#not anymore his confidence is nonexistent

[niobiumao3]

(x)

Tech's tarot card is the Magician in this essay I will

[azrielsrealmate]

if I don’t put my hands over you right now…

azriel x reader

summary: your night in Rita’s was supposed to end with Azriel between your legs, not Azriel beating up your abusive ex.

warnings: suggestiveness, fight, blood, injuries, dark themes if you squint, SLIGHT trauma from an abusive relationship.

word count: 2.7k

Yk when at the High Lords meetings Azriel just snaps when Eris speaks about Mor..? Yeah, I liked that scene way too much. So here this is😸

Rita’s is packed, the heat radiating from every dancing body, the rhythm of the music pulsing through the floor and vibrating in your bones. You've spent nearly half an hour letting yourself go to the rhythm, your hips swaying in time, your eyes half-closed as Mor laughs and pulls you closer to the crowd. You're intoxicated, not just by the liquor you've consumed, but by the power you feel in being so aware of your body, so heated and alive in this dress that hugs you tightly and leaves so little to the imagination.

You spent hours getting ready. Three hours in the bathroom, meticulously shaving, slathering yourself with coconut creams until your skin was soft and fragrant, every detail of you arranged with almost cruel precision. And while part of you did it just to look good, to feel pretty, you know there’s something more. A deeper desire, the real reason you spent three hours locked away like a maniac.

The reason hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he first saw you that night. Azriel. It's always been Azriel.

The push and pull between you two has been constant, furtive glances and subtle touches, half-spoken words and smiles that hide more than they reveal.

You know he’s watching you, you feel it even when you’re not looking, a sensation that burns the back of your neck, and anticipation grows with every passing moment, tingling under your skin. A pang in your gut—intuition, they call it—you think something is going to happen. Naively, you think it might be good, really good, a reward for those three hours in the bathroom pampering yourself.

The music shifts to a slower, deeper rhythm, and the heat in the room seems to intensify. And you really can’t take it anymore, your breath is quick and shallow, and you hate the thought of breathing in the scent of sweat from constantly moving bodies, so you decide it’s time for a break, for a cold drink to refresh you.

You pull away from Mor with a smile and head to the bar, enjoying the slight coolness that the nonexistent breeze offers. At least there aren't people blocking everything in your view anymore.

Just as you're about to order your drink, you feel it. That familiar scent of cedar and mist, an aroma that always makes you turn your head, that wraps you in a feeling of safety, of desire, and something darker. Your heart beats faster with it, urging you to be afraid, but you're smarter than that. And then, the hands. Firm, confident, and so large on your hips that you fantasize about what they could do to you, they settle on your hips and pull you back against a hard, unyielding chest.

Though his chest isn’t the only thing that’s incredibly hard.

You laugh softly, knowing who it is without even having to look. You can feel the strength in him, the tension built up in the way he pulls you so desperately against him. He’s so close, and he leans down so that his mouth is right by your ear, and when he speaks, his voice is a low growl that wraps around every inch of your skin, making you exhale, your skin prickling. You press your thighs together.

“If I don’t put my hands on you right now, I’m going to put them around the neck of every man looking at you.”

The whole world seems to stop for a second. Your breath catches, and the pulse in your throat pounds. You knew there would be consequences tonight, but the reality of it hits you like a punch. Azriel, always controlled, always restrained, is on the edge, and the idea of that control breaking… is intoxicating. You smell it, so thick you can taste it, musky. God, you’d give anything to have it on your tongue for real.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic,” you murmur, but your voice trembles, betraying you. Because deep down, you like it. You like that he’s so close, that he’s so vulnerable with you, that he feels something so fierce that it drives him to act. Your words seem to only provoke him further because the grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress.

“Dramatic doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he whispers against your ear, his warm breath trailing over your skin. “You… have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

The trembling inside you turns into a wave, and you can barely contain it. It’s an effort not to roll your eyes in pure pleasure, not to rub your thighs together to get some friction.

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whisper, challenging him. Although to you, it’s not a challenge, it’s an offering. So full of need that you have to mask it.

Azriel doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turns you, gently but firmly, until you’re face to face with him. His eyes, as dark as the night itself, are lit with a mix of emotions that make you tremble. Slowly, his gaze lowers to your dress, the slight leopard lace that gathers at the top, just enough to give him a tantalizing view of the skin you so carefully prepared.

“This dress…” he murmurs, his voice deep and laden with meaning. “It’s on purpose. You knew what it would do, what it would do to me.” His hand moves up, slowly, from your hip to the small portion of bare skin on your shoulder, brushing it with a tenderness that contrasts with the fire in his eyes. “If you wore it for me, then I have the right to take it off you.”

Your lips part, words trapped in your throat as you try to process the intensity of what he’s saying. But before you can respond, his mouth is on yours, stealing your breath, demanding more than you thought you were willing to give.

The kiss is hard, fierce. His tongue claims your mouth as his own, exploring and savoring; you barely have time to keep up with him.

His hands roam over your body, exploring the skin you��ve prepared for him, and you cling to his shoulders because your knees are trembling. It’s as if the world around you disappears, leaving only Azriel, his mouth on yours, his body firm against yours, and the fire that heats your skin and spreads to his.

When he finally pulls away, you’re both panting, and he looks at you as if he can’t decide whether he wants to kiss you again or carry you out of Rita’s right then and there.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice more of an order than a request, and although his tone is firm, there’s a plea in his eyes. A need that mirrors your own. And it’s completely overwhelming, you can only nod. And your legs move when your mind is still dazed from the kiss, his hand on your waist as if he can sense that.

Azriel comes to a sudden stop, just before you can cross the threshold of Rita’s, when a cold, venom-laden voice rises above the club's noise.

“Already got another man?”

Your heart stops for an instant, the heat of euphoria fading as you recognize the figure approaching. Tall, dark-haired, and gray-eyed, who used to look at you with something you believed was love, but now only shows resentment. Your face hardens at the sight of your ex, and a familiar tension settles in your chest, a reminder of the scars you still carry.

Azriel notices immediately. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin possessively. You can feel the tension in him, the way his body prepares to act, to protect you. Azriel’s shadows, always lurking, slip across the floor between you like snakes, dark and threatening until one of them coils around your shoulders.

“We broke up over a year ago, get over it,” you say, your voice tense but firm, maintaining your composure despite the turmoil inside you. You have no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much his presence affects you, how much Azriel’s grip on your waist is doing for you.

But he laughs, a bitter, hollow sound that makes your stomach churn. He takes a threatening step toward you, and though your body wants to retreat, you stand firm. You know this game. You know he’ll drink and get drunk on the slight fear in your eyes, he’ll go crazy if you back away, he’ll think he has more power than he does, so you force yourself to stay still.

His fists clench, and you see Azriel’s gaze turn lethal, a flash of cold fury that he barely contains.

Your ex doesn’t give you time to respond, the gray of his eyes fixed on Azriel, and his voice comes out filled with disdain, as sharp as a knife. “You’ll find out soon enough, she’s not worth it. All that pretty face, and she’s not even going to suck your…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t. Because the moment those venomous words leave his mouth, Azriel moves, faster than a blink. You feel the heat of his body leave you for an instant, and then, the sound of impact. A dull, heavy thud reverberates in the air, and you see your ex stagger backward, blood spurting from his nose.

But Azriel doesn't stop there.

The wild gleam in his eyes tells you everything you need to know: he's not going to stop. He doesn't want to stop. With lethal efficiency, he launches himself at your ex again, his fist finding its mark over and over, with a fury that has been simmering for too long, now unleashed in an unstoppable torrent.

And you... do nothing to stop him. You could always say you were paralyzed, that you didn't know what to do, that it caught you by surprise because you remain there, your feet rooted to the ground as you watch Azriel destroy the man who had hurt you time and again. You should scream, you should intervene, but you don't. Because a part of you—that dark and wounded part—feels a perverse satisfaction watching him get what he deserves. Each blow seems to erase one of the invisible scars he left you, each groan of pain he emits sounds like justice for the years you lost with him.

Blood splatters the ground, and your ex tries to cover himself, but it’s futile. Azriel is unstoppable, his face transformed into a mask of pure rage, his shadows swirling around him like frenzied beasts, hungry for more.

But then, a giant figure bursts onto the scene, a whirlwind of muscle and strength. Cassian.

In an instant, the General of Rhys’s armies is upon them, his arms encircling Azriel and pulling him back with brutal force. But Azriel fights, his body trying to break free, desperate to keep punishing that man, to make him pay for every word, every insult, every wound he caused you.

"Azriel, stop!" Cassian’s voice booms above the chaos, laden with authority, but also concern. Cassian tightens his grip, his wings spreading to block everyone else’s view, his expression hardened as he uses all his strength to contain his brother.

You barely see it, but you hear him growl, a sound that doesn’t seem human, and for a terrible second, you think he might even turn on Cassian. His shadows swirl, dark and violent, but then, in an almost imperceptible movement, you see Azriel close his eyes, taking deep breaths, struggling with himself, fighting to control his rage.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Azriel relaxes enough for Cassian to release him, though his eyes are still blazing with that fury that makes you tremble. The shadows slowly recede, as if they still want to attack but obey their master.

Your ex lies on the ground, gasping, his face barely recognizable from the beating, but you know he’s conscious. You feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, but you can only look at Azriel. At Azriel, who continues to look at you as if you’re the only person in his world, as if his vision had narrowed to just you.

Cassian holds him by the shoulders, keeping him in place, though it’s no longer necessary. The fight is over, but the air is still charged with tension, so thick that if anyone decided to push too far, it would shatter with the sound of another broken bone.

Azriel steps away from Cassian, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a step toward you, then another, until he’s standing in front of you, so close you can feel his breath on your skin.

"Are you okay?" His voice is a whisper, rough from the rage, but also filled with that unshakable concern he’s always had for you.

And for the first time in what seems like an eternity, you feel you can breathe again. You nod.

Cassian steps aside, giving one last piercing look at the man on the floor before giving you some space. Azriel remains unmoving, his eyes scanning every inch of your face, searching for any sign that this has affected you more than you admit. But all he sees is your determination.

"Let’s go," you finally say, your voice louder than you expected. You take his hand, his bloodied and bruised knuckles against your skin, and guide him out of Rita’s, away from the curious gazes and the chaos left behind.

————————————

The silence is almost overwhelming as you close the door of your apartment behind you. Azriel stands at the entrance, his eyes still dark with fury, but now the exhaustion and guilt begin to show in his expression. He says nothing, just watches you as you head to the bathroom and fetch the first aid kit. The sound of running water fills the space, but the tension between you is almost tangible.

When you return, you find him standing in the middle of the living room, his gaze lost on the floor. You don’t say anything as you gently take his hand, guiding him to the couch. Azriel allows himself to be led, his wings drooping and his posture relaxed now that the adrenaline has worn off. You can feel lighter yourself.

"Let me see," you whisper, barely a breath. You hold his hand with a softness that contrasts with the brutality of what you just witnessed. His knuckles are bloodied and his hands tremble slightly, though you’re not sure if it’s from the fight or from what he feels now.

He says nothing as you clean the blood, his gaze fixed on your hands, watching every move as if it’s the first time someone has cared for him this way. As if he’s never experienced tenderness before, and the way you’re wiping the blood from his knuckles is presenting it to him on a silver platter. It’s not the first time you’ve done this, but the intimacy of this moment, after what happened, feels different.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I shouldn’t have lost control like that."

Your hands pause for a moment, your eyes meeting his. You see the guilt there, mixed with that smoldering rage that never seems to fully disappear.

"Don’t apologize," you reply firmly, resuming your task. "He deserved it. And... I’m not going to lie, Azriel. Watching him get what he deserved... it wasn’t so bad."

He looks at you, surprised by the confession, but something in your words seems to calm him. He accepts your response, though you know a part of him will always blame himself for losing control. It’s what makes him who he is.

When you finish cleaning and bandaging his knuckles, you keep his hand in yours for a moment longer, savoring the warmth you’ve always found in him. Azriel, who has always been your rock, your protector, now allows himself to be cared for, letting you see that vulnerability he so rarely shows.

"Thank you," he says softly, meeting your gaze with eyes now velvety as he looks at you without worrying about anything else, and his other hand reaching to caress your cheek with a gentleness that contrasts with the brutality of the night.

You don’t respond because there’s no need. Instead, you lean into him, allowing yourself to rest in the warmth of his embrace, in the comfort only he can offer you. Outside, the world keeps spinning, but here, in this small corner of your life, everything is calm.

[steddielations]

Eddie’s having lunch with Wayne at a restaurant, but he’s distracted while swiping through Tinder, getting hung up on this one guy.

He's unfairly attractive, Steve, 20, a total jock with too many shirtless pictures that Eddie won't admit make him blush down at his phone. There's also pics of 'Steve' with a cute service dog, which is always a plus. His bio actually makes Eddie snort, 'Yeah I'm a single dad of seven, don't cream your pants,' it's funny, confident in a charming way. He's hot, but still looks like a sweetheart in group photos with his friends at Pride, so it all balances out, gives him substance.

But, the last few times Eddie swiped right, he didn't get any matches. He already knows the guy is out of his league and he doesn’t want to bother anymore.

Wayne catches him moping, and as pathetic as it is to involve his uncle in his nonexistent lovelife, he shows him the pictures. Wayne totally disagrees that 'Steve' is too good a catch for Eddie, but Eddie brushes it off as Wayne buttering him up like any good parent would. Then Wayne pulls the Ultimate Supportive Dad move and completely humiliates Eddie by asking the guy sitting alone at the table next to theirs to weigh in.

“Help me out and tell my nephew that this boy here on the Tinder ain't outta his league, would you?"

Eddie's mortified by his Uncle's lack of social media knowledge and the fact that he's involving a stranger in Eddie's pathetic lovelife now too. He doesn't even get a good look at the guy, wearing a hat and sunglasses and besides, Eddie's just glaring at his uncle with his cheeks burning the entire time.

"I think you should listen to your uncle. If anything, you're out of this guy's league, it's his loss if he didn't already swipe right on you," the stranger says, making Eddie's blush spread, "I mean, he seems totally full of himself with all those shirtless pics, right?"

"I would be too if I was that hot," Eddie mutters, taking his phone back, "Fine, I'm almost embarrassed to death, I might as well just swipe right, get rejected and finish the job."

Eddie swipes the screen and he almost drops it when the little notification bell for a new match goes off.

Because it didn't come from his phone.

He looks up as the stranger checks his own phone, taking off his hat and sliding his sunglasses up, revealing the same perfect hair and pretty face that Eddie just swiped right on.

“See there," Wayne is oblivious while Eddie's close to bursting into actual fucking flames from embarrassment, "Told you I was right."

"Look at that, I just got a new match too," Steve says, winking at Eddie, "I have a good feeling about this one."

[reidmarieprentiss]

Wasteland, Baby!

Summary: We learn a little about reader's past, Spencer tries (and succeeds) to get back in her good graces. Happy ending!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, fluff

Warnings/Includes: bad past relationships, past cheating, pregnancy (not reader), getting broken up with, divorced parents, past hooking up with strangers, alcohol consumption, mentions of being drunk, mild depression, time jumps, penelope garcia being the best person alive, derek morgan saving the day

Word count: 10.3k

a/n: final installment of Too Sweet!! i know they're a mess but i love these twooo might give them some blurbs in the future <33 thank you so much to everyone reading! your comments and interactions seriously motivate me to write sooo much faster and make my heart burst!!

main masterlist

part one part two

Flashback…

You sat there, the rim of your glass resting against your lips as you drained the last of your drink. The burn of the alcohol was distant, almost nonexistent—just like everything else these days. The numbness had long since taken over, seeping into every part of your life, leaving you cold and detached. You chased sensations, tried to force yourself to feel something, anything, but nothing worked. Not the new piercings that adorned your skin, not the tattoo etched into your flesh, not even the alcohol that should have brought warmth, or the rage rooms where you shattered objects in a futile attempt to break through the void.

Work had once been your refuge, a security blanket that made you feel capable and strong. Military intelligence had given you purpose, a clear path forward. But now even that had become a nightmare, as Jackson had managed to ruin yet another thing you loved. The betrayal cut deep, but even that pain had dulled, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

“Y/N… you should go home,” the bartender, Drew, said with a shake of their head. They had seen you here night after night, watching as you spiraled deeper into whatever darkness had taken hold of you.

“I don’t have a home anymore,” you slurred, the words bitter on your tongue. The thought of the apartment you had shared with Jackson twisted like a knife in your gut. He was there right now, with his fiance—your replacement. All your things were still there while you slept in a cheap motel that barely felt real. He got the apartment, the girl, the job, and all you got was a long bar tab.

Drew’s expression softened with pity, but before they could say anything, a deep, smooth voice cut through the haze.

“Hey, beautiful, you can come home with me,” the stranger called out, his tone dripping with confidence. His voice was like honey, dark and rich, promising the kind of escape you craved.

You looked up, eyes narrowing as you focused on him—tall, broad shoulders, a chiseled jawline, and eyes that gleamed with something dangerous, something alluring. He was exactly what you needed: a distraction, a thrill, something to make you forget for just a little while.

And thus began the one thing that finally brought feeling back into your world.

You pushed the glass aside and slid off the barstool, unsteady but determined. The stranger’s smirk grew as you approached him, his hand reaching out to guide you out of the bar. The warmth of his touch was electric, a spark in the darkness that reminded you that you were still alive, still capable of feeling—if only for tonight.

You didn’t know his name, and you didn’t care. All that mattered was the fire he ignited within you, the way his presence chased away the numbness that had plagued you for so long. It was reckless, it was dangerous, but it was exactly what you needed. The emptiness was too much to bear, and if he could fill it, even for just a moment, you were willing to take that chance.

As you left the bar, wrapped in the stranger’s arm, the world blurred around you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t consumed by the void. The thrill, the anticipation—it was enough to make you feel alive again, even if it was fleeting.

—

Present 

The team was gathered around the round table, JJ had just finished briefing everyone, her voice steady as she laid out the grim details. As the discussion continued, Emily’s brow furrowed as she reviewed the case file in front of her, something sparking a memory.

“This reminds me of the Atlanta case… Hotch, do you know what department Y/N is in? I want to ask her a question about that case file,” Emily said, her eyes still scanning the paperwork.

Hotch’s expression remained neutral as he answered. “She’s not here right now. You can get the file from the archives if you need.”

Penelope immediately picked up on the shift in tone. Her concern was evident as she asked, “Where is she?”

Hotch didn’t hesitate, his response professional and matter-of-fact. “I wasn’t made aware of the specifics. She’s on a leave of absence.”

Emily looked up, her curiosity piqued. “Do you know how long she’ll be gone?”

Hotch’s gaze was steady as he replied, “I do not. Why don’t you call her if you’re concerned? But let’s stay focused. This isn’t pertinent to the case at hand.”

The room fell into a brief, awkward silence, the unspoken questions lingering in the air. The team exchanged glances, sensing that there was more to the story, but knowing better than to press further. Hotch’s tone made it clear that they needed to get back to the task at hand, and so they did, though the concern for your absence lingered in the back of their minds.

—

“Spencer,” Penelope’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the break room, startling him.

“Ah! You scared me, Garcia,” Spencer exclaimed, nearly dropping his mug.

She didn’t smile or laugh at his reaction, her expression unusually serious as she approached him. “How did it feel?” she asked pointedly, her voice carrying a sharp edge.

Spencer blinked, confused. “What?”

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” she taunted, using the same words he had cruelly thrown at you.

Realization dawned on Spencer, and a wave of anxiety washed over him. “Penelope, what are you talking about?” he stammered, already dreading where this conversation was headed.

Penelope’s eyes narrowed, her tone full of disappointment. “I heard you, Spencer. I held Y/N as she cried. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but that was a nasty scene. And I am seriously disappointed in you.”

Spencer winced, guilt twisting his insides. “I know… I messed up.”

“No kidding,” Penelope shot back, crossing her arms. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The truth was, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He had been so caught up in his own anger and hurt that he hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions.

“Well, you’d better figure it out,” Penelope said firmly. “Because this isn’t like you, Spencer. You’re better than this, and she deserves better than what you did.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of her words. He knew she was right, and the guilt gnawed at him, but he was at a loss for how to make things right. As Penelope turned to leave, he was left standing there, staring into his now-cold cup of coffee, wondering how he could possibly begin to fix the mess he had made.

—

Flashback…

“Hey, hey, are you alright?” an unfamiliar voice asked, cutting through the quiet of your tearful moment.

You sniffled, wiping your nose before looking up to see a stranger standing in front of you. “Yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, trying to pull yourself together.

“I’m Jackson,” the man introduced himself with a soft smile, gesturing toward the bench you were sitting on. “Can I sit?”

You hesitated for a moment, but then shrugged, scooting over slightly. “I guess.”

Jackson took a seat beside you, giving you space but not too much. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

You eyed him suspiciously, your guard still up. “Is this a thing for you? Talking to crying girls on benches?”

He looked genuinely taken aback, holding up his hands defensively. “What? No, of course not. You just… you’re so pretty, too pretty to cry.”

You shot him a skeptical look, raising an eyebrow. He laughed, the sound warm and easy. “That was really bad, huh?”

“Yeah, it was really bad.” You deadpanned, expression unchanging. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it worse.” Jackson cringed, his face morphing into one of mild embarrassment and regret.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but giggle a little. “No, no. It’s… it’s fine.” You heaved a big sigh, the weight of your emotions still heavy on your chest. “My, um, my partner… they just dumped me.”

Jackson’s expression softened with sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How long were you together?”

“Three years,” you replied, your voice shaky. “We started dating right out of high school.”

“Wow,” he said, clearly surprised. “And they just… ended it?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, the pain of the breakup still fresh.

Jackson hesitated for a moment before offering, “Do you need a hug?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully, trying to lighten the mood despite your sadness. “Depends… are you going to kill me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Promise I won’t hurt you.”

You gave a small nod, and before you knew it, Jackson wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace. It was unexpected, but in that moment, it was exactly what you needed.

—

Present 

“Hey, Hotch,” Spencer called out, picking up his pace to catch up to his unit chief as they walked through the hallway.

Hotch turned his head slightly, acknowledging Spencer as he fell in step beside him. “What’s up?”

“Do you happen to know when Agent Y/L/N will be back?” Spencer asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Hotch glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “No, I don’t.”

“Alright, thanks,” Spencer replied, nodding as he looked down, feeling a bit deflated.

But Hotch wasn’t one to let things go so easily. “Why are you asking?” he inquired, his tone measured.

Spencer hesitated, searching for a reasonable explanation. “Just… have a question for her.”

Hotch gave him a considering look. “Get her number from Penelope. I’m sure she can answer any question you have that way.”

“Yeah…” Spencer trailed off, clearly not thrilled with the suggestion. He knew he could easily get your contact information, but after everything that had happened, the idea of reaching out to you directly felt daunting. Still, he gave Hotch a small nod of acknowledgment before the unit chief walked away, leaving Spencer to wrestle with the uncertainty gnawing at him.

—

Spencer knocked lightly on Penelope’s door frame, his nerves evident in the way he hesitated before speaking. “Garcia, can I come in?”

“I’m mad at you,” Penelope replied, not looking up from her computer, her tone sharp. “Enter at your own risk.”

Spencer nodded but stepped inside anyway, taking a cautious seat across from her desk. “Could you give me Y/N’s number?”

“Absolutely not,” Penelope said immediately, her voice firm. “You’ve done enough to that poor girl.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. “I thought you wanted me to fix things?”

“I do,” Penelope said, finally turning to face him. “But getting her number from someone else is tacky.”

“What should I do then?” Spencer asked, genuinely at a loss.

Penelope eyed him for a moment, considering. “I don’t know, Spencer. You could go to her apartment, make a grand gesture.”

“Okay… but why would I make a grand gesture? Can’t I just say sorry?”

Penelope sighed, her frustration clear. “Did you see the same woman I did? She was broken, Spencer. Whatever is going on between you two cannot be solved by a simple ‘sorry.’”

Spencer sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I tell you something in confidence, Garcia?”

Penelope narrowed her eyes but nodded. Despite her anger, she would never betray his trust. “I suppose.”

Spencer took a deep breath, the words coming out more slowly than he intended. “Y/N and I… well, we were intimate after the Doctor Who convention.”

“I knew it!” Penelope exclaimed, her eyes widening.

“What? How?” Spencer asked, startled.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, waving off his question. “Continue.”

“Alright… Well, it was an amazing night. The whole day, really. We got along so well. But then when I woke up, in her apartment, mind you, I was alone with just a note asking me to lock the door. And then she showed up here acting like she didn’t know who I was.”

Penelope’s expression softened slightly, her earlier anger giving way to understanding. “Spencer… that explains a lot.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Spencer admitted, his voice quiet. “I don’t know why she left or why she’s been avoiding me. And then I just got so angry, and I took it out on her… I know I shouldn’t have, but I was hurt.”

Penelope leaned back in her chair, considering his words. “Spencer, it sounds like you both have a lot of unresolved feelings. But if you want to fix this, you need to do more than just apologize. You need to show her that you care, that you’re willing to put in the effort to make things right.”

Spencer nodded slowly, taking in her advice. “I just… I don’t know where to start.”

Penelope offered him a small, sympathetic smile. “Start by being honest with her. Tell her how you feel, what you’ve been going through. And if you really want to make it right, maybe that grand gesture isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

Spencer nodded again, this time with more determination. “Okay. I’ll figure something out.”

Penelope watched him leave, a hint of hope in her heart that maybe, just maybe, Spencer could make things right with you—if he was willing to put in the effort.

—

You were curled up on your couch, surrounded by a sea of crumpled tissues, the remnants of countless tearful nights. Your eyes were puffy and red, evidence of the endless crying sessions that had consumed your days since you took a leave of absence from work. In your hands, you held a photo album, the pages heavy with memories that now felt more like burdens than treasures.

The album had been a gift from Jackson’s mom for your fifth anniversary, a thoughtful compilation of your relationship’s most cherished moments. At the time, you had been so sure it was a precursor to something bigger, something life-changing. You had even found the ring hidden away in Jackson’s things, and your heart had soared with the hope that he was going to propose. But that hope had been cruelly dashed when you learned the truth—that ring wasn’t for you. It was for Jessica, the girl he’d been sleeping with on the side, the girl who had taken your place in his life.

The betrayal was like a knife in your chest, twisting deeper with every memory you revisited. Each photo, each smiling face, felt like a lie now. You had loved him, trusted him, and in return, he had shattered you. It wasn’t just the loss of Jackson that haunted you, though. There was Margo too, the one who had left you first, making you doubt your worth, your ability to be loved, leading you into the arms of Jackson. Literally. And then there was Spencer.

You had tried so hard to keep Spencer at arm’s length, to protect yourself from another heartbreak. But despite your best efforts, he had weaseled his way into your heart. You had let your guard down, just a little, and in return, he had crushed you, just like everyone else. At least Spencer had been quick about it, you thought bitterly. Over and done with in a single, devastating blow.

Your chief had been kind enough to grant you a leave of absence, requiring little explanation. You were a diligent worker, always going above and beyond, and in their words, you deserved a break. But this break had turned into something else—a time to mourn, to dissect everything that had gone wrong in your life. You replayed every failed relationship in your mind, trying to figure out where you had gone wrong, why you were always the one left behind.

But the answers didn’t come, only more tears and more heartache. The memories in the photo album blurred as your eyes filled with fresh tears. You had thought Jackson was the one, that you were finally going to have the life you’d always dreamed of. But now, that dream was gone, replaced by the harsh reality that you were alone, yet again.

And Spencer… you couldn’t deny the sting of that particular wound. You had pushed him away, trying to protect yourself, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. He had hurt you anyway, and now you were left wondering if you would ever truly be able to trust someone again.

As you sat there on your couch, surrounded by the remnants of your broken heart, you couldn’t help but wonder if things would ever get better. Or if this was just the way it would always be—endlessly hoping, endlessly disappointed.

—

A knock on the door pulled you from the haze of your crying-induced slumber. You blinked, disoriented and groggy, not expecting anyone. At first, you tried to ignore it, assuming it was just a delivery person or maybe a neighbor. But the knocking persisted, growing more insistent. With a groan, you rolled off the couch, reluctantly dragging yourself to the door. You swung it open, puffy face and all, prepared to shoo away whoever was there.

Instead, you were met with the concerned face of Penelope Garcia. “Oh honey, come here,” she said, her voice soft and full of warmth as she immediately pulled you into a much-needed hug.

The floodgates opened again, and you found yourself crying into her shoulder, the weight of everything pouring out of you. Penelope held you tightly, rubbing your back and murmuring soothing words as you let it all out. Once you had cried yourself dry, she gently guided you back to the couch, making sure you were comfortable before she began tidying up the mess of tissues and empty mugs scattered around.

Penelope busied herself in the kitchen, making you a cup of tea, the comforting sounds of her movements a balm to your frayed nerves. When she returned, she handed you the warm mug and sat beside you, her hand resting on your knee in a gesture of quiet support.

“Pen… you really didn’t have to do all of this,” you said, your voice hoarse from all the crying.

“I know I don’t have to,” she replied, her tone firm but kind. “I want to.”

You managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. You’re a really good friend.”

Penelope smiled back, squeezing your knee. “I’m always here for you, sweetie. Do you want to tell me what’s got you in such a mess?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Me,” you said, the words tinged with self-deprecation. “I’m the problem.”

“I know that’s not true,” Penelope countered gently. She picked up the photo album from the coffee table, the one you had been staring at for hours. “Who is this?”

And so, for the next few hours, you told Penelope everything. You started from the beginning, recounting the pain of your parents’ divorce and how it had shaped your views on love and trust. You told her about your first relationship with Margo, how it had ended so abruptly and left you feeling lost. You explained how Jackson had swooped in that same day, picking up the pieces, only to shatter you even more five years later when he cheated on you and ruined the life you had built together.

You confessed how, after Jackson, you had spiraled, sleeping with random people just to feel something, anything. The emptiness had consumed you until you met Spencer, and for the first time in a long while, you had actually felt something real. But even that had ended in heartbreak, leaving you more confused and hurt than ever before.

Penelope listened intently, never interrupting, just letting you get it all out. When you finally finished, you felt drained but also a little lighter, as if sharing your burden had eased some of the weight on your shoulders.

Penelope looked at you with compassion in her eyes. “You’ve been through so much, Y/N. It’s no wonder you’re feeling like this. But you’re not alone, okay? You have people who care about you, who want to help you through this.”

You nodded, feeling the truth in her words. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could get better. And with Penelope by your side, you knew you didn’t have to face it all alone.

—

Spencer was struggling, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that he couldn’t quite reconcile. He knew what he had done wasn’t okay—it was uncalled for, cruel even. But despite that knowledge, there was a part of him that felt vindicated. After all, you had hurt him first. In his mind, that gave him a reason, however flimsy, to lash out.

He knew it was an extremely childish and lame excuse, but he was grasping for straws, trying to justify his actions to himself. The rational part of him recognized that his behavior had been immature and unprofessional, but the wounded part of him clung to the idea that you deserved it. You had made him feel abandoned and discarded, so why shouldn’t he make you feel the same?

But as much as he tried to convince himself that he was in the right, the guilt lingered. Spencer had always prided himself on being better than this—better than petty revenge, better than letting his emotions get the best of him. And yet, here he was, refusing to apologize, holding onto his hurt like a shield to protect himself from the vulnerability that had already been exposed.

The truth was, Spencer didn’t want to apologize. Not yet. Because apologizing meant admitting that he had overreacted, that he had let his feelings dictate his actions in a way that was unbecoming of him. It meant acknowledging that he had hurt you, just as you had hurt him, and that scared him. It was easier to stay angry, to keep the wall up between you, than to face the messy emotions lying beneath the surface.

But deep down, he knew that this wasn’t sustainable. He couldn’t keep holding onto his grudge, not if he wanted to move forward. The tension was eating away at him, and no matter how much he tried to justify his actions, the truth was undeniable: you both had hurt each other, and the only way to heal was to confront it head-on.

Yet, for now, Spencer was stuck in limbo, torn between the desire to hold onto his pride and the nagging realization that he needed to make things right. 

—

The atmosphere on the jet was warm and filled with camaraderie as the team reminisced about their time together, particularly the time they had spent with you while JJ was on maternity leave.

“JJ, you would have loved her,” Derek said, a nostalgic smile on his face as he recalled your time on the team.

“I did get to meet her briefly before I went on leave!” JJ replied happily. “She was so sweet. I’m glad she was a good fit while I was gone.”

“Yeah, of course, we’re all so happy you’re back,” Emily added, gazing lovingly at JJ. “But if you need a break, you know who to send!”

Spencer sat quietly at the back of the jet, watching his teammates share fond memories of you as they traveled home from their first case with JJ back on the team. Everyone seemed to miss your positive attitude and bright presence—especially Spencer. Not that he was going to admit that, not even to himself.

During a video chat with Penelope, Derek’s curiosity got the better of him. “Garcia, you went and saw her this week, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I did,” Penelope confirmed, though her voice held a note of hesitation.

“Oh! How is she?” Emily asked excitedly.

Penelope paused, trying to tread carefully. “Um, she’s holding up,” she said, not wanting to give too much away but also not wanting to lie.

“Did something happen?” Derek asked, concern etched on his face. He had grown to care about you and was worried about what might be going on.

“Just some… personal things. She’ll be okay,” Penelope assured them, though her words did little to ease the tension.

Hotch, always the pragmatist, jumped in. “Did she say when she’ll be back? Emily and Spencer expressed interest in her help on previous cases.”

Everyone’s attention shifted to Spencer at that remark, surprised by Hotch’s comment. As far as they knew, Spencer wasn’t exactly your biggest fan. What they didn’t realize was that Spencer had asked Hotch about you in private, hoping for answers he didn’t want to admit he was seeking.

“No, she didn’t mention when she’ll be back to work,” Penelope replied, trying to sound casual.

The conversation eventually moved on, but Spencer stayed quiet, lost in his own thoughts. The knowledge that you weren’t doing well gnawed at him. Guilt tightened its grip on his heart. God, I’m an asshole, he thought bitterly.

Back at Quantico, Derek wasted no time. He cornered Spencer as soon as they got off the jet. “Reid, can I talk to you for a sec?” Derek’s tone left no room for refusal.

“Yeah, what’s up, Morgan?” Spencer replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Walk with me,” Derek said, leading the way to the break room, which was thankfully empty at that time of the evening. Once they were inside, Derek didn’t waste any time. “Do you remember telling me nothing was going on between you and Y/N?”

Spencer gulped, his throat suddenly dry as he realized where this conversation was headed. He could feel Derek’s eyes boring into him, the weight of his scrutiny heavy. “Uh-huh,” Spencer managed to get out, his voice tense.

Derek didn’t miss a beat, his expression unwavering as he leaned in slightly, his tone flat and unyielding. “I call bullshit.”

Spencer’s heart rate kicked up a notch, his mind scrambling for a way out of this. “Wh—what do you mean?” he stammered, trying to keep his composure even as his anxiety began to spike.

Derek crossed his arms, his gaze steady and unflinching. “You’re being weird, Reid. More so than usual.”

Spencer could feel the heat rising in his face, a flush of embarrassment mixed with frustration. He rolled his eyes, attempting to deflect with a weak jab. “Thanks,” he muttered, though he knew it wouldn’t be enough to throw Derek off the scent.

But Derek wasn’t letting it go, and Spencer knew he was cornered. The truth was about to come out, whether he was ready for it or not.

“I just mean that you’ve been moody, distant, grumpy. You snap at people, question Hotch. Anytime Y/N’s name is brought up, you get all twitchy, and you think we don’t notice, but we do. What happened, man?”

Spencer sighed, knowing he was caught. Stupid profilers. He realized there was no use trying to hide it anymore. Maybe if he confided in someone else, he could get some advice. Garcia was too biased, after all.

“Well, uh… we slept together before she started.”

“Whoa. Didn’t see that coming,” Derek admitted, clearly taken aback.

“Yeah. And she… she ditched me in the morning. In her own apartment. Never heard from her again until she showed up here.”

“Shit, man, really?”

“Mhm. I was so mad at her. She was acting like nothing happened, like she didn’t know me. So when we got that assignment in the club, I saw my opportunity, and I took it.”

Derek’s expression grew serious. “What did you do, Reid?”

“I… I used her,” Spencer confessed, his voice small.

Derek’s eyes widened in shock as he processed what Spencer had just revealed. “What? How?” Derek asked, his voice laced with disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend that Spencer, of all people, had done something so out of character.

Spencer swallowed hard, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. “That night… after the club… I went to her hotel room, and we… slept together. Again,” he admitted, his voice faltering slightly. “But this time… I left her.”

Derek stared at Spencer, the silence heavy between them. When he finally spoke, his tone was filled with disappointment. “That’s cold, man,” Derek said, shaking his head slowly, the disapproval clear in his voice. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing—this wasn’t the Spencer Reid he knew.

“I know,” Spencer replied quietly, his guilt evident. He looked down, unable to meet Derek’s gaze, the shame of his actions gnawing at him. He had crossed a line, and he knew it. 

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Derek pressed.

Spencer nodded, his shame overwhelming. “When we got back here, everyone was gone—at least, I thought they were—except Y/N. And I—I went up to her and said some nasty things. Letting her know I did it on purpose.”

“Reid… who are you?” Derek asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“I don’t know!” Spencer admitted, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ve never felt like this before, and I feel so terrible. I don’t know how to fix it.”

Derek stared at Spencer, disbelief etched across his features. "Can you fix it? That’s fucked up, man."

Spencer’s shoulders slumped, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. “Yeah, I’m not sure,” he whispered, his voice thick with regret and self-loathing. He couldn’t meet Derek’s gaze, the shame too overwhelming.

Derek sighed, his mind working to piece together the situation. “You said someone else was there?” he asked, his tone cautious as he tried to understand the full scope of what had happened.

“Penelope,” Spencer confirmed, the word coming out almost as a sigh. 

Derek’s eyes widened slightly. “And she didn’t tell me? I’m gonna have to spank her,” he muttered, shaking his head, though his voice lacked its usual playfulness. 

“She told me to fix things,” Spencer continued, his voice trembling slightly. “I guess Y/N was a mess.”

“I bet she was,” Derek said, his tone softening with a mixture of sympathy for you and disappointment in Spencer. 

“But I don’t know how,” Spencer admitted, his frustration evident. He was desperate to make things right, but he was lost, unsure of where to even begin.

Derek’s expression grew stern, his disappointment clear. “Honestly, Reid, you’re on your own with this one. I’d love to help, but… I’m really disappointed in you.” His words were blunt, but they needed to be. Spencer had crossed a line, and Derek wasn’t going to sugarcoat that. 

Spencer nodded, tears finally spilling over as he realized just how badly he had screwed things up.

Derek’s expression softened slightly. “I still love you, and I want you to make it better, but I wouldn’t blame her for not forgiving you.”

“I know,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible as he grappled with the weight of his actions.

—

After Penelope’s visit, you really tried to pull yourself together. Knowing that you had a friend who was willing to show up, help, and listen just because they cared was enough to get you off the couch. It was a reminder that you weren’t as alone as you felt, that there were people who genuinely cared about your well-being. That realization gave you the strength to take the first steps toward healing.

You began by slowly cleaning your apartment, reclaiming your space from the chaos that had taken over. The simple act of tidying up felt like a small victory, a sign that you were starting to regain control. You indulged in some much-needed self-care—long baths, good food, and moments of quiet reflection. It was during these moments of solitude that you finally allowed yourself to confront the emotions you had been avoiding.

In the end, you came to a few important realizations. Yes, you did like Spencer more than you had anticipated, more than you had wanted to admit to yourself. But he had hurt you, and that pain couldn’t be ignored. You wondered if you could ever trust him again, and whether you were willing to take that risk. After much contemplation, you decided that it was time to be the bigger person. You needed to apologize to Spencer, to acknowledge your part in the situation, and to put it all behind you so that you could move forward—both professionally and personally.

However, the thought of facing Spencer in person was daunting. It felt like too much, too fast. You had already done more personal growth in the past few days than you had in years, and you weren’t quite ready for that kind of confrontation. So, you chose the next best route: writing a letter. It was a way to express yourself honestly without the pressure of a face-to-face conversation.

You took a deep breath and began to write.

Spencer—

Clearly, we have let things get too far, and we are both to blame for that. I’m sorry that I initially approached you and started things up between us. And I am sorry for leaving you that morning; I was so used to avoiding intimacy that when I felt a spark with you, I ran instead of confronting it. That was my mistake, and you did not deserve that.

I was unaware that you had felt something as well. Had I known, I would have talked to you sooner instead of facing you with pure professionalism.

As for our last case, let’s just forget about it and put it behind us. I want to be able to work together in the future and not hold any grudges if that is okay with you.

I hope you can forgive me. I’m sorry, Spencer.

Y/N

You read the letter over a few times, making sure it said everything you needed it to. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest, and that was what mattered. You hoped that by reaching out, you could begin to mend the rift between you and Spencer, even if it was just enough to work together without the weight of the past hanging over you.

With the letter finished, you carefully folded it and placed it in an envelope. As you sealed it, you felt a small sense of relief. Whatever happened next, at least you had taken the first step. The rest was up to Spencer.

—

Returning to work the next week, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The time off had done you some good, giving you the space to process everything that had happened and to refocus on what mattered. You were ready to dive back into the work that you loved, ready to face whatever challenges came your way—bad guys and all.

But before you could truly settle in, there was one task you needed to take care of. You arrived at the office extra early, the halls still quiet and the lights dim. You moved through the bullpen with a sense of stealth, hoping to avoid any of your early-rising colleagues. The letter to Spencer was safely tucked into your bag, and you were determined to drop it off on his desk without anyone noticing.

You approached his workspace, heart pounding slightly as you pulled the envelope out and set it down. You took a moment to look around, ensuring you were alone, before placing it neatly on top of the stack of papers already waiting for him. The envelope stood out against the manila folders, a small but significant gesture.

You didn’t know how or if you’d hear back from Spencer. Part of you wondered if he’d read it and simply brush it aside, or if he’d respond in some way. But regardless of the outcome, you felt a sense of closure just knowing that you had reached out, that you had done your part to clear the air. Whatever happened next was in his hands.

With the letter delivered, you headed to your own desk, ready to start the day. There was work to be done, cases to solve, and while the tension with Spencer might still linger, you were determined not to let it hold you back. For now, you would focus on what you did best—being a valuable member of the team and making a difference in the world.

—

Spencer walked into work as usual, his routine in full swing as he slung his bag over the back of his chair. But something on his desk caught his eye—a white envelope with his name written on it in a familiar handwriting. He froze, recognition dawning on him. It looked just like the writing on the note you’d left him that morning at your apartment.

His heart pounded as he quickly opened the envelope, unfolding the letter inside. As he read your words, a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. You thought you were to blame? Spencer’s guilt surged, hitting him like a tidal wave. He had been angry and hurt when you left him, but now, realizing how much pain he had caused you in return, he felt even more like an asshole than before. This wouldn’t do at all. Spencer couldn’t stand the thought of you carrying the blame for what had happened between you two.

He knew he had to find you—now. He needed to make things right.

Without wasting another second, Spencer made a beeline for Penelope’s lair. He found her surrounded by her monitors, fingers flying over the keys.

“Garcia,” he began, trying to catch his breath, “do you know what department Y/N is in? I need to talk to her, apologize.”

Penelope turned to him, eyebrows raised skeptically. “Counterterrorism.”

“Thank you!” Spencer replied, already turning on his heel to head toward the elevator.

He punched the button for your floor, his nerves growing with each passing second. The setup was similar to their own, and it didn’t take him long to find the cluster of desks where you were stationed. He spotted someone he recognized—Jordan—and hurried over.

“Jordan, is Y/N here?” Spencer asked, trying not to sound too frantic.

“Uh, hello to you too, Spencer. Yeah, she’s in her office,” Jordan replied with a bemused smile.

“Thanks!” Spencer said quickly, making his way to the office with your name on the door. He paused outside, taking a deep breath to steady himself before knocking.

“Come in,” he heard your voice call from inside.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, feeling a rush of emotions as you looked up from your desk. Your eyes widened slightly in surprise before your expression quickly shifted to one of neutral professionalism.

“Hello, Doctor Reid. Can I help you?” you asked kindly, though there was a distance in your tone that made Spencer’s heart sink.

“You should have never apologized to me,” Spencer blurted out, unable to hold back.

You blinked, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“No, no, I mean—I should be the one apologizing,” Spencer clarified, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I was the jerk. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Spencer…” you began, but he could see the weariness in your eyes. “It’s over. Let’s let the past be the past.”

“No!” Spencer’s voice was more forceful than he intended, and he took a step closer to your desk. “I don’t want to push it aside. I want to talk about it. I want to fix things between us.”

You seemed taken aback by his intensity. “Why?”

“Because I care about you. I like you,” Spencer admitted, his voice softening as he finally voiced what he had been keeping inside.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say, your own emotions conflicting.

“Yeah,” Spencer let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I was kind of hoping you’d say you liked me too.”

You hesitated, glancing down at the papers on your desk before looking back up at him. “Oh, well, um, can we talk? After work? I’m really busy right now,” you said, your tone apologetic.

Spencer felt a pang of defeat, the familiar sting of rejection threatening to surface again. But he nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, do you want to come to mine?”

“No,” you shook your head gently. “How about we just talk here? Can you come back around 6?”

“Okay,” Spencer agreed, though the sinking feeling in his chest didn’t quite go away as he turned to leave your office. 

As he walked back to his own floor, he couldn’t help but worry about what the conversation would bring. But he knew one thing for certain—he wasn’t going to let this chance to fix things between you slip through his fingers. Not again.

—

When Spencer returned to the bullpen, he immediately noticed Derek standing in the doorway to Penelope’s office. The two of them seemed deep in conversation, their body language tense. Spencer’s gut told him they were talking about him—he could feel it. The atmosphere had shifted, and when Derek glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Spencer, his suspicions were confirmed.

Spencer knew he couldn’t avoid this, so he gathered what little pride he had left and walked over to them, trying to appear more composed than he felt.

“Baby girl here tells me you went to see Y/N?” Derek asked the moment Spencer stepped inside the office, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Yeah, I tried to apologize,” Spencer admitted, his voice lacking its usual confidence.

“Tried?” Penelope’s voice was softer than it had been earlier, her concern for both of you evident.

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She left me a note this morning. It was on my desk when I got here. She took responsibility for everything that happened, asked if we could forgive and forget. I felt so awful because I’m the one who made a mess of everything. So I went to go tell her that, but she asked me to come back after work because she’s busy.”

Penelope exchanged a glance with Derek, her expression softening further. “And how did that make you feel?” she asked gently.

“Defeated, I guess,” Spencer replied, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I wanted to fix things right away, but it feels like I just keep making things worse.”

Derek crossed his arms, his gaze steady on Spencer. “You’ve got to understand, man, she’s probably just as conflicted as you are. Maybe even more. This isn’t going to be a quick fix.”

Penelope nodded in agreement. “She’s trying to process everything too, Spencer. Give her the time she needs, and don’t push too hard. But don’t give up either. If you really want to make things right, show her that you’re willing to do the work.”

Spencer nodded slowly, taking in their advice. He knew they were right, but the waiting, the uncertainty—it was eating at him. Still, he couldn’t force this. He had to be patient, had to respect your boundaries. He just hoped that when the time came, you’d be willing to let him in again.

—

The clock felt like it was crawling at a snail's pace to Spencer. He watched as the seconds ticked by for what felt like hours—though it was really just minutes, probably. To you, though, time was slipping away faster than it ever had before. You were dreading this conversation. You had hoped the two of you could put this all behind you, maybe be friends one day, and then, maybe—just maybe—something more. But you knew that if you talked to him right now, one look into those big, beautiful brown eyes and you’d melt faster than Derek when Penelope called his name.

But alas, you had already agreed to talk, and those puppy eyes had already got you. Honestly, you were just proud of yourself for having the resolve to ask him to come back later instead of jumping over the desk and into his arms the second he said he liked you.

Your thoughts were still spiraling when that much-anticipated knock on your office door came. You cleared your throat, trying to steady yourself, before calling out, “Come in.”

—

Flashback…

“Come in,” you called out, your voice light and unassuming as a knock sounded on your office door.

“Hey,” Jackson’s head appeared in the doorway, his expression hesitant.

“Oh, hey babe,” you perked up at the sight of him, but something about his demeanor immediately put you on edge.

“Can we talk?” he asked, stepping inside with an uneasy shift in his posture.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied, your smile fading as you sensed that something was off. “What’s up?”

“Uh, so there’s not a great way to tell you this…” he started, his voice trailing off, filled with uncertainty.

Your stomach twisted with sudden anxiety. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. For now,” he answered, but there was no comfort in his tone.

“Jackson, spit it out,” you demanded, losing patience as the tension built.

“I got someone pregnant.”

Your entire world stopped. The air around you seemed to thicken, your ears buzzing like they were filled with water, your lungs constricting as if you were drowning on dry land. The words didn’t make sense, not at first. Not until they slammed into you with full force.

“Who?” you managed to choke out, though a part of you already feared the answer.

“Jessica.”

“My best friend, Jessica?” The disbelief in your voice was palpable, a desperate hope clinging to the idea that this might be some horrible joke.

“That one, yup,” he confirmed, his voice lacking any hint of remorse.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Please tell me this is a joke and you’re going to propose instead,” you pleaded, your voice rising as anger and heartbreak collided.

“What? No, Y/N, I’m being serious.”

“Then why did I find a fucking engagement ring in your sock drawer?” you demanded, your anger boiling over as your heart cracked in two.

“Why were you in my sock drawer?” he deflected, his tone defensive.

“I was doing laundry! Answer me, Jackson!”

“I’m going to ask Jessica to marry me,” he said, his words hitting you like a sledgehammer.

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the betrayal. “Is it because she’s pregnant… or do you love her?” you asked, your voice trembling. You weren’t sure you wanted to know, but you needed the truth.

“I—I love her,” he admitted, his voice weak.

“How long?” you asked, your voice eerily calm as the tears began to stream down your face. The numbness was already setting in, the shock taking over, leaving your gaze blank and distant. Jackson had never seen you like this in all the years you’d been together, not even when he first found you on that bench.

“What?” he stammered, thrown by your sudden composure.

“How long have you been sleeping with her?” you repeated, the question sharp and cold.

“A few months,” he confessed, his voice barely audible.

“Get out,” you ordered, your voice devoid of emotion.

“Y/N—”

“Get the fuck out, Jackson!” you shouted, the rage finally breaking through the numbness.

Jackson hesitated, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Um, before I go—and I will—you need to move out.”

The final blow. The nail in the coffin. You couldn’t believe the audacity, the cruelty. “I hope you both live a very unhappy and unfulfilling life,” you spat, your voice dripping with venom.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he offered weakly, but the apology was hollow, meaningless.

You turned away from him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing any more of your pain. Jackson left without another word, leaving you alone with the shattered remnants of what you thought was your future.

—

Present

Spencer walked in, closing the door softly behind him before turning to face you. “Hi,” he breathed out, his voice carrying a mix of nervousness and resolve.

“Hi, Spencer,” you replied, your tone equally cautious but warm.

“How was your day?” he asked, clearly trying to ease into the conversation that both of you knew was coming.

“Agonizing, thanks. And yours?” you responded, a hint of humor lacing your words despite the tension.

“Just about the same,” he admitted with a small, rueful smile. “I’m sorry about that too. Should we just lay it all out? No more tiptoeing around?”

“Probably,” you agreed, feeling the weight of the conversation ahead settle in your chest.

“Okay,” Spencer said, taking a deep breath as he prepared to speak. “I can go first if it’s easier.” You nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

“Um, I don’t date much. Or sleep around, ever, really. So spending that night with you was important to me. Especially because it was with you,” he said earnestly, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. “I really enjoyed the time we spent together—the convention, the bar, your place, all of it. I was so, so hurt when you were gone the next morning. It took me weeks to make peace with the fact that you’d left without a word. And then you showed up to my work, the new girl, and acted like nothing ever happened. While I understand now why you did that, it still stung—a lot.”

Spencer paused, taking a breath as if to steady himself. You opened your mouth to respond, but he shook his head, signaling that he wasn’t finished yet.

“But even when you were pushing our time together aside, you were so kind and helpful, so good at your job… it sucked,” he laughed lightly, though there was an edge of bitterness to it. “Because I wanted to hate you so badly, but I don’t know how anyone ever could hate you.” Your eyes welled up with tears at his words—he had no idea how much that simple sentence meant to you.

“Then you noticed little things about me,” Spencer continued, his voice softer now. “You drove when we were paired, you never grabbed my hands, you didn’t force me to talk to you… you were so considerate. When we had that assignment to play a couple at the club, I was so upset because that’s all I wanted—I wanted you to be my girlfriend, I wanted it to be real. But it wasn’t,” he smiled sadly, his eyes reflecting the regret he felt. “And afterwards, when I was feeling sorry for myself, I decided it was your fault we weren’t together, and that I wanted to hurt you back.”

Spencer looked down, fidgeting with his hands as he searched for the right words. You waited, sensing that this was the hardest part for him to admit.

“That was the meanest, cruelest, most immature thing I have ever done. And I am so, so sorry,” he said, his voice trembling with genuine remorse. “I understand if you don’t forgive me, but I just need you to know how amazing you are, and how none of my actions are at all a reflection of you or how I feel about you.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. You could see how much it had taken for him to come here and lay it all out, to admit his wrongs and ask for forgiveness. And as much as the hurt still lingered, you could see that he was sincere, that he truly regretted what he had done.

—

Flashback…

“Y/N! Y/N, please! Just hear me out!” Jackson’s voice was desperate as he called after you, his footsteps quickening as he tried to catch up.

You stopped in your tracks, spinning around to face him, your glare so hot it could have burned him alive. “Jackson! Enough!” you seethed, the fury in your voice cutting through the air like a knife.

“Please… I need to explain,” he pleaded, his eyes wide with panic.

“Explain what?” you snapped. “You cheated with my best friend, got her pregnant, and dumped me. What more is there?”

His face crumpled as he tried to find the right words. “I still love you,” he blurted out, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Go fuck yourself. Or Jessica. I really don’t care,” you retorted, your voice dripping with disdain.

“No, baby, please—”

“Do not call me that,” you cut him off, your tone icy.

“Okay,” he muttered, stepping back with his hands up in surrender. “Just, please?”

You crossed your arms, staring him down. “Fine. Two minutes.”

Jackson blinked, caught off guard by the time limit. “How am I supposed to tell you everything in two minutes?” he asked, panic rising in his voice.

“Time’s ticking, troglodyte,” you shot back, your patience wearing thin.

“What’s that? Wait, no, don’t answer that,” he stammered, realizing he was wasting precious seconds. “Okay, well, I just… I’m so insecure, and I was worried you didn’t like me anymore, and Jessica made me feel good about myself—”

“Bullshit,” you interrupted, your eyes narrowing.

“No, no, it’s true,” he insisted, his voice wavering.

“You’re saying it’s my fault you cheated?” you asked, your voice deadly calm.

“No! You were so busy, and I needed attention,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“So it’s my fault,” you repeated, your anger simmering beneath the surface.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice rising in desperation. “Please, stop interrupting me. We got into this routine that made every day feel so mundane. We never did anything exciting anymore, and Jessica was new and thrilling, and—”

“Time’s up,” you interrupted, your voice cold and final. “Bye.”

“Y/N—” he started, reaching out as if to stop you, but you were already walking away, your footsteps resolute as you disappeared down the crowded sidewalk.

Jackson stood there, his hand falling limply to his side as he watched you vanish into the throng of people. He knew, in that moment, that he had lost you for good.

—

Present 

“You wanted me to be your girlfriend?” you asked, your voice small and uncertain.

Spencer looked up, startled by the calmness in your tone. There was no anger, no bitterness—just a quiet curiosity. “Yeah, I really did,” he admitted, his heart racing.

“You don’t anymore?” you asked, your eyes searching his face for an answer.

“Huh?” Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the question.

“You said ‘wanted’ and ‘did,’” you explained, your voice wavering slightly. “I’m just wondering if the feelings stopped.”

Realization dawned on him, and he quickly shook his head. “No, they didn’t.” Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest as he took a bold leap, hoping it was worth the risk.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as Spencer watched you, his nerves on edge. “Listen, Spencer…” you began, and his heart sank as he braced himself for the rejection he feared was coming. He dropped his gaze, the weight of your words pressing down on him. “I have a lot of baggage. I’m basically damaged goods,” you laughed sadly, the sound tinged with self-doubt. “I haven’t been someone’s girlfriend in a long time. I don’t know that I would be any good at it.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the final sting of rejection sink in. He understood, or at least he thought he did. But then your words started to process, and something didn’t add up. “Wait,” he said, his head snapping up as he noticed the small smile playing on your lips. “What are you saying?”

You met his gaze, the warmth in your eyes catching him off guard. “I’m saying, if you’re willing to be patient with me, I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat, disbelief and joy swirling together as he processed what you were saying. A smile slowly spread across his face, the weight he’d been carrying for weeks suddenly lifting. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

You nodded, your smile widening. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

In that moment, Spencer felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—pure, unfiltered happiness. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it found yours. “I’ll be patient,” he promised, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll be whatever you need.”

You squeezed his hand, a sense of relief washing over you as the tension between you finally began to melt away. For the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe, just maybe, this could work.

“What if all my baggage is too heavy?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with lingering doubts.

Spencer’s expression softened as he looked at you, his eyes filled with understanding. “Y/N, I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, addicted to said drugs, and tortured. I don’t think anything you say will scare me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh through the mild tears that had formed over the course of the conversation. His words, though dark, were comforting in their own way. “Thank you, Spencer.”

“Are you sure you can handle me?” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Not at all,” you shook your head, your laughter mixing with his. “But I’d rather be with you than without.”

Spencer’s heart swelled at your words, and without thinking, he leaned over your desk and kissed you. This kiss was different from all the ones you’d shared before—it wasn’t driven by lust or desperation, but by care, passion, and something that felt a lot like love.

When he finally pulled back, he couldn’t help but smile at the dazed look on your face, your lips still parted slightly in surprise. “One more thing,” he added, his voice light but a little sheepish.

“Mhm,” you managed, still a bit breathless as you looked up at him.

“Penelope and Derek know everything… sorry. They’re pissed at me.” Spencer laughed a bit at himself.

You blinked, then smiled. “Penelope already knew, babe,” you reassured him. “I’ll make sure they know everything’s good.”

Spencer let out a relieved sigh, grateful for your understanding. “Thank you,” he said softly, his hand gently brushing your cheek.

You leaned into his touch, the weight of your worries finally beginning to lift. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t have to face them alone—not anymore.

—

Three years later

“Y/N?” The sound of your name caused you to spin around from where you were examining flowers with Spencer. 

“Jackson?” The shock in your voice was unmistakable as you registered the familiar face.

“Oh my god, wow!” Jackson exclaimed, stepping closer with a broad smile. “It’s so good to see you! How have you been?” He moved in for a hug, but you kept your hands on the flowers, avoiding the embrace.

He quickly took the hint, stepping back awkwardly. “Uh, good. You?” you asked, your tone polite but distant.

“I’m great, yeah! Still working on base. What are you up to?” Jackson’s voice held a note of forced cheerfulness, as if trying to bridge the years that had passed.

“FBI,” you replied simply.

“Wow! That’s amazing! What do you do—” Jackson began, but his question was abruptly cut off as Spencer approached, holding a different set of flowers and unaware of who Jackson was.

“Darling, what do you think of these?” Spencer asked, holding up the bouquet for you to see, his tone casual and affectionate.

“Those are beautiful, baby,” you replied with a warm smile, feeling a sense of calm wash over you as you turned your attention back to Spencer.

Jackson cleared his throat, drawing your focus back to him. “Who’s this?” he asked, clearly caught off guard by the presence of another man.

“Oh!” You had honestly forgotten he was still there. “This is my fiancé,” you said, a note of pride in your voice as you gestured to Spencer.

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” Spencer introduced himself, nodding politely but with a friendly demeanor.

“Oh, hi. Uh, Jackson,” he replied, awkwardly extending his hand, which Spencer smiled at and lifted his in a wave as a response.

There was a tense silence, filled only by the ambient noise of the flower shop. Jackson looked like he had more to say, but the words seemed to elude him. Meanwhile, you felt nothing but gratitude for the life you had built with Spencer—one filled with love, trust, and a future that Jackson no longer had any part of.

“Are you guys, uh, looking at flowers for your wedding?” Jackson asked, his voice a little hesitant as he glanced between you and Spencer.

“Yeah, we wanted to pick everything together,” you replied, smiling up at your very handsome fiancé. The warmth in your voice was undeniable, and it wasn’t lost on Jackson.

“And you?” Spencer asked politely, still unsure of who this man was but trying to be courteous.

“Oh, uh, these are ‘I’m sorry’ flowers for my girlfriend,” Jackson laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“Jessica?” you asked before you could stop yourself. At the mention of her name, Spencer’s expression shifted, finally catching on to who Jackson was.

“No, hah, we broke up a long time ago,” Jackson admitted, the awkwardness between the three of you growing palpable.

“Ah, well, I hope your child is doing well,” you said, your tone polite but distant. You nodded to Jackson before turning back to Spencer, gently tugging him by your laced fingers as you both walked away, trying to stifle the giggles that threatened to escape.

Once you were out of earshot, Spencer leaned in, a mischievous grin on his face. “Was that your ex?”

“Mhm,” you confirmed, grinning back at him.

“What a charmer,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You laughed, the tension from the unexpected encounter melting away. “You know, I’m really glad it’s you I’m marrying.”

“Me too,” Spencer replied, squeezing your hand affectionately as you both walked out of the shop, leaving the past firmly behind you.

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

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[watchmegetobsessed]

ILLICIT ACTS

A/N: i hope yall are ready, the edging is finally over, but first, it's some jealous harry, bc he is the best.

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: The temptation is higher than ever, especially when Harry has to watch you dance with his possible future business partner.

PART III. TO ILLICIT THOUGHTS AND ILLICIT TEMPTATION

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry Styles hasn’t felt ashamed in a long time. Probably in long years and he would have never thought that a business trip to his beloved Italy would be the occasion that brings him back this unwanted feeling.

He swam for a torturous thirty minutes after you left, not because he wanted to, but because he was so hard he would have not been able to walk out of the water in front of all these people. Even then, he was still semi-hard, it was enough for him to rush back to his hotel room, but by the time he stood under the shower, his cock was begging for relief again.

This alone was enough to make him feel ashamed, but the three orgasms he needed while thinking about you is what truly pushed him into his shameful pit. Not one, not two, but three times he needed to touch himself before he could get dressed without his cock bursting the seam of his pants.

Standing in front of the mirror he fixes the collar of his black shirt, taking his reflection in. What will you think when you first see him tonight? Will you notice that his hair is different now? Are the sunglasses too much? And what about the earring?

Those are for sure too much. But part of him wants to see your reaction to it, because one time he heard you talking to Jenny from finance during lunch and you mentioned how hot earrings could be on guys.

Fuck, this is bad. He can’t get you out of his mind and it’s not just dirty thoughts anymore.

Reaching for his cologne he squirts some onto his exposed neck and chest, his shirt is open enough to give a glimpse of his necklace, something he has caught you looking at on some occasions before.

He checks the time and sees that it’s six o’clock sharp, so he has to pick you up to make it to the restaurant on time. He rolls his shoulders, slips his phone and wallet into his light colored pants and then walks out of his room, over to your door. Fisting his hand he knocks confidently three times and then waits.

He hears you shuffling around inside and his pulse quickens instantly even though he hasn’t even seen you. But then the door opens and he realizes that he was a whole different man just a second ago.

The moment he lays his eyes on you, it feels like all the air gets knocked right out of his lungs. You have a black dress on, the top is like a corset, pushing your breasts up just enough to plant the most obscene thoughts into his mind that would haunt him not just tonight, but for the rest of his life. There are those thin, almost nonexistent straps running over your shoulders and he can already imagine himself snapping them with his teeth. From underneath the top the silkiest looking fabric runs down your hips, taunting him with what’s hiding underneath and how badly he wants to put his hands… and mouth on it. The skirt reaches to your mid-thighs, leaving most of your deliciously soft looking legs uncovered and his thoughts immediately snap to an image of having them on his shoulders as he—“

“Earring,” he hears you say, eyes focused on the dangling cross hanging from his left ear. He catches your chest rising heavily and he doesn’t miss the way you run your tongue over your lips.

“Too much?” he asks with a smug smirk. You shake your head. He offers you his arm and you hesitantly, but lock a hand around his bicep as you pull the door closed behind you. This one touch sends a shiver down your spine and Harry feels a fire igniting inside of him.

Walking towards the elevator you both think about the same thing. You’re fucked.

Fabio and Vittore knows all the best places, so you never doubted they would choose the right one for tonight’s outing as well. The place is called GINO’s, during the day it’s a fancy restaurant and then after about nine in the evening it transforms into a bar that has a dance floor as well. It’s classy, tasty and probably way too expensive for your budget, but you’re not paying tonight.

One drink follows the other after dinner, the four of you are having a blast and with the Trevisani brothers present the gut wrenching desire you’ve been fighting is somewhat easier to contain. Harry still looks fucking delicious with his open shirt and dangling earring, but it would be way harder if it was just the two of you.

You were afraid of what it would be like to face Harry after what happened on the beach. How could one go on after what you experienced? But it seems like Harry has forgot about it, because not even the slightest sign of discomfort could be seen on him all evening.

What’s more, he’s been giving you looks that get you flustered, it doesn’t seem like Harry found what happened earlier awkward at all, his darkened eyes often wander to your dress and he watches your every move, always making sure you have everything you need.

The music is in full blast by 10 pm, people are dancing in front of the DJ’s setup, the lights have been dimmed and there’s alcohol everywhere.

Fabio Trevisani is exactly how you imagine a true Italian man. He is in his thirties, thick, dark hair and beard, golden skin and nice charm, he has them all. He’s never scared to bring some flirting into his words, he has definitely given you a few hints that he finds you appealing, but you’ve been just ignoring these. He is a handsome man, but not the one you truly want these days.

Tonight, thanks to all the drinks, you feel a lot looser and open to Fabio’s flirting, for some reason. With Harry on your left and Fabio on your right, your attention is torn between the two directions, but while Harry is more quiet and reserved, Fabio likes to take the lead and keep you entertained, making you laugh with his jokes and getting you flustered by his compliments.

“Amore mio, vieni a ballare con mi!” Fabio begs you, taking one of your hands. You notice Harry stiffening beside you, but all you can do is laugh in confusion, since you have no idea what Fabio just said.

“What?”

“Dance with me!” he translates his request, already standing up, tugging you towards the dance floor. You don’t have much chance to protest, you find yourself standing from your seat and following him into the dancing crowd.

Somehow it’s no surprise that Fabio is a great dancer. With all the booze in your system, you can’t help but laugh as he keeps twirling you around, pulling you against him, dipping you back, he does all the moves he knows.

He keeps flirting with you, though half the time he is talking in Italian, it’s more like funny than hot for you right now, you’re just enjoying the moment.

That is right until you spot a pair of familiar green eyes that appear more like black as Harry approaches the two of you through the dancing people.

Your stomach drops to the floor as he moves towards you like a hungry tiger, but you manage to keep moving to the music, Fabio dancing right behind you with his hands on your waist. When Harry finally reaches you, he leans to Fabio’s ear and you wish you could hear what he says to him, because a second later Fabio’s hands slip off your waist and you catch him nodding at Harry before he leans over to you.

“Thanks for the dance,” he says, trying to talk over the music. You don’t even get to reply, the crowd swallows him and you’re left there.

With Harry.

When you turn around you find him standing there, his eyes practically swallowing you up whole. He steps closer, hands finding your waist and with one swift movement he turns you around, pulling your back against his chest and you can’t help but gasp when your ass meets his groin, for the second time in a day.

Everyone around you is moving to the rhythm while the two of you are standing still, only Harry’s hands moving from your hips to your stomach and even through the corset you can feel his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Did you enjoy dancing with him?”

His mouth is right next to your ear and you swear you could feel his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he talked.

“Yes,” you breathe out, but you couldn’t even recall a memory of Fabio’s dancing even if your life depended on it. Not when your body is melting against Harry’s hard chest and you can feel every bit of warmth that radiates from him. When you feel his nose bury into your hair and his hands slip just a tad bit lower on your body, you lose control and let your head roll back to his shoulder.

“Do you want me to bring him back so you can keep dancing with him?”

His hips start to move finally and he makes you move with him, all while your chest is rising and falling heavily, giving him the best view of your cleavage from above, he can’t tear his eyes off the way your breasts curve so deliciously, how your soft, exposed skin shimmers from the thin layer of sweat, he wants to lick you up from where your top starts up to your jaw. He is dying to taste you, your skin, your lips, your pleasure…

You shake your head at his question, your hands snapping to his hands on you, covering them with a desperate urge to keep them planted on your body. Not that Harry ever plans to take his hands off you.

“Do you want me to stay here with you, Y/N?” he asks, his nose running down the side of your neck as he breathes in your sweet scent.

“Yes!” you gasp, when his hips move forward and once again, you can feel his hardening cock pressing into your ass.

He groans behind you when you push back against him more, his cock throbbing already and he can only hope no one will interrupt this moment. You’re swaying to the music, your head is still resting on his shoulder and maybe it’s the booze or maybe it’s just your uncontrollable desire for him, but your courage bursts and as you hold his right hand you tug it up on your body, over your stomach and then your chest, you feel his shaky breath on your heated skin and his fingers hook into the top of your corset. If he wanted to, he could just tug it down and bare you in front of his greedy eyes, but he is way too possessive, if another man laid eyes on what he thinks of as his, Hell would break loose and Harry would be probably thrown out of here.

So instead, he just enjoys that tiny inch of extra skin that he can feel underneath the top of your dress and he gives in to the temptation and presses his lips to your neck, his tongue meeting your skin, finally tasting you.

“Fuck,” you moan at the sensation and your other hand flies back, fingers dipping into his hair and you give him a rough tug that earns you a bite from him.

Harry is seeing red. His hands grab onto your hips and twirls you around confidently, arms locking around you so tight not even a pin could fit between the two of you. Your wandering hands run up his biceps, over his shoulders, arriving to the base if his neck and you comb your fingers through his hair from the nape of his neck, grinning wide when you feel his chest vibrating against yours from the groan that escapes his mouth.

He leans back, just enough to press his forehead against yours and you know he is fighting his last restraints, this is the moment that will decide it all, if you go further or step back behind the safety of your boundaries. You’re ready to give in, you were always ready, so it’s fully just on Harry.

And right when you think it’s going to happen someone bumps into you from behind and it’s like the bubble has been popped. Harry helps to steady you, but when you look into his eyes you can tell he has pulled back.

Disappointment washes over you as you move back, putting a bit of distance between the two of you. It looks like his mind is racing and you’d die to actually know what he’s thinking about, but he remains silent and you’re back to square one.

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur. At one point you go back to the table, have another drink and you listen to the men talking while you keep just reliving the moments with Harry on the dance floor.

Harry appears to be confident and over what happened, but in his head he is screaming. Mostly at himself for not giving in, the temptation was painfully cruel, he was so close to snapping and taking what he’s been fantasizing about for so long, but when you got pushed it was like his consciousness were awakened and he realized that he was playing a dangerous game.

He truly thought he made the right decision when you moved back to the table, but when he saw you so zoned out and the disappointment on your face was obvious, he wished he could go back in time and do the opposite.

It was past one when you left the place and parted ways with Fabio and Vittore, heading back to your hotel that was only a ten minute walk. Now you’re walking side by side and the silence is deafening.

Still drunk on the alcohol and the scene with Harry, you get into the elevator with a pouty look that doesn’t fly over Harry. He is staring at you as the elevator moves up and the tension rises in a blink of an eye, for a second you think he’ll break now, but then the elevator stops with a soft ding! and you walk out with a new wave of disappointment. Because if he didn’t give in before, there’s no way he will now.

You reach your room and swiping the keycard you open the door. You step inside and turn around, seeing him standing there with his hand hidden in his pockets as he stares back at you with an unreadable look.

“Well, good night, Harry,” you breathe out and he nods at you in reply, there’s a second long pause before you move to close the door.

Right when the lock is about to click closed, Harry snaps a hand against it and pushes open again. You suck on your breath as the door flies back and it reveals him, his darkened gaze practically lighting you on fire. There’s half a second of hesitation, it’s like in the elevator, but this time it ends up completely different.

It happens so fast, yet your body reacts instantly. Harry moves inside with one swift movement, he grabs you by your face and kisses you so hard you forget your name, your past and present. Everything is gone, it’s just you and him.

Harry pushes you against the wall and kicks the door closed, all while his mouth devours yours, making up for all the times he chose not to. He licks into your mouth, hips pressing forward to show you just how hard he is already and you can only hope this time you’ll get to feel him inside you.

You move further into the room, bumping into the bathroom door, a chair and then you end up pressed against the desk, your legs open, welcoming him between them. You take just one moment to breathe and you’re about to pull him back, but he stops and you’re afraid he’ll end this dream way too soon.

“Y/N, I want your consent,” he rasps out, breathing heavily.

“You have it, you have anything you want!” you beg him, clawing at his chest, trying to pull him back onto you, but he is still resisting.

“No. I want you to say it loud and clear that you want this, that you want me. I can’t… I can’t have you wake up and freak out about what we’re about to do.”

Fuck, he is so insanely hot even when he is asking for your consent like the gentleman that he is. He knows that you’ve drunk and he would never take advantage of you. The drunken buzz has cleared out of your mind mostly, the walk home did wonders and you can answer him confidently with certainty.

“Harry, I want you. I wanted you before and I will want you in the morning. You have my consent.”

He draws in a deep breath with his eyes closed and when he exhales, his gaze finally finds yours and you know there’s no going back from now.

He throws himself at you as if he’s been starving for months, his mouth attacks your lips, he bites and sucks while his hands work to push the silky skirt up, revealing more of your legs. With his hands he urges you to wrap them around his waist and when you do that, he lifts you up with ease, moving over to the bed and throwing you onto the mattress, following you instantly, the weight of his body pinning you down. He buries his face into your neck, licking his way down to your chest and then he finally makes his fantasy reality when he takes the strap of your dress between his teeth and pulls on it just hard enough to make the string snap. A surprised gasp slips through your lips and then you can’t help but chuckle when he snaps the other one as well.

“Insane. You’re making me insane, Y/N,” he groans against your chest, his hands desperately trying to rid you of the dress, but it’s a bit tricky.

Pushing on his chest you make him kneel up and you follow him, turning around you show him the row of clasps in the back. He unhooks them in two rounds, the corset becomes loose around you, allowing it to fall and pool around your waist. Harry’s arms snake around you from behind, pulling you against his chest, his hands groping your breasts in an instant.

“Oh fuck!” you moan, head rolling back to his shoulder as his mouth kisses along your shoulder and neck, his hands exploring your body relentlessly. Arching your back you push your ass back and it meets his groin, the outline of his cock bursting through his pants. Reaching back you palm him, give him a few squeezes, feeling him up and he involuntarily thrusts into your touch.

Harry releases you just enough so you can get rid of the dress, leaving you only in your lacy thong, while he is still fully dressed, so you take over control for a bit and turning around you snap his shirt open, buttons flying around the room. You surprised not just Harry with this but yourself as well, but you don’t dwell on it long, while Harry shrugs his shirt off you work on his pants and moments later he is sitting on the mattress in front of you in only his underwear. You climb over to him, mouth finding his as you settle on his lap and he moves forward, laying you onto the mattress, his hips pushing against yours and you can’t stop yourself from grinding against his bulge.

“Oh God,” he breathes out and matching your movements he starts thrusting forward as well.

Reaching down his hand slips under the lacy fabric and he cups your wet and heated crotch, his palm pressing against your clit just right.

“Fuck, you are so wet. All for me?”

“Yes! Harry, please!”

“Please what?” he asks against your lips, his hand teasing you between your legs.

“More! I need more!”

You catch a pleased smirk on his lips before he pushes two fingers into you, making you gasp for air when they curl inside you and then move out, just to do it over and over again. His palm is drenched already and it feels like you’ve been drugged when the heel of his palm presses against your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

In the meantime his clothed cock is now rubbing against your thigh, he is seeking relief too as he keeps grinding against your, looking for any kind of friction.

“Harry, I need… I want your cock, please!” you beg, barely able to form words.

“Patience, I want to taste you first.”

“No, I need you to fuck me already!”

“Just one taste, baby, I’ll be quick,” he promises as he pulls his hand out from between your legs and sitting back onto his heels he drags your thong down your legs, throwing it across the room before pushing your knees apart, taking one quick look at you all spread out in front of him before he leans forward and latches onto your clit with no mercy.

He keeps his word and doesn’t spend too much time with his face buried between your legs, but he makes the most of it, licking and sucking, fucking you with his tongue. When he comes back up and kisses you and you can taste yourself on him.

You work together to rid him of his last item of clothing and when you see his cock spring free from its restraints your mind blanks and all you can think about is choking on his dick. Harry doesn’t protest when you sit up and then settle so you can kiss the leaking tip while you wrap a hand around the base. The sounds he makes when you take him into your mouth are proof that you’re doing it right. Each time you go down you try to move lower and lower, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can, your eyes are watering and your spit is dripping down his cock, but it’s exactly what he wants, to see you struggle, because he is so big but you’re just so eager to please him. He cradles the back of your head and when you’re down one time he gives your head a gentle push, just enough to reach your limit, he can feel you gagging and he keeps you there just one second longer than you would have stayed on your own before letting you come up for air. When he sees your face, your teary eyes, puffy lips and glistening chin he pulls you in by your neck and kisses you rough, pushing you back onto the bed so he can get on top of you without clothes this time. He groans when you reach down and wrap your hands around him, teasing him some more.

“Condom?” he asks and your first reaction is a disapproving cry.

“Wanna feel you.”

“Are you on the pill, baby?” he asks, a moan slipping through his lips when you move his cock so the head pokes at your clit.

“Yes. Please!”

Normally there’s no way he would have sex without a condom, but he is just as desperate to feel you fully as you are so he lets himself have it this one time.

With one last kiss he sits back onto his heels and hooks his arms under your legs, pulling them up, onto his shoulders like he has imagined it so many times before. Kissing the inside of your ankle he grabs his cock with a steady hand and positions himself before slowly pushing in, his dick filling you up, stretching you out perfectly until all of him is inside you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans stilling, closing his eyes for a moment before he looks down at you. There’s endless passion in his gaze, but there’s something soft too. Before you could figure it out he starts moving and you lose the ability to form coherent thoughts.

At first he starts off kinda slow, but as he can feel you getting used to his size he starts to pick up his pace and soon enough, he is pounding into you. It’s sloppy and rough at the same time, you’ve turned into goo and he is the one holding you together. Soon he switches the position up and comes down on top of you, your feet hooking behind him, allowing him to go even deeper.

He keeps kissing you, praising you, telling you how good you are in every possible way.

“My good girl, taking me so well.”

“You were made for me, Y/N, you feel so fucking good.”

“Look at that pussy, gripping my cock tight and delicious.”

Every time he speaks up you can only just moan in reply and tighten your hold around him.

When he pulls back you cry out in protest, but he just chuckles, helping you up and onto all four, his hands circling your ass cheeks, fingers digging into the flesh before his cock finally pushes into you from behind. You try your best to match his rhythm, but he is definitely doing all the moving, you can barely hold yourself up at this point. When Harry notices how much you’re struggling he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you up so you can lean back onto his chest, giving your arms a break as he fucks into you. You wiggle around for a bit until you can turn your head enough to lock your lips with his.

“Harry, I’m so close,” you moan into his mouth and it just makes him go even harder and adding to the sensation one of his hands move to your clit and you’re convinced he is trying to kill you.

“Come for me, baby. I want to feel you come on my cock,” he pants.

His words push you over the edge and you come, hard and loud, tightening your walls around him, which tips him over as well. He pulls out just in time, his cum squirting onto your folds and lower stomach while his orgasm washes over him in waves.

With your hands on his thighs you let your head fall forward, trying to catch your breath and Harry kisses you between your shoulder blades, pretty much doing the same. When he moves back you lean forward until you can put your arms down onto the mattress. You hear him walk into the bathroom and soon he returns with a damp towel, gently cleaning you up so you can finally flop onto the bed comfortably.

He throws the towel to the side and lies next to you, in all of his naked glory and though you feel like you have no energy left, you just want to stay awake for as long as possible and drink in the sight of Harry Styles in your bed.

“We should talk about it,” he murmurs softly as he reaches out and runs his hand down the side of your face.

“I know,” you agree.

“In the morning,” he adds and you nod. He then pulls you closer, into his arms and you happily curl up against his side as he pulls the covers over the two of you. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and you fall asleep listening to his steady breathing.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[severinageto]

TOXIC (and I love what you do) PART TWO

Suguru found himself getting ready for that night as if it were the red carpet. As had been the tenor of the day, he understood almost nothing of what was happening, except for an intuitive desire to look good. He wore a violet shirt that highlighted his skin and eyes. Tight pants hugged his hips. His nails were impeccably done in black polish. His hair, should it be loose or tied back? He thought about his school days. Satoru seemed to have no preference for how he styled it, only a near-maniacal urge to touch it. To run his fingers through the fine black strands, from the roots to the tips. To comb it before bed, smell it upon waking. To tug it nearly to the point of tearing when he penetrated him, and then to wash it with the delicacy of someone embroidering the details of a wedding dress.

He looked in the mirror. A half ponytail. An intermission. He smiled. He looked really good. He grabbed his bag, called a taxi, and headed down to the lobby.

***

"Shit, this is hard,” Satoru exclaimed, as he looked at the store's ample supply of lubricants. He was ashamed to admit it even to himself, but he had never bought one. That had always been Suguru's job. And that half year without him he hadn't needed to. His sexual encounters with men had been nonexistent.

Another thing that embarrassed him, since he had it on good authority that Suguru had had many, many lovers. Well, if that gossipy Shoko could be called a good source.

He sighed and picked up one of the brand he remembered using. He paid and left the place. He was nervous, too nervous, as if he was ill-prepared for an important mission. Even for his first time he didn't feel like this.

Sure, his first time was spontaneous. Neither of them knew quite what they were doing. They were just two teenagers driven by desire and love.

Love. That was what was missing. No, that was what should be missing. Satoru had been trying to convince himself all afternoon that he didn't love Suguru and that this evening would be pure sex. He had written down all the reasons why he couldn't love the man: he was a jerk, a complete idiot, depraved, a racist, a fascist, he liked curry too much, his adopted daughters were probably biological daughters of Satan, and so on. However, the reason he could love him was as simple as it was corny: it was him. That haughty guy, with that crooked smile and those lukewarm hands that seduced him a couple of hours ago was not Geto Sama, the leader of the Star Vessel. It was Suguru. He knew how mawkish he sounded, but he had seen it in his eyes. Those violet orbs had smiled at him the same way they had years ago, when he'd told him about Digimon or the goodness of psychic-type Pokemon. The same glow, the same shape. An arched eyebrow that seemed to say, “Satoru, you're a jerk,” contrasted with a tender smile that said, “Satoru, even though you're an otaku, I love you,”.

"But he doesn't love you anymore, stupid,” he muttered as he strolled through the mall. Suddenly, he spotted a Nintendo store. He leaned his nose against the display case and looked at the items for sale. A television was showing a game of Mario Kart. He smiled, reddened.

How many times had they fought because of that game?

“You're horrible with Toad, why do you insist, Suguru?”; ‘Because I want to show you that I can beat you with anyone, because it's not about the character, it's about knowing how to drift and using the items well’; ‘It's all that you said plus the character, you'll be stupid, Suguru’; ‘Very well, then beat me once and for all’; ‘How about you shut up?’; ‘Then you shut up, stupid’; ‘Shut me up’; ‘Ha, you know how I'll shut you up’; ‘Do it’.

No, it was better to put it this way: how many times had they fucked thanks to that game?

***

Suguru took a breath before knocking on the door. When he came out of his hotel he felt glorious, self-confident like never before. Yet there, about to meet Satoru again on a date plan, he felt small, tiny. And vulnerable, as vulnerable as he had been before breaking up with him. He swallowed. Maybe being there wasn't such a good idea, maybe the best thing was to turn around and....

"Suguru, come in before we both regret it."

Satoru had opened the door. He was looking at him, leaning on the landing with his arms crossed. He had smelled her scent ever since he entered the hotel. And not only that. Also his insecurity. A short time near him was enough for his six eyes to transform the kind of energy Geto emanated into information. It was like a kind of synchronization. Because of that kind of thing, Satoru sometimes thought he was born to be with him. That and the way he was looking at him at that moment, as if reading his mind.

Suguru, for his part, was extremely annoyed that Gojo had this notion of some sort of predestination over them. All that was nothing but garbage. Sure, he had thought so too, especially after kissing him for the first time, but he had put that foolish belief aside after meeting Toji Fushiguro. If he really was Satoru's destiny, then why had he abandoned him?

He shook his head and felt Gojo's hand. The albino, sensing what the black-haired man was thinking, had grabbed him by the wrist to make him enter his room.

Geto didn't say anything to him. He only looked at him with surprise after seeing that on the table there was a magnificent dinner for two.

"I thought we could eat,” said Gojo, embarrassed.

"Satoru, I came here to get fucked, not to talk."

The albino smiled at him, flirtatiously. The curse handler's frankness had turned him on. However, he was starving.

"I know." He moved closer to Geto's face and, delicately, ran his fingers through his hair. Fuck, how beautiful he was. He put his mouth next to his ear. "Believe me when I tell you that you'll need the energy,” he whispered.

Suguru didn't say anything. He was probably right. He sat down at the table and looked at the dishes.

"Where do I sit?"

"It doesn't matter. They're both the same plates."

Geto had no reason to be upset, because Satoru had no way of knowing that he had become a vegetarian. However, he felt angry.

"Your six eyes didn't notice the kind of proteins my body is synthesizing?” the black-haired man asked wryly.

"What?"

"I've been a vegetarian for over a year."

Satoru felt jaded. So that was Suguru's mood. Behaving like an idiot. He took Geto's plate and removed all the meat from it, leaving only the rice and vegetables. Suguru watched him intently, as he lit a cigarette.

"Well, my six eyes have no way of knowing that, especially considering that the body doesn't make any difference in the type of protein,” said Gojo, lightly. "I'm surprised at you, Geto Sama, that you don't know something so basic."

The curse handler took a deep drag on his cigarette, trying to hide the embarrassment he felt. It was probably the first time Satoru had ever caught him at something like this. How could he have been so stupid? No, not stupid. Impulsive. Even though he didn't want to, the grudge he held against the albino was surfacing. It wasn't the idea. He had gone all the way to that place to be fucked until he couldn't move. Although, Suguru sensed, perhaps fucking from hate could be much better than from love.

Satoru watched him smoke, feeling that dangerous mix of anger and excitement he was dangerously getting used to. He hadn't seen much of Suguru’s unpleasant side. He had left before Suguru turned into the diva sitting across from him. A wave of embarrassment washed over him as he remembered that. Suguru had left him. Not just that, but in front of hundreds of strangers. And, of course, everyone found out—there’s no keeping secrets in the world of sorcery. It was pretty humiliating walking around school knowing that the strongest guy didn’t just have a weak spot, but that weak spot decided to kill his own parents and, worse, was a man. He’d had enough trouble accepting his sexuality without being figuratively pointed at in the halls. All thanks to Suguru, who decided to break his heart like that.

The two sorcerers stared at each other, each secretly furious with the other. Suddenly, Satoru stood up, took the cigarette out of Suguru’s mouth, and put it out.

"I’m not interested in fucking with a chimney, even if it’s a vegetarian chimney."

Suguru was stunned. That was weird. When they were together, he’d never cared if Satoru smoked before sex. In fact, he never cared about anything. Suguru could go five days without showering, and Satoru would still take him with the same desire and intensity. Which, in fact, had happened during Suguru’s worst depressive state. Wow, how wrong. That was kind of taking advantage. He smiled, realizing he was turned on. That was wrong. So damn wrong.

He started eating his veggies in silence while watching Satoru, who was doing the same, both wondering what the hell was going through the other idiot’s head.

For Gojo, that he needed to fuck that idiot until he couldn’t breathe.

For Geto, that he needed that imbecile to fuck him into unconsciousness.

"I need a drink". Suguru said, opening the wine. He looked at the label and smiled. "Excellent choice, even for someone who doesn’t drink, Satoru."

Gojo pointed to his glass while swallowing his food.

"Well, today I’m going to have a glass."

Suguru looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure? You might regret it tomorrow."

"I’ll probably regret it tomorrow, yeah, but not the wine."

“Ouch. Satoru is on a roll,” thought the curse manipulator while filling the albino’s glass.

Gojo downed it in one gulp, and due to his unique brain and the speed at which his neurons made and unmade connections, he got drunk instantly. As a result, he impulsively said:

"Seems like I can’t fucking stand you anymore, Suguru."

Geto looked at him impassively, one hand swirling the wine and the other resting his gorgeous head. Did he expect to feel that? Yeah. Did it hurt to confirm it? Also, yeah. Would he react in any way? No. The wine was delicious, and Satoru being a jerk made it taste even better.

"I’ll leave if you want" he said, making a show of standing up.

"Doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you and…"

"So what are you waiting for?"he interrupted with a flirtatious smile, though he was starting to get nervous. He didn’t like the tone Satoru’s rant was taking.

"…doesn’t mean I don’t miss you every fucking second". The albino took a deep breath. "Suguru, I…"

"No, please. Don’t say it. Anything but that."

Gojo took off his bandage slowly. He was drunk and felt that gave him the courage he needed, which he only lacked when it came to Suguru. Maybe he’d never see him again. He needed to get this off his chest, now or never.

"…I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you."

"Satoru! I asked you not to say that!"

"Why don’t you want to hear it, huh?"

Suguru downed the rest of his wine and refilled his glass. His heart was pounding hard. He didn’t expect that, especially not for him to say it. He felt a strange urge to cry. He missed him too. No one understood him like he did, no one saw him like he did, and above all, no one would ever match up to him. Only Satoru.

Yeah, he still loved him too. But he didn’t want to say it. Verbalizing it meant truly feeling it, and Suguru couldn’t handle that at this point in his life.

"You could join me, you know?". He surprised himself by saying, in a very low voice. “Yeah, maybe it’s not such a bad idea. It would actually be beautiful to build the new world together,” he thought, as a sincere smile formed on his face.

Satoru snorted. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. No, it wasn’t the answer he wanted. He was sure (or almost sure) that Geto also loved him. He wouldn’t have bothered being there otherwise.

Or would he? Maybe it was all part of a plan to seduce him and bring him to his side. After all, together they could be invincible, and Suguru knew that better than anyone. If he was on his side, no one would dare lay a finger on him, and the sorcery schools would have no choice but to step aside.

Thinking this made the albino’s blood boil. So he just wanted him for his power, just like the rest of the world. Well, screw that.

He put the bandage back on and said coldly:

"Your utopia? No, it’s not a utopia. Let’s call it a delusional fantasy."

Suguru stared at him for a couple of seconds, blinking slowly. Was he really responding to that nonsense? Didn’t he realize what an honor that was? No, not just that. He was practically asking to get back together. After everything they’d both been through, all the resentment and rage they felt, he, Geto Sama, was willing to give in. Of course, it was always the same with the albino. Suguru had always been the reasonable one, the one who managed to cool Gojo’s passions so he wouldn’t end up smashing someone’s face in or reflecting on a mistake he’d made. And it wasn’t easy. Not even his meditation sessions were as challenging for his patience. Yet, he was willing to take him back. Even after all he hadn’t done. Who the hell did he think he was? Oh right. The magnificent Gojo Satoru.

"Me, delusional? You tried to kill me!" Geto exclaimed, pouring himself more wine. "And I’m sure no big shot was pressuring you at that moment."

Satoru’s anger turned into nervousness. The fact that he had gotten into a fighting stance at that moment was something that haunted him constantly. Yes, he had really considered, for more than a second, killing Suguru before it became an order. He knew Suguru had noticed it, in fact, he had even dared him to do it. But like a kid caught doing his worst prank, he chose to deny it.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Suguru raised an eyebrow and laughed with sarcasm. He couldn’t believe Satoru was pretending not to remember.

"Are you serious? When we broke up. No, when I LEFT you."

Gojo, more nervous than before and knowing it was a bad idea, poured himself more wine. He downed it in one go and then threw the glass on the floor. He really didn’t know how to act. No one, absolutely no one else made him act so erratically.

"YOU’RE LYING! YOU’RE STILL A LIAR, GETO SUGURU!"

Geto stood up, furious. He got very close to him, their faces just inches apart.

"Do you dare call me a liar? What was it, huh? Red? Or…purple?"

"YOU WERE TURNED AWAY!". Rage and guilt clouded Satoru’s judgment, and he was no longer keeping track of his volume. "YOU’RE CRAZY!"

"YOU JUST CONTRADICTED YOURSELF! HAVE YOU ALWAYS BEEN THIS STUPID? I PRACTICALLY BEGGED YOU TO KILL ME!". Geto started pacing around the room, trying to calm down but failing miserably. The urge to hurt the albino at that moment outweighed everything else.

"When have I ever lied to you? Huh?" he continued, in a calm voice. "Or is it that the fact that I stopped loving you hurt your ego so much that you see it as a lie? It was just what I felt. When I loved you, I said it, and it was true every time. Then it stopped being true. That’s all."

Gojo’s heart skipped a beat. This day was turning out to be one of the worst and most unpredictable of his life. The swings with Suguru were too much. He felt he couldn’t take it anymore and walked toward the door.

Suguru glared at him with anger. Even though he was having a terrible time, he didn’t want, for anything in the world, for the albino to leave.

"So, your ego is infinite too", he said with irony.

Satoru had opened the door but slammed it shut again.

"You’re calling me egotistical? It was your ego that couldn’t handle the objective fact that I’M the strongest, and that’s why you always resented me! It’s pathetic!". Gojo had never felt so angry. He got into a fighting stance, ready to cast a spell. "Do you want me to do it now? Because you know I CAN AND HAVE TO do it! I’m so superior to you that there’s no chance of me being wrong!"

Suguru yawned dramatically, pretending to be calm when he wasn’t. He was drunk, angry, and confused. Nothing seemed to make sense.

"Do whatever you want. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck."

They stared at each other, both agitated. Gojo remained in his fighting stance. Suddenly, he lowered his guard. He sat back down and covered his face with both hands, distressed.

"Don’t you know everything I’m risking, every second that I let you live?"

"Yes. And I don’t care. After all, it’s your decision."

That was too much for Gojo. He yanked at his bandage with such fury and force that he ended up ripping it.

"YOU’RE A SNAKE! A MONSTER! HOW ARE YOU ANY DIFFERENT FROM THE REST? YOU BROKE ALL YOUR PROMISES! YOU SWORE YOU WOULDN’T LEAVE ME, THAT YOU’D LIVE YOUR LIFE WITH ME! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT’S BEEN TO START SMILING AGAIN AFTER THAT DISAPPOINTMENT?"

"HA! SHALL WE BE FRANK? FINE! YOU PROMISED ME YOU’D PROTECT ME, THAT YOU’D ALWAYS BE BY MY SIDE! BUT WHEN I NEEDED YOU, WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU ABANDONED ME! YOU DIDN’T EVEN ASK! YOU JUST DECIDED I WASN’T THAT BAD OFF AND LEFT ME ALONE!"

Geto clenched his fists tighter and was breathing heavily. He moved towards Gojo with the intention of hitting him but hesitated when he heard him sobbing. He couldn’t help but remember the last time he saw him like this, alone, in his room, shortly after Haibara’s death. It felt like his soul was melting. He couldn’t stand seeing him like this because, on the rare occasions Satoru cried, he did so with sobs that seemed to come from the darkest place within him.

“I’m tired. I don’t want to keep hurting him,” Suguru thought. He sat down beside him and gently took his hands away from his eyes. He wiped the tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

Gojo smiled. “I should push him away, but this feels… so good.”

"Gross. Your shirt smells like cigarretes."

Geto pushed him away with a laugh and then rested his head on his shoulder. He took one of his hands and began to stroke it.

"You're right. I’m no different from the rest. I’m probably a worse person than you, Satoru". He sighed."Listen. You’re not stupid. You never were. I’m sorry I said that. I don’t believe it at all. You know that, right?"

Satoru smiled warmly.

"I know. And you’re not a monster. I’ve never really thought that."

Suguru snuggled into the six eyes' arms, resting against his chest. Gojo kissed his forehead and then started twirling his finger in Geto’s bangs, just like he used to when they were together.

"We’re a mess, Suguru. There are forces that don’t want us together. You know the bigwigs are hell-bent on me killing you, right? They want to make sure you don’t reincarnate."

"Yeah. I’ve known that since I decided to leave. It’s textbook material, Satoru. I’m not surprised you didn’t know until you had to live through it. You’re all experience, no theory. Some would say you’re lazy", Suguru laughed.

"I’m not lazy! It’s just that studying sorcery never made sense to me. And you know I’m good at everything by default, so what’s the point in studying? Look, the only thing that’s true in our world is that everyone’s a bunch of treacherous rats, hungry for money and whatever other crap."

"And you’re not ? Because I am."

"Yeah, you are. And me? Well, I’m just into eating sweets, remember?"

Geto laughed. He sat up and rested his hands on Satoru’s knees. He stayed like that for a while, thoughtful. Talking about Satoru, or anyone, eventually killing him had brought to mind something he’d been reflecting on for a while.

"Listen. I’m sure this is the last time we’ll see each other without one of us ending up dead. I need to ask you something. And I need you to swear you’ll do it."

"Suguru…"

"When I’m executed…my body, my corpse…give it to Nanako and Mimiko, my girls. I’m all they have."

Gojo turned pale. The way Suguru talked about his death made it feel real, something he didn’t want to happen for anything in the world. Let alone be the one responsible. And, on top of that, what he was asking was completely out of the ordinary.

"Suguru, no. That’s impossible and you know it."

"I need to be taken to a place that only they and I know about. Or I’ll never rest. I’ll be doomed to wander in some subway station or something, trapped for all eternity."

"That’s not even part of your religion; you just made it up."

"No, it’s like that for sorcerers like me. There’s little information, but it’s true. I swear, Satoru. It’s really important to me."

Satoru sighed sadly. He didn’t want to keep talking about this.

"That also means getting involved with Shoko’s work. I can’t do that to her."

"Shoko will understand. Believe me."

"Ieiri is my friend."

"And me? Am I not your friend?"

Gojo suddenly remembered everything Suguru had said that day and felt angry again. He pushed Suguru’s hands off his knees and stood up.

"Are we even something? Do you feel anything for me now?"

Suguru walked over to the table, grabbed the wine bottle, and chugged what was left. He was fed up with Satoru's insecurities. Nothing was ever enough for him. What did he expect? For him to crawl and say he loved him? Hell no. Angry, he threw the bottle at Satoru, who dodged it.

"Enough! Why the hell do you always need so much affirmation from me? You’re Gojo Satoru! Or are you going to deny it? You’re the strongest, you’re basically Anakin Skywalker, the one who brings balance. What do you need? For me to sign my feelings for you in blood? Isn’t it enough that I’m here, risking my life?"

The dark-haired man sat back down, agitated. The truth was, he hated losing his temper like this, but it only happened with Satoru. He was the only one who made him want to hurt someone. He knew it was wrong, but damn it, that’s how it was. Complicated. The only reason he said all that was because he knew Suguru’s approval was the only one that mattered. And that stressed him out. He didn’t want to have that responsibility on his shoulders. All he wanted when he decided to visit him in his room was a moment of peace. To be with him, have sex, and then sleep, even if just for a few minutes, on his chest. Was that too much to ask?

He looked at Gojo, who was staring off into the distance. For a moment, he remembered his girls. He saw the three of them on the beach in Sendai. Hell, he could even put up with Fushiguro’s kid. Playing, happy, like siblings. And the two of them watching, hugging. Like nothing ever happened.

On the other hand, Gojo was hurt but didn’t want to keep crying in front of him. He felt weak, small, something he literally only felt in the aspects of his life related to Suguru. And he hated feeling that way because, in those moments, the finiteness of his existence became tangible. Suguru was right. He was insecure and a hypocrite. He promised he’d protect him, and he couldn’t even help him when he needed it. But what could he do at that moment? They were there driven by desire. Or at least that was the case at first, as now they seemed like a couple that’s been married for forty years and on the verge of divorce.

He wanted to leave Sendai, wanted to break everything. But at the same time, he knew that once he closed that door, he wouldn’t see Geto again. Not like this. Not with the open possibility of touching him, talking to him, and playing with his bangs. So he held back his feelings, because the pain of his absence was far worse than the pain from his wounds.

Geto snapped out of his fantasy. He looked at Gojo and saw him more vulnerable than ever. He felt terrible. He never said it, but he hated seeing him like this. Part of it embarrassed him, and part of it felt like it was his own pain, or even worse.

He felt overheated. It was the alcohol, combined with the coast and the excitement of being there with him. He went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Yes, that was just what he needed.

The albino, seeing this and not knowing why, followed him.

"Satoru...” he muttered, ”I'm exhausted. I don't want to argue anymore. The truth is, I really thought there was a chance I could take you with me. I miss you. Every fucking day, I miss you."

"Suguru, you have no idea how much I think about you. Look." He took something out of his pocket. "Look what I have."

Geto looked at it curiously and then smiled tenderly, on the verge of tears. It was a small Toad keychain.

"I bought it this afternoon. I don't know if you really remember, but..."

Gojo didn't get to finish speaking, as Suguru silenced him with a kiss. Satoru kissed him back, and then grabbed his hair and loosened his bun. Then he took off the top of his clothes and pushed him into the shower. Geto just let him do it. He didn't want to resist. Satoru got in with him and cornered him against the wall with his arms.

"Let's get this shit off our backs, Suguru. Since it's the last time, let's make it count."

He kissed him, first on the mouth, then on the neck.

Suddenly, Suguru grabbed Satoru by the arms and pinned him down. He pulled down his pants. He licked his neck and, slowly, began to stick the tips of his long fingers into his anus.

"Suguru...” Satoru smiled, excited. "You're a cheater."

"We didn't do it so much like that, huh? But I seem to remember you enjoyed it like the bitch you are."

Satoru, his penis hard as a rock, tried to get loose, but he couldn't. He didn't want to, rather.

"Are you going to talk to me like that?"

"Are you going to let me talk to you like that? Tell me: aren't you a bitch?"

Gojo laughed and again tried to turn around. Suguru stuck his tongue in his ear. Then he ran it over his lips. Gojo stuck out his to kiss him, but Geto pulled away.

"Suguru...you've changed."

"Oh, honey. You have no idea."

Geto pressed him harder against the wall; he kept fingering him. He smiled as he spotted the lube on the bathroom cabinet.

Satoru began to wiggle his ass backwards, searching for the black-haired man's penis.

"Are you ready? Do you want me to stick it in you?"

"Oh...Suguru...don't be an idiot. Do it, quick."

Suguru pulled his fingers out and pulled away.

"You're not going to order me around,” he grabbed him by the white hair and forcefully pulled him toward him. ”Or are you?"

Satoru was literally on fire. He felt drunk, not only because of the alcohol, but Suguru's smell electrified his whole body.

"No... put it in me. Just... put it in me."

Suguru moved closer again. He put his penis close to Satoru's ass, making sure he felt it in all its greatness, and began to put lube on it. He turned on the shower more, letting the hot water soak him. Then, he whispered in his ear.

"Say please."

Gojo could hardly speak anymore from excitement. All that came out of him were moans.

"Put it in me...please, Suguru. Put it in me. I beg you."

"You're such a bitch, Satoru."

Geto grabbed him by the waist and thrust in, hard. Satoru, dizzy with pleasure, didn't moan, but screamed. He couldn't even tell him to stop or go on, no. His body could not generate a sound other than those howls that could easily have been of suffering.

But they weren't. Rarely did Satoru let himself be penetrated, but not because he disliked it. In fact, only Suguru had that privilege, only the black-haired man was able to achieve that craving, so he had not felt that glory in his prostate for a year and a half. The heat of the shower, with that of his body and his sweat kept him in a perpetual hot flash that felt devilishly good. After a couple of minutes, he couldn't hold it in any longer. His back arched and his cum painted the wall.

Suguru stroked his back delicately and Satoru turned around. He looked for a couple of seconds into his purple eyes and, seeing them smiling back at him, smothered him with a passionate kiss.

“Wow, Satoru...I still...” said Suguru, indicating his erect penis.

"Do you think that after all this time that's going to be all?"

The albino took Suguru in his arms and carried him back to the room. He laid the curse handler's body on the table where they had eaten dinner, throwing everything away. Suguru laughed, as his penis hardened even more. Satoru, without any warning, shoved two of his full fingers into the black-haired man's hole.

"Ouch", whispered Geto, playfully.

"You're ready. And I'm going to fuck you like an animal."

"Tsk...Satoru...you don't have to warn..."

Gojo lifted Suguru's warm, wet hips and penetrated him, as deep as their hyperlax bodies would allow.

"Satoru...you're...you're a fucker", Suguru laughed, as he stuck his tongue out at him.

Gojo slipped his into his mouth. Then he bit his neck, taking the opportunity to inhale his scent. Suguru did the same, drowning his nose in his white hair. Synesthesia was a privilege of few and, in general, all colors smelled good, but Satoru's simply had no comparison. Suguru felt able to go to war over the scent of purple emanating from the albino's skull. He took a lock of the white hair, which glowed purplish in the dark, and pulled it out. Satoru laughed, like a madman and began to lick his nipples, while he penetrated him with perfect rhythm and smiled mischievously at him.

My god, how beautiful he was, how had he left that wonderful creature? Nothing compared to the white hair clinging to his skin, his cheeks flushed with sweat, and those light blue eyes watering with pure pleasure.

And that penis. That glorious penis.

"Do you want it?" Satoru said, sensing what was going through the black-haired man's head.

"Yes."

"Me first."

Gojo, quickly and with the same contradictory mix of strength and gentleness that drove him crazy, sat Suguru down and took his wet, veiny penis into his mouth. Suguru, weak from the surprise and excitement he had been feeling, couldn't hold anything in. A couple of flicks of the albino's deft tongue were all it took for the curse-handler to expel, along with the most melodic moan Gojo had ever heard, all of his semen into the six-eyed man's mouth.

Satoru dug his nails into his hips and grinned at him, still holding Suguru's magnificent cock in his mouth. Some of the liquid was trickling out of the corner of his lips.

"You're not going to swallow it?"

Satoru gladly swallowed Geto's semen. It tasted as good as ever.

He grabbed Suguru's face tightly and kissed him, choking him with his long tongue in his slick throat.

"I'm a crazy little bitch, don't you remember?"

Suguru laughed out loud.

"Of course I remember. I'll never forget. I haven't stopped thinking about you like that, even when I've been with other people."

Satoru looked at him in surprise. What a day. He hadn't expected to be the image Suguru used to fuck other people.

Suguru arched an eyebrow.

"Have you been all this time without...?"

"Of course not. But...". He pulled the black-haired man back to him and squeezed his hardened nipples. "...no one turns me on like you do, Suguru. There's no one as sexy. So I haven't been particularly interested in anyone else, see?"

Satoru grabbed Suguru's member and began to fiddle with it.

"Hard again. Looks like I'm not the only little bitch,” the albino added.

"No. You're not the only bitch,” Suguru said as he put his hands on Gojo's crotch and began to masturbate him. "I warn you: I could go on all night."

Satoru was breathing heavily, as he stroked the back of the curse handler. He fixed his eyes on those manly shoulders, wet with sweat and dyed black by his jet-black hair. He could go on all night, too. In fact, he could keep fucking Suguru all his fucking life.

"Is it a competition?"

"I always liked playing with you, Satoru. And against you,” Suguru replied as he put his face between the six-eyed man's legs.

Gojo grabbed him by the hair and pulled him hard, pulling him away from his cock. That was his favorite game.

"I could fuck you 'till I die."

Suguru laughed, with pleasure. No one else would pull his hair. No one would even dare to ask, but Satoru....

Satoru could do anything he wanted to him.

"This...ha. It's my weak spot. You know that. You're the cheater...oh, you damn albino."

Satoru grinned and pulled his hair harder, to the point of arching his back. He licked his lips at the sight of the beautiful curve the black-haired man's body formed.

"Now you beg."

Suguru stuck his tongue out at him, mischievous.

"No. Never."

Satoru pulled his hair again.

"Beg me or I won't feed you."

Suguru thought he was going to cum on his own because he was so turned on by Satoru pulling his hair, but he wasn't going to give in.

"I...I told you that...oh, Satoru. I told you no."

"I'll punish you, then."

Gojo pulled his hair violently and held a small lock in his hand. Suguru, feeling it, cried out, in a mixture of pain and pleasure. For the second time in the evening he realized that Satoru mistreating him unlocked pleasures he had never felt before.

The curse manipulator rejoined him, pushed the albino onto the bed and sat on top of him.

"Hey, It hurt,” he said as he tied his hair back.

"So?"

"Do you want to know how it feels?"

Satoru looked at him piercingly. Suddenly, his countenance darkened. He had come back to reality for an instant.

"You hurt me already, Suguru. Always."

Hearing that, Suguru's expression changed as well.

"Don't think It doesn't hurt me too, Satoru."

"You're so beautiful, Suguru."

Gojo caressed his cheeks. Geto took his hands and left them on his face for a moment. He closed his eyes and inhaled, deeply. He wanted to remember that moment forever.

Suddenly, Gojo kissed him passionately.

"Let's not think about that now. Just...". He buried his nails in the black-haired man's buttocks again, and then spanked him with a spank that would leave his big hand scarred"...Make me suffer in another way, honey."

Suguru laughed and then bit his neck, drawing blood. He licked at this one, running his tongue over his elegant lips. Then, he put both hands around the albino's neck, and began to ride him slowly.

"Like this?"

"Take...take my breath away."

Satoru was overcome with a pleasure almost impossible to describe, which tensed his muscles like never before. He felt adrenaline building in his chest and at the base of his penis. Suguru clenched his hands tighter and the albino's half-closed eyes, along with a grimace begging for air, brought him closer and closer to his zenith. Suddenly, Satoru scratched the black-haired man's buttocks so hard that a small trickle of blood came out of them. Suguru, feeling the burning that the albino's scratch brought with it, became even more aroused and continued to ride him with a speed and eagerness to feel Satoru's member that could only be compared to that of a thirsty man looking at a cold pitcher of water.

Suddenly, Satoru pulled out of him and ejaculated like never before, leaving Suguru's chest and stomach covered with his liquid. Gojo, seeing that his partner still wasn't cuming, came over and kissed him passionately while masturbating him. They stayed like that, lost in the sound of moaning and their skin rubbing against each other, until the violent grip of Suguru's hand on the albino's shoulder made him realize that the black-haired man had reached orgasm.

They both remained sitting on the floor, looking at each other and breathing hard. At the same time, they realized the mess they had left in the room and, also at the same time, laughed.

"We're pigs,” said Suguru.

"Bah, how else could the strongest fuck, huh?", said the albino throwing a pillow at him.

They laughed again. They looked at each other, complicit. Satoru approached Geto and kissed him on the cheek.

"What did I tell you? 'Till I die,” he said as he put the black-haired man's hands on his crotch, so Suguru could feel his new erection. "What about you?"

"Always."

***

Many hours later, when it was almost dawn, Gojo watched Geto sleep. He stroked his hair, gently. Suddenly, he looked at the time and rubbed his eyes. He sighed and sat on the balcony, watching the sea. His mind was blank, focused only on feeling that moment. A small tear peeked out of his left eye.

He stood up resolutely and took out a sheet of paper and a pencil from his bag. He began to write. Once he finished, he watched him sleep for a while longer. He caressed a lock of his hair delicately and, in the same way, left what he had written on his pillow. He picked up his torn bandage, his purse and walked to the door. He stopped, hesitantly, and returned to the bed. He kissed Suguru on the forehead, deposited what was left of his bandage on the bedside table and left.

No sooner had Satoru gotten into the academy car than Suguru awoke. He was disconcerted to realize that the albino was gone, and felt like vomiting when he saw the envelope with the letter.

With his heart pounding, he began to read.

"Suguru:

When you read this, I'll be back in Tokyo, and I hope you'll understand that I can't be with you. Not just because I shouldn't, but because I don't want to. Our paths aren't the same. Our ideals aren't either. Maybe they never were. Remember how we used to argue about that? That's why you broke up with me. It was the right thing to do, and I respect it.

I want you to know that I know you go to that place every now and then. Your trace is basically the same, but sometimes something changes. When I figured that out, I started visiting that station more. It was like seeing you, in a way. I know you’ve seen me there. I’ve seen you too. It was our way of reconnecting, of knowing we thought of each other. Believe me, the thought of you often kept me going. But I can't do it anymore. I have a kid to take care of, and due to circumstances beyond my control, he knows who you are and what you've done. If he found out about what we were... no, what we still are to each other, he'd never trust me again. And I can't do that to him. I know you understand. So, please, don’t do anything like what happened these past days. Don’t come after curses that I’ll have to exorcise, because I can’t see you again. It was horrible and beautiful at the same time, but going from saying we never loved each other, to trying to kill each other, to almost sleeping together, to hating each other again, and then spending the whole night together… it’s a rollercoaster I can’t handle. And I don’t want to. It’s truly impossible for us to be together again; those years are gone. Saying goodbye today is as painful as it was that day.

I need to focus on what I want to do with my life, and for that, I need to try living without the painful longing to find you. I need us to leave each other in peace."

Suguru crumpled the letter and threw it in the trash. He kicked the furniture around, making an even bigger mess. He grabbed his bag, put on his Gojo kesa, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

However, in his rage and pain, Suguru didn’t notice that the letter continued on another page, and there was something else in the envelope. Three polaroid photos of the two of them: one in a field, taken by Haibara; one at school, taken by Shoko; and one in Okinawa, taken by Riko. In each one, they were looking at each other like fools, in love. Immersed in each other, as if there was nothing and no one else around.

The letter continued:

"I want you to have these photos of us. No, they’re not the only ones I have, but they’re the ones I always carry with me. Because that’s how I like to remember us: in love. No matter how much crap we said last night, we both know the truth: I was born to find you, and you were born to find me. Life threw us some bad breaks. We got through most of them, but the final one is unbeatable.

I’ll take care of what you asked me because I love you, Suguru. I said it a thousand times, and it was always real; today it still is. I love you from the first moment I saw you, with your bangs. And I’ll never love anyone else. Not like this. You’re my only special person. No matter what anyone says: there will never be anything more than your love. No memory compares to your touch, your look, your voice calling me by my name.

Forgive me for leaving like this.

Forgive me for not being the partner you needed.

Forgive me, already, for killing you.

Yours, always.

Satoru.

PS: If I could, I’d go with you after that eclipse. I’d stay with you until death came for us.

You’re beautiful, Suguru."

————————————————————-

(Tysm if you read it all! It means a lot!)

If someone knows the artist please tell me so I can give credit 🙏🏻

[brodygold]

His Full Potential

Ethan was frustrated.

He had poured weeks of hard work into training, hoping to realize his dream of becoming a professional boxer, but progress was nonexistent. Each punch he threw felt weak, barely moving the punching bag, while his body ached with every jab he received. Worse yet, the thought of facing real opponents terrified him. Ethan wasn’t just losing to the punching bag. He was losing to himself and the ghosts of his imaginary opponents.

"Maybe I’m just not cut out for this..." he muttered, staring at his reflection in the locker room mirror, hands shaking as he prepared for another day of disappointing training. His desire was there, burning inside, but his body wasn’t following through. "I wish I could be a real boxer."

Unbeknownst to him, Brody had been listening in. Brody, a seasoned athlete known for his incredible strength and heart, had seen this scenario many times before—potential buried under self-doubt. And he had just the thing to unlock it.

Brody approached with an easy, confident stride. “Yo, bro. Need a hand?”

Startled, Ethan whipped around and slammed into the locker, causing a loud clattering. "Ow, um, yeah. I guess you could say that." His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Brody smiled. “I’ve been there, man. I know what it feels like to want something so bad and just not hit the mark. But, I think I’ve got something that’ll help you hit harder, bro.” He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a pair of gleaming gold boxing gloves.

Ethan’s eyes widened. “Uh, thanks… but these are way too big for me.” The gloves shimmered under the fluorescent lights, almost looking alive in his hands.

“Don’t worry about the size, bro. Trust me. Let’s see what they can do for you.”

Ethan hesitated, but something about Brody’s calm confidence made him want to believe. He slid his hands into the oversized gloves, and Brody tightened them around his wrists. The moment the gloves were secured, Ethan felt a surge of energy pulse through him. It was like a current running up his arms, spreading through his chest and down his legs.

“What... what’s happening to me?” Ethan gasped, looking at his hands in disbelief as his muscles began to swell.

Brody grinned. “Don’t sweat it, bro. You’re just unlocking your full potential. Part of the brocess, you know?”

Ethan’s arms began to thicken, bulging with new muscle. His chest expanded, pecs growing larger and harder with every breath. His once soft belly vanished, revealing a rock-hard set of abs, defined and gleaming with strength. His legs grew thicker, more stable, the muscles coiling under his skin like springs ready to explode into action.

But the changes weren’t just physical. As Ethan’s body transformed, so did his mind. The fear, the doubt—gone. In its place was a powerful, singular focus. The thought of stepping into the ring no longer filled him with dread, but with excitement. Every punch he imagined throwing was charged with an unstoppable rage. Boxing wasn’t just something he wanted to do anymore—it was who he was.

“How you feeling, bro?” Brody asked, watching Ethan’s transformation with a knowing smirk.

Ethan rolled his shoulders, feeling the raw power surging through him. “Fucking amazing bro.” His voice was deeper now, steady and full of confidence. He balled his fists, feeling the crackle of energy in his knuckles. “I’ve got a match coming up soon. Time to show ‘em what I’m made of.”

Brody slapped Ethan on the back. “That’s the spirit, bro! Good luck.”

Ethan smirked, his eyes burning with determination. “Luck? I don’t need luck.” He smashed his fists together, the sound echoing through the locker room like thunder. “I’m ready, bro. Time to show the world who I really am.”

And with that, Ethan strode out of the locker room, each step more confident than the last. He was ready to show the world his full potential.

[another-day]

time for the last episode in review, ever (almost i now realise)

as always !!!SPOILERS FOR II S2 EP17!!!

oh my gosh.

i knew the episode was gonna be bad and i was thinking of all the horrid things i thought could happen but not once did i ever fathom this could be it

i have too many screenshots, so let’s just get to it

its so surreal to think it all started like this, just a creative kid really who wanted nothing more than a distraction from his horrible reality

i feel like so many of us have been there; where reality feels hopeless so we confide in creation and what makes us happy — i know i have — and mephone really did seem happy with his creations, he really seemed happy with what he made and how it ended up - whether her knew he made them or not

his response of “cause its all i know” was kinda my first indication that this was never going to end well

mephone knew nothing but the fragments of himself, and in trying to create through those fragments, he quite literally could not create something that wasn’t broken. if its all he ever knew, how would he know how to create something that was foreign to him?

his incessant begging and bargaining that followed this was agonising, he doesn’t know how else to react because that’s the only way cobs taught him to atonefor his mistakes. mephone is trying his best, or what he believes to be his best, and it suddenly seems like everyone’s turning on him when they’re just confused.

he knows hurt, and seldom else, so naturally everything feels like hurt to him

even though i’m still reeling from everything genuinely do not know how to talk about the characters anymore — mandatory pickle acknowledgement, i still love the man

cobs has always been inherently selfish in his creations, yet mephone 4 branched out and tried to create something himself, to which cobs was upset because it wasn’t his.

but i feel like there was a selfishness in the creation of the contestants, akin to how we create ocs. mephone divvied all his problems amongst the contestants and had them suffer along him, something typically considered selfish, even if it wasn’t on purpose. one could say like father like son, i suppose.

this was a masterful sequence, and such an interesting way to portray suitcase’s fear and doubts through the hallucinations.

the sudden attack from knife that prompted it, cuts to black, the angles and the colours — they were all amazing. it helped really get to the root of suitcase as a character. she wanted nothing more than to do what she thought was right, but was constantly reprimanded and doubted by others.

she is helpless in this scene, just as mephone wrote her, helpless to doing anything as she essentially stares death in the eyes. yet she still tries to a degree, even in the face of nonexistence and death she perseveres as best she can — something linked to the ending of the episode.

this was probably one of the most hard to watch scenes in my opinion (there were quite a few for obvious reasons)

this extended scene of paintbrush on their knees, crying helplessly beside the body of their bestest friend in the whole show right after watching another fall. lightbulