seat with your facical expression screaming uninterested.

the class began, with sunoo happily answering flitwick’s questions and taking his notes; meanwhile, you sat, barely able to keep yourself awake because of the all-nighter-study-session you did the previous night.

he shot you a glance from rhe corner of his eyes, his bangs getting in the way of his view ever so slightly. without thinking, he picked up a scrap piece of parchment, scrawling something on it in his overly near handwriting.

it was only because of the parchment being cautiously slid to you that you didn’t nod off, but the words were a bit blurry due to lack of sleep as you tried to read. yet, the second you read it, your brain immediately snapped to its senses.

“hey, you look tired. have you been sleeping well?”

YANG JUNGWON prefect x troublemaker

“another time?” his groan of frustration echoed off the walls, his fingers running through his hair. how many more pranks could you pull? well, considering your new attack, the number of times you could go again would be innumerable.

there you stood in front of his desk, slightly sheepish, but your signature smirk was still on — the one that irked him oh, so much.

“you see, your little warnings really won’t do much. in any case, they make me want to do it more.” the confidence in your tone got under his skin, causing him to look up at you with a glare, as firm as he could muster.

you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped your lips at his attempt to look intimidating, and for some odd reason, it made your heart stop slightly.

you paused, cockiness wavering for just a few seconds, before it came back stronger. “you do know that look it just making it easier to laugh at you, right?” you teased through a chortle, but the way your eyes softened a minuscule amount didn’t go unnoticed by jungwon.

and for a second, it all stopped.

the room went silent, the spirit of your laughter dying down until all that was left was a tension filled with unspoken emotion.

it only lasted a couple moments, though, before he locked back in and looked at you again, voice firm but with a hint of something else lingering at the back.

“just.. keep yourself out of trouble for a bit, yeah? you don’t wanna get yourself suspended before the school year ends.”

NISHIMURA RIKI quidditch rivals

the stakes were high, as the first slytherin vs. gryffindor quidditch match was about to begin.

niki — being the slytherin captain, and you, the gryffindor captain — had always had some sort of issue with you simply existing.

he always found ways to talk to you, always teasing and making fun of you until you’d snap and do something about it.

it just annoyed you so much; the ever-cocky smirk, the smugness layering onto his words, and the way his confident aura that made your heart stutter slightly in your chest each time you spared him a glance.

you couldn’t like him: it’s not right. you’re quidditch rivals from two different houses, and that’s all it would ever be.

but the way his gaze would trail towards you during matches, in the great hall, in the middle of classes, it all made you second guess everything you knew about him and how you felt.

the air was filled with a static kind of energy as the two teams hopped onto their broomsticks, shooting upwards into the sky as madam hooch blew her whistle.

the snitch was set free, and both your and niki’s eyes immediately locked for a moment, a hint of challenge and something else lurking beneath.

as the game went on, slytherin was winning by 130 points, and it felt like continuing to play was a lost cause. the only way you could win was if you were able to spot the sneaky little snitch.

it was all so sudden; you saw the snitch and so did he, and both of you dive bombed towards it. the next thing you knew, you were in the hospital wing with a broken arm and a pounding headache.

apparently, you and niki had hit each other in your speed, and you fell off your broom while he caught onto his somehow.

the second your eyes opened, you were met with the sight of two things; an overly bright light above your head and an apologetic niki sitting on the visitors chair next to your bed.

“hey, you feeling okay? i am so sorry about what happened.” the second he noticed you look up, trying to sit up with a disoriented and confused expression, the guilt crept back in even stronger, and he just word-vomited whatever came to mind: to hell with the so called ‘I hate you’ tag.

“o-oh, it’s fine. ill be alright.” you said, trying to ignore the fact that it felt like someone drove a drill through your skull.

yet, the guilt didn’t leave him at all.

in fact, it came back stronger, along with a weird thump in his heart.

it was probably today’s breakfast, right?

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[lezleonardo]

It makes so much sense that Wen Ning would be the one to "Snap" especially at Jc.

Like as you said, Jc not only helped kill his sister he also led the siege against the REST of his family, which is already more than enough of a reason to hate him especially after the fact that Jc KNOWS he owes Him and Wen Qing so much (Literally there would not be a Lotus pier if Wn didn't save them)

And like this fandom really likes to sour this scene and blame wn for snapping because "Jc didn't know abt the transfer!" Like okay? First of all; Jc still knew to a degree that wwx gave up smth IMPORTANT for his core (The whole baoshoren thing), Second of all; Wwx saved Wen Nings family time, and time again, He was the only one who stood by their sides when the whole WORLD was spitting on their faces, Wwx brought Wn back to life FOR Wen Qing, Wwx sed tears when Wq and Wn gave themselves up, and Wn knows that.

So here is this guy who sacrificed everything for your family (Basically is considered a brother to you at this point) and this guy was getting verbally attacked (while already in pain) by the guy he gave up his future for, And by the guy who killed everyone Wen Ning essentially loved.

Yeah. I'd be pretty pissed myself. Jc at the end had what was coming for him just like all the other sect leaders, He spent the last 13 years killing/torturing innocents just at the slight chance that it MAY be a dead wwx, Wen Nings verbal attack was a WAKE UP call for Jc.

(Sorry if this is like... really angry in tone, It's super late at night and whenever, people hate on Wn for this scene I start tweaking)

(Not that I think ur hating on Wn, I'm speaking in general)

Wen Ning is indeed very shy and awkward and sweet but I feel like fic writers sometimes lean into that too hard? Even setting aside the fierce corpse/berserker killing machine part. He committed treason and dragged his sister into it without asking her first. He delivered one of the most pinpoint effective (and honestly kind of underhanded) verbal attacks in the story. (Not only revealing the golden core transplant but framing it as proof of Jiang Cheng’s inferiority, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense actually but which Jiang Cheng, predictably, bought into immediately. Jiang Cheng was the aggressor in that fight but Wen Ning was fighting dirty.)

[callsign-rogueone]

Going off your wingleader!Liam idea… Liam and reader are third-years and total couple goals. A first year comes in and starts flirting with reader every time he sees her. He doesn’t know she’s dating his wingleader. She’s polite but doesn’t mention Liam.

One day during training the new guy is watching reader and running his mouth about how hot she is, nudging other guys in his squad and making all kinds of remarks, even going so far as to make a comment to Liam. Liam just smirks, showing off those cute little dimples, as reader walks over and kisses him in front of everyone. New guy just stares in absolute shock (and horror when he realizes the woman he’s been objectifying is his wingleader’s girl.) Need a fic like this immediately 😭

I love this so much. I don't have the bandwidth to write this into a whole chapter but I DO have ideas. so here they are. (future Liz here… I got very carried away. but it’s Liam, so it’s fine.)

this guy clearly thinks he's hot shit. not even bonded yet, but his ego is bigger than Tairn's. so of course he goes after you, a third year with a leadership position at the top of your class. (because Liam's girl is as perfect as him.)

at this point you're used to these boys coming in and trying to flex on everyone. so you know how to brush it off. it's so routine that you don't even mention it to Liam, because you've got more important things to do / discuss.

anyway.

a couple weeks go by of the same thing, until one day, mister confidence is just in the wrong place at the wrong time. running his mouth without realizing who's around him, watching you demonstrate something and making comments to his friends instead of paying attention. Liam's about to elbow him and tell him to shut up, and then he realizes that they're talking about you.

immediately, he's upset — he's just itching to tell this guy off, both for talking when he's supposed to be listening to directions that could save his life, and also for saying those things about you, making comments on your body and how much he wants to... you know what I’m getting at here. anyway.

you can see Liam standing at the back of the gym, can see the visible frustration on his face and the way his jaw is clenched, his shoulders tight and tense... and you know it's hard to upset our sunshine boy, so something bad must have happened.

you wrap up the demonstration, get the youngins paired up to work, and then you slip away to Liam and give him a little kiss, because that’s your default greeting, that’s just automatic at this point when you see him, and take his hand and ask what’s wrong.

and then all the stress and tension just fades out of him, and he gives you a genuine smile, pulls you closer and holds you in a way that makes it clear that you’re a couple.

normally he isn’t one for PDA, so you’re a little surprised, but you don’t question it at all, just happy to cuddle up with him, resting your head on his shoulder and taking a moment to relax — his presence is always so soothing, and you don’t get moments like this very often in your very busy days as a wingleader and a section leader.

you don’t even notice the boy’s slack-jawed look as he realizes that you have a boyfriend. you’re too busy appreciating the moment you get to spend with Liam — but over your shoulder, he’s definitely smirking at the kid, like… get fucked, she’s mine. not that our boy would ever say that. he’s just thinking it really hard.

he gets a little pouty once you're behind closed doors, though, and tells you about it.

you laugh, and remind him that the first year boys can look all they want, but he's the only one who can touch, and if they do, they're going to get their nose broken. and that he's the only one who can set foot in your room, because you absolutely warded them like Xaden and Violet's.

that pacifies him, but he’s still thinking about it for the rest of the day.

he doesn’t consider himself particularly possessive, but he realizes that he just wants people to know that you’re his — or more so that you’re together and in love, and you’re it for each other.

the pair of you have always been focused on the present, the incredibly stressful lives that you lead here at this death trap of a school. but now he starts really thinking about the future.

you’ll be graduating soon, a pair of lieutenants headed off… somewhere. he hasn’t decided yet. he’ll get his choice, being a wingleader. but what about you? section leaders aren’t promised anything. there’s only one other way to guarantee that you’ll stay together… and damn, does he like the idea of you having matching name patches on your flight jackets.

but you deserve a real proposal, a romantic one, not something rushed, decided out of practicality. and when is too soon in your relationship to talk about that? you’ve been together since your threshing, but it feels like a lot longer than that — everything you’ve endured has brought you closer, he supposes.

you curl further into his side with a sleepy hum. “what’s on your mind?”

he’s about to tell you it’s nothing, but you know him better than that. “you have that look on your face,” you mumble, your eyes still closed. “know you’re thinkin' about something.”

“about you," he answers honestly, lifting the arm you have slung around his waist and finding your hand, taking it in his. it fits perfectly, your skin smooth against the callouses and scars decorating his hands from years of making his carvings. a dangerous hobby, you’d joked. you have a point. he’s amassed more tiny injuries from his own knives than from anything Basgiath has put him through. “about us.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he answers, his thumb brushing over your ring finger, where a wedding band would go. “about the future.”

“two kids and a cat,” you murmur. “and trips to Morraine in the summer. rent a little house on the lake for a week or two, and just lay around.”

“sounds perfect.”

you just hum in reply, too tired to keep talking. Liam presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling the covers a little higher. “I love you.”

“Love y’too.”

[mggslover]

Reflections pt. 2

In which Spencer sees himself in a suspect, making him willing to do anything to protect her.

PART 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Genre: crime x angst x hurt/comfort Content warnings: post prisoner!spencer (but no spoilers since i’m not on that season yet, can contain inaccuracies), reader cuts longer hair short, guns, reader isn’t the best person, emotional, vague mentions of sa and suicide, kidnapping, fade to black smut (so suggestive content) Word count: 5,8k A/n: turning a supposed to be one shot into a series is more difficult than i anticipated lol. i’m hoping you guys will enjoy this part as much as the first one :) i'd love to hear your thoughts!!

Vibrant flashes of the pixelated scenes on TV reflected against the motel room walls. You were reminded of how your mother always used to say that watching television in the dark is damaging to your eyes. You never doubted her. Never felt the need to confirm her words by looking it up. It’s in human nature to trust one another. It is only when someone betrays you — or when you betray them — that trust gets damaged.  You sit on the edge of the bed, mindlessly picking at the loose printing of the Caltech shirt you’re wearing — Spencer’s Caltech shirt — as you watch the umpteenth news segment since you left the state. “Authorities are still on the lookout for a suspect following the poisoning of three men. The men were murdered at a college reunion that took place inside a bar, their bodies found just a street away. These promising young men had bright futures ahead of them, which were brutally robbed by this suspect–“

The screen flickered to your passport picture, showing a list of your physical descriptions on the right. 

“She’s believed to be armed and dangerous. Please, come forward if you have any information on her possible whereabouts. The FBI have stated that they will not stop their search until they have the suspect in custody. Justice will be served.”

With a scoff, you grab the remote, the screen fading to black with a simple click of your thumb. 

Young promising men, my ass. Hearing that sentence out loud left you with a bitter taste in your mouth, burning your throat as you swallowed. You let out a deep exhale, your body falling back onto the hard mattress with a thud, allowing the darkness to envelop you as your thoughts swirled through your head. 

Your whole life you had run away from the things that scared you, preferring to flee than live with the reality of the situation. You’d made the conscious decision to change your behaviour once you had decided to walk into that bar. But one thing led to another, and without being aware of it at the moment, you’d found yourself in the same situation: fleeing. Only this time around, it was different. This time you were on the run. And it wasn’t a question of if, but of when you’d be caught.

Ignoring the remorseless pounding in your head, you roll over the mattress. The cheap sheets rustled underneath you in protest as you threw your legs off the side. Your hand patted the bedside table until you felt the switch on the night lamp, turning it on. The room, as a result, illuminates in a soft, golden glow. 

Your eyes adjusted to the light, slowly taking in your surroundings. You noticed a large bookshelf against the right wall that you swore you hadn't seen before. Although your mind had been so clouded these past days that it wouldn’t be strange if you looked over it. Curiosity got the better of you, and with steady steps, you walked toward it. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. The words played in your head as your fingers grazed against the dusty spines. When the melody came to its natural halt, you grabbed the book that your finger had landed on.

Gone Girl.

You scoffed a breathy laugh, “Obviously.” You held the book mockingly in the air, giving an ironic nod and tight-lipped smile toward the ceiling. “Thanks, universe.”

The irony hit you as you flipped through the pages. Maybe you’re more like the protagonist—Amy Dune—than you’d like to admit. Always having the need to orchestrate the outcome of your life, selfish enough to not care about the consequences it has for others. What if the universe is not trying to mock you, but merely giving you a hint? Were you supposed to change your appearance? It worked for Amy. 

Your feet carried you to the stuffy bathroom, the book still in hand. With your elbow, you turned on the light switch, cringing when you saw yourself in the mirror. The only sleep you’d gotten in the past days was in Spencer’s arms, and damn was it a good sleep. 

Sleeping with an FBI-agent sounded like a good plan. Well… at least to you. What are the chances of being a suspect in a crime, not being believed by anyone, and then being interrogated by a man who had heart eyes for you? There was no other option than to play into it, and you thanked yourself for taking those theater classes in high school. 

However, it wasn’t all a ploy. It affected you to have someone be so gentle with you, to have an absolute stranger care so much for your well-being. And when you kissed him… you knew your heart was involved too.

Still, your brain overpowered your feelings. The second you woke up, you knew you had to leave. They already knew about Natalie, and the more time you gave them, the more dirt they’d find on you. Taking that gun? Call it a precaution. Hijacking a car to get to the motel? Well, you stole it from a hobo. Could’ve been worse. 

“God,” you groaned, thinking back on the events of the past few days. You rubbed your eyes and dramatically slid your hands down your face.

Your eyes landed on the nail clipper placed on the sink. This is so, so bad. You placed the book down, then picked the item up, circling the cool metal around your fingers. The ghost of your face reflected back at you in the mirror. Oh, your hairdresser will kill you. But who will care if you’ll be locked away in prison, anyway? At least your humor was still working.

You brought the clipper to the ends of your hair, your thumb pressing down as you cut a lock. The sound sent shivers to your spine, a sour face impaled on you. 

“I swear to god Amy, don’t fail me with this,” you mumbled to the sky in a prayer. 

-`♡´-

3 Days Ago

Being frustrated was an understatement for the way Spencer was feeling. 

Once he left the bedroom, it took him less than a second to notice the slight gap between the cupboard doors. His pulse quickened, he stood frozen for a moment as he felt a tight knot form in his stomach. In a sudden rush, his senses came back to him. He took a leap toward the cupboard, slamming the doors open, and to his suspicion, he found the safe unlocked. His gun vanished in the same way as you had. 

He couldn’t help the string of curses that escaped his lips. His hands reached through his hair, tugging at the loose curls as his mind raced in every possible direction, none of them making sense. 

How could he have been so stupid? He’s a profiler, for Christ’ sake. It’s his job to read people, to see through their lies. His cheeks heated in embarrassment, recalling the disapproving looks of his team members when he told you that he believed in your innocence. 

You were innocent. At least, that’s what he thought. Now he wasn’t sure anymore. An innocent person wouldn’t run, and they especially wouldn’t steal the gun of a federal agent while they’re at it. 

He thought back on your arrest. It happened quickly. The team had received a call from someone at the reunion who had been taking a smoke break in an alley near the bar, the first to discover the bodies. Finding you was simple. Your behavior was suspicious on the camera footage. You looked nervous as you walked into the bar, wiping your clammy hands on your dress, scanning the room as if in search of something. When your eyes landed on the three men, your gaze grew cold. It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots when you rushed out of the emergency exit right after the men had accepted their poison-filled drinks. 

But now it was a completely different story. You could be anywhere. The uncertainty gnawed at him. He felt responsible for this, even though it wasn’t his decision to let you go. He’d been insistent on getting you out of that interrogation room as fast as he could. The guilt pressed down on him, the pressure on his ribcage accumulating with every second that passed. Every second that he didn’t do anything was another chance for you to run. Spencer had no choice but to call Hotch as he stepped into his Volvo. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he didn’t know what you were capable of. 

-

Spencer made sure to evade Derek’s sharp glances as he walked through the bullpen, headed straight for the small flight of stairs. 

Hotch was standing at the door frame, waiting on him. He never had experienced being scolded by his parents, but this sure seemed like a similar situation. Spencer swallowed, his hands tucked in the pockets of his pants, trying to hide his nerves as he braced himself for the words that were about to follow.

“I’ve informed the rest of the team,” Hotch explained, his eyebrows edged in an irritated frown. “The only reason that you’re on this case is because you could give personal insight into the unsub. We’ll discuss this afterward,” he added in a warning tone, “Behaviour like this is not tolerated.”

“I know,” Spencer muttered, his voice coming out hoarse. I don’t agree, but I understand. “I’m sorry.”

Aaron nodded, seemingly satisfied with his response. His body leaned forward, head tilted as he called the team to gather around the round table. 

-

“Man, you slept with her?!” 

Derek hadn’t even properly sat down before the criticizing jabs slipped out. The tone was instantly set, an awkward tension lingering thick in the air.

Spencer’s mouth opened, his fingers flexing, but before he could respond, Emily rose from her seat. “It’s in the past. Right now, we should focus on finding her before she’ll devolve.”

Hotch nodded in agreement. This discussion was pointless; there was no time to lose. “Garcia, can you go over her documents again?”

“Of course, sir. Uh, let’s see–,” her purple colored nails tapped against the keyboard of her laptop. “She hasn’t been very active in the last few years. Most activity was during college. She majored in chemistry.”

Spencer’s heart did a jump at the mention of chemistry. He barely got the chance to ask you about yourself, and he was fighting the urge to ask Penelope for more information, wondering what else you’d have in common. 

“Wait a minute,” Spencer wondered out loud when his brain made the connection. “Chemistry.”

“The victims were poisoned,” Rossi noted, connecting the dots.

Spencer suppressed the rising nausea by forcing his eyes shut. His knee tremored, anxiously tapping against the underside of the table. He really didn’t know you, did he?

Hotch’s furrow deepened. “Another confirmation that she’s the one we’re looking for.” He turned to Garcia, “Did we receive the results from the lab?”

“Not yet, sir. But this is interesting though,” her nails continued their rhythmic clicking. “She dropped out of college a couple of months before graduating.”

“You wouldn’t just do that,” Rossi mused. “Can you find any reasoning in her archives?” 

Penelope shook her head. “Not really. The whole thing seemed pretty sudden. She had good grades.”

Hotch leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Let’s look at victimology.” 

“Okay, so we got Shaun Dallas, Eric Zimmer and Nathan Johns. Tight buddies throughout college and they still seemed to be according to social media. Different majors, none of them chemistry.”

“She seemed disgusted when I brought them up,” Derek added, referencing your interrogation. “Said that nobody in college liked them.”

“Well, they seem like the standard gross jock types,” Penelope commented. 

“Does she have any history with them?” Emily asked.

“Uh, not that I can see,” Garcia replied. “I don’t even think they shared any classes.”

“What about them personally? Anything you can tie to her wanting them dead?”

“Let’s see, boy wonder…” Garcia mumbled in response to Spencer, eyes focused on the screen. “Here! I got something.” 

Everyone stared at her in anticipation. “Nathan Johns was involved in a Peeping Tom “incident” when he was fifteen. He had a habit of peeping underneath the bathroom stalls in highschool, and one girl decided to press charges with her parents. Claims were quickly shut down though, because, obviously, his father is a lawyer.”

Hotch’s lips pressed into a tight line. “What about the other two?”

“Zilch. Squeaky clean records.”

“Let’s leave that for later,” Rossi suggested. “We have more to say about her MO.”

“She poisoned her victims,” JJ chimed in. “That makes sense with her chemistry background. She’s also shown that she’s meticulous and pays attention to detail.” She continued elaborating, “She managed to poison the drinks without the bartender noticing and she made sure to keep an eye on Spencer as he typed in the code to his safe.”

The team nodded like-mindedly. Spencer bit down on his bottom lip. He didn’t have much of a say in all of this. He didn’t even know why he still tried to make sense of it all. Whether he genuinely believed in your innocence or if this was an attempt at finding a theory that would sooth his mind.

“She’s rather chaotic, actually,” he eventually spoke up. “She snapped during the interview when Natalie Fisher got mentioned. She took my gun while I was in the room next to her. To be more specific, she—“ he cleared his throat, “I woke up and she walked back to me before heading out. It doesn’t match the MO of the killings.”

“What are you suggesting, kid?” Rossi asked, confusion visible on his face.

“She doesn't have to be the unsub.” 

“Oh, come on, man. Then how do you explain the dumping of the bodies?” Morgan inquired, his tone laced with accusement. “She went from meticulous to dropping the bodies in the middle of an alley where anyone could pass by. She’s shown dramatic changes in MO before.”

“The bodies could have been placed there to set her up. The unsub must have known she’s disorganized, so positioning the bodies there could be connected to her. If the unsub is as diligent as we’re assuming, he could’ve easily disposed of the bodies in a place where we wouldn’t be able to find them. Instead, he dropped them right in the face of any passersby.”  

“Spence, I thought we’ve been over this,” JJ said, offering a sympathetic smile, her hand sliding over the table to reach out for him.

Spencer quickly pulled his hand back, seeing the obvious hurt on his friend’s face. Yes, they had been over this. He was positive that he would snap if he had to go through another “Are you sure you’re ready to be back? The change from prison to society is a huge change” conversation. 

“Did she share anything else that makes you think this way?”

Spencer blinked at Hotch's question. The moment was still fresh in his mind. He remembered how nervous he felt when he had asked you to take you to his place. He had replayed the hypothetical conversation in his mind a thousand times, how he would first open up about his past, wanting to make you feel comfortable enough to open up about yours. But when you kissed him the way you did, there was no space for any other thoughts in his mind.

“Reid,” Hotch repeated.

“No.”

“No?” 

“She said that she likes the sea,” he shared, the corner of his lip slightly lifting at the memory. 

“I feel safe in your arms,” you whispered, your breath tickling his chest as you lay your head on top of it. His arm was wrapped around you, tracing patterns on the bare skin of your arm, wondering if you could feel his pounding heartbeat. 

“The only other place I’ve felt this safe is at sea.”

He smiled as he gazed down at you. Then he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Really?”

He felt the movement of you nodding. “It’s the only place that calms my mind.”

The sound of ruffling paper snapped him out of his thoughts. He lifted his head to see Rossi unrolling a large map of the country. 

Spencer could feel the prying eyes on him. Geography of the unsub is his strength. He inhaled a deep breath before leaving his chair, reluctantly walking toward the wall where Rossi had pinned the map.

“She told you that she didn’t have a place to stay,” Prentiss stated, her words sounding like a question for affirmation.

Spencer nodded, trying to focus on the case like it was any other. “She walked to the reunion, probably taken by cab, and then we found her walking around the area when we arrested her. So, she has no vehicle.”

“For all we know, she could’ve taken the first plane out of the country,” Morgan interjected.

Hotch clicked his tongue. “We alerted Border Patrol when Reid had called me, which was less than an hour after she had left his house. If we assume she’s chaotic, she wouldn’t be able to book a flight that quickly. The only place you can disappear this smoothly has to be a place in her comfort zone.”

“Can we assume she’s still in Virginia?” Rossi asked.

“I don’t think so,” Spencer replied. “Her picture is all over the state, and Virginia’s beaches are very populated, with a minimum of in the hundred thousands. Virginia Beach, for example, has a population of 453.649.”

“She doesn’t have a car,” Rossi thought aloud. “There are no records of her having a stable job, so she doesn’t have a lot of money in her pockets either. Knowing cab drivers, they won’t want to drive around for hours, which leads us to—“

“Delaware,” Spencer finished. 

-`♡´-

A sea breeze gently caressed your face, blowing through your cut hair. With your eyes closed, you cherished the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the scent of saltwater in the air. It was a nostalgic smell that came with a flood of memories: building sandcastles on the beach, running barefoot across the hot sand before diving into the sea, loud laughter as you splashed the water and got splashed in return. 

The flashbacks were a stark contrast to your current predicament. When you opened your eyes, it was dark. The sea in front of you looked black, only reflecting a small glimmer of the moon that hung low in the sky. The sand beneath your fingers felt cold. And there were no sounds of laughter, not even the sound of annoying seagulls. You were surrounded in absolute silence.  A crunching noise came out of the darkness. The sound so sudden and intense, similar to being whipped across the face. Though, your head didn’t turn. You knew who was out there. 

The sounds grew louder. Sweat started forming on your face and hands. Your fingers trembled as you reached into the pocket of your jeans, the tight fabric cutting into your hand as you pushed deeper until you felt the cool metal of Spencer’s gun.

“Don’t.”

The word cut through the air. Your grip on the gun tightened in an effort to keep your fingers from shaking. No words left your mouth as you carefully tilted your head. 

In front of you stood Spencer, exactly as you had predicted. But unlike your predictions, he was on his own. Was he here by himself to personally arrest you? To revel in your loss?

You continued to stare at him, though you weren’t really seeing him. Your vision blurred by the tears that had welled in your eyes. You blinked them away, focusing on his gun, which he held tightly in between both hands, aimed straight at your skull. 

“Is that a new one?” 

He seemed taken aback by your question, glacing down to the firearm in his palms. When he looked back at you, you stood in front of him, mirroring his stance, gun directed at his chest.

“I like this one better,” you commented, clicking the safety off.

Spencer cocked his head, maintaining his unwavering eye contact. He seemed to be challenging you. You clenched your jaw, anger boiling hotter inside of you. 

“Put the gun away,” he strictly ordered, though his tone remained unnervingly calm. It was too calm for your liking. He should be scared. At least show a sign of nerves. Instead he looked at you like you were a joke, like you weren’t capable.

“You’re not going to use it anyway,” he dismissively adds, fueling your anger.

“Yes, I will!” 

Your voice taunted as you took a step forward. Your legs trembled at the move, your heart thudded painfully in your chest to the point of nausea. It was difficult to comprehend the next words he spoke, your ears ringing before you even fired the shot.

“You didn’t kill those people,” Spencer declared. The words sounded like he was repeating a scientific fact. Like it was the only possible truth.

He then called out your name.

The word rolled off his tongue like it was crafted just for him to say it. Akin to a gentle symphony. His pronunciation was just as soft and full with longing as it had been when he breathily whispered it into your ear over and over again.

“I would’ve!” you shouted out, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. You strode forward until the barrel of your gun pressed into his chest, jabbing the cold metal into his clothed skin. 

He didn’t flinch. Instead of his breathing hastening, it slowed down. His eyebrows drooped as he looked down at you. 

“I would’ve,” you repeat just as loudly, digging the weapon harder into him. Pity remained on his face and you couldn’t stop the tears threatening to spill again. Whether it was from frustration or sorrow, you weren’t sure. 

“I would’ve, I would’ve, I would’ve!” 

The words tumbled from your mouth like a mantra, each repetition feeling like the only way to catch your breath. With every spoken word, you hit his chest, though your punches weaken with every syllable.

Spencer continued to watch you, observing you as he gave you the space that you needed. When you looked up at him, his eyes were glistening, triggering something inside of you.

A sob broke free from your chest. Spencer’s gun slipped from his hand in reaction, falling into the sand with a muffled thud. 

“I should’ve…” you choked out, the words a combination of an apology and a confession.

Spencer nodded compassionately, his hands reaching out to gently cup yours. 

 “Should’ve done it. Should’ve been me.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” he spoke reassuringly, carefully taking the gun from your limp fingers and tucking it in his back pocket. His hands quickly returned to yours, without you even registering his movement. “I know.”

“I’m so sorry,” you softly cried. The words weren’t meant for Spencer, but somehow, he understood. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you against the spot where your gun had been only seconds ago.

Sorries became the new prayer you desperately muttered against his chest. Sorries to Natalie. Sorries for being weak. Sorries for not giving her the justice she deserved. Sorries for dishonoring her when she needed you most. Sorries for everything.

The apologies to others turned into a plea to receive them yourself. Sorry for making you so naive. Sorry for making you weak. Sorry for giving you the need to run from yourself. 

Your head hung low against him, your grip on his shirt tightening, your lungs constricting like it was painful to breathe. 

“You’re angry.” Spencer noted, noticing the change in your posture. 

You sniffled against him, not having the energy to lie. “Yes.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your hair. The gesture made your stomach flutter. 

You felt conflicted by his kindness. How was he able to hold you so tightly? To choose to stay by your side despite the mess you were.

The delicacy of his touch parallel to the fury still simmering inside of you. 

“I am so mad,” you admitted in a resigned breath.

His hand slid from your head to your neck, gently cupping your jaw. “Let it out on me.”

You had to furrow your brows, not sure if you understood him correctly. 

“I mean it. Your body is full of cortisol and epinephrine. Stress hormones,” he explained. “You need to be relieved of those.”

His fingertips trailed lightly over your arm, and you followed his touch with your eyes. 

“Use me. Let me offer you relief.”

You stood frozen in place, swallowing the breathless laugh that almost escaped your lips, as you noted the genuine look expressed on Spencer’s face.

His eyes bored into yours, the hazel of his irises altering into a darker shade of brown.

Tentatively, your hands moved up his body, and only then did his heartbeat quicken. Your fingers continued trailing upward until you gripped his collar, the fabric soft in your tight grip. His eyes don’t leave yours, mouth just slightly agape as you pull him in closer. 

Then you kiss him — hard.

*link to smut (pt. 2.5)

-`♡´-

The ventilation quietly hummed in the back of the motel room from the shower you had just taken. After the intimate moment on the beach, Spencer had convinced you to take him back to the motel you were staying at. “They’re all fast asleep. They haven’t noticed me leaving” he assured you. 

It didn’t matter anymore if they knew your whereabouts, you’ve told Spencer everything anyway. How Natalie has been your bestest friend in college. How you were tied to the hip. How you never left each other’s sight — except for that one night…

You had cried in his arms, and he had let you. He held you close as you lay in bed. He comforted you with statistics about guilt and trauma, as you told him why you went to that reunion that night. It marked the anniversary of the week Natalie had died. Of the week you received an email from her: a final note. Telling you by the time you read this, she’d be long gone.

You hadn’t gone to her funeral. Didn’t even receive an invitation. You hadn’t been in contact with Natalie ever since she had called you from that party. You’d picked her up that night, taken her to the hospital, and left the second the doctors told you she’d be fine. 

You didn’t tell Spencer this part. You only told him that you expected there to be a memorial at the reunion, a way for you to have a proper goodbye. Your heart had stopped in the same way it had years ago when you walked into the bar and found that there was nothing. Nothing but loud music, colored lights, and drunk people. It was as if Natalie had never existed.

Your ears had rang. Your breaths came in short pants. With all your might, you suppressed the rising panic attack, using the last bit of strength to walk toward the three men you’d spotted from the start. The men that had done this to Natalie. Who had killed her, although not with their hands. 

Naive little birdie, Natalie had always called you. The sweet nickname now sounded more haunting as the three men stared you up and down. Your heart beated in expectancy, but then you noticed their dilated pupils. The way their breath reeked of hard liquor. Their lips still glossy with alcohol as they gave you a sluggish smirk. They hadn’t even recognized you. Naive little birdie.

Spencer had squeezed your hand, bringing you back to reality. “It’s okay.”

You had shaken your head, the memories tearing apart into small pieces in your mind. Quickly, you had finished your story, telling him that after that moment, you didn’t have it in you to walk past everyone again. Too terrified to see the laughs on their faces. Instead, you marched straight to the emergency exit.

The both of you stayed quiet after your confession. The air hung heavy with silence, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable.

“We need to talk about it at some point,” Spencer brings up.

You nodded. Spencer had been kind to you, given you the time to process, but the conversation was inevitable. You hadn’t killed anyone. So someone else had.

“Someone is trying to blame this on you. Someone wants to see you gone,” he softly whispers, his voice cracking with emotion.

The subject made you feel uncomfortable. You had thought about it before. Plenty of times, actually. But every time you did what you did best: ignore it. It wasn’t as easy to disregard when someone was looking you in the eyes, their pain so visible.

Still, you shrugged, brushing aside his comment. “It doesn’t matter. I wanted them gone, and now they are. It doesn’t matter how.”

“It does matter.” 

The rise in his voice made you flinch, and he instantly cupped your hands, pulling you back to him. “‘M sorry. I’m just scared.”

It was strange to hear someone be so honest. Spencer had been honest with you from the start. He’d said that he would protect you, and he was still keeping to that promise.

You moved your hand to your hair, wanting to twirl  the locks as a nervous habit, but then realized most of it was cut short. 

“I guess we can tell your team tomorrow,” you settle on saying, swallowing as you envision their dirty looks.

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows in a questioning gaze, leaning forward as he hid the small, grateful smile that lingered his lips.

You chuckled, feeling relieved by his response. You nodded your head against the pillow. “Really.”

The room returned to silence. Surely now deeply comfortable. No more questions that lingered in the air. The back of Spencer’s fingers lazily traced the side of your face. His warm hand trailed down the skin. His eyes flickered over your face, expression filled with awe as he grazed his fingers through your short locks. “Your hair looks pretty.”

A soft snort escaped you, “It looks horrendous.”

He responded with a breathy laugh, and you can’t help but smile widely back at him. 

“I think this suits you better. Not that I didn’t like your other haircut,” he quickly corrected himself, making you chuckle. “I like your face. The longer hair hid it. Now I can see you.”

Your cheeks warmed. Spencer did see you. Not just your appearance — he saw you. He had seen you from the moment your eyes had locked when he and his team had found you and brought you to the station. He had seen you before you’d even seen yourself. The thought of stopping your hiding, your fleeing, didn’t seem so scary anymore. Not when staying would bring you to him. 

The comfortable silence was interrupted by a low rumble, followed by a louder one. Spencer’s hand slipped from your hair as he placed it on his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

A bright, childlike laugh bubbled from your chest. Spencer snickered, grinning from ear to ear. He bashfully brushed his fingers through his messy curls. “I havent really eaten since we’ve gotten here.”

“Let me grab you a snack.” You crawled out of bed, legs still a little shaky as you stood up. 

“Do you have snacks in the room?

“No, but there’s a vending machine outside.”

He propped himself up against the pillows, his eyes following you as you made your way over to the bathroom where your clothes were bundled up on the tile floor. He let out a small sigh as you walked out of sight.

He naturally timed the minutes till the door creaked open again. You had washed yourself up in the sink, some water droplets still clinging to your neck. Your hair less frizzy now that it had been dampened. You wore your clothes from earlier, though one could tell they had been taken off of you multiple times.

“I’ll be right back,” you promised, grabbing the key and some coins from the cabinet. And he believed you.

-

The door shut behind you, a cold breeze immediately hugging your skin. The LED lamps brightened the exterior corridor. The vending machine at the end of the walkway shone even brighter, catching your attention.

You walked straight toward it, curiously peering into the transparent door. You pressed the numbers for trail mix and beef jerky — something that could pass for dinner. You inserted the coin, impatiently bending down in front of the opening.

The rumbling sound of the machine was followed by a whoosh of air.

Then a sharp bang echoed through your skull.

Then you were gone.

-`♡´-

Shadows of bright lights flickered in front of your eyes, giving the illusion that you rubbed them too hard.

You forced your eyelids open, and if it weren’t for the fact that you were lying down, you would’ve stumbled. With effort, you scrambled yourself up into a sitting position, taking in your surroundings.

Four tiled walls enclosed you. The room resembled a lab: a sink with a counter to the left, an iron door on the wall right in front of you, and an air vent to the right. 

A bitter odor entered your airways, making you scrunch your nose. You turned your head to the left — a little too quickly — the throbbing pain catching up with you, making you groan in pain. 

Your hands shot to the sides of your face, trying to hold your head still in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. 

A warm liquid coated your fingers. You pulled your hand back and saw it was stained crimson. A gasp left you, followed by a string of whimpers as you felt yourself growing faint. 

You spotted a red first aid kit on top of the counter. On your knees, you slumped toward it, taking several breaks despite the distance only being ten feet. 

With clammy hands, you clutched the counter, inhaling a deep breath before dragging yourself up. Your body hovered over the table, and you reached your arm out to pull the kit closer to you. You fumbled with the lock on the box. “Open up, please,” you begged to whatever God that was listening.

The acid smell grew stronger, and it was then that you noticed the small vial next to the first aid kit. Its contents contained a light yellow solid. Cyanide — poison. 

The metal door creaked open, the sound stinging straight through your skull. You cried out as you fell to the ground. You backed away to the nearest wall, curling your knees to your chest just in time for the door to fully open. “Naive little birdie. You’re awake.”

PART 2.5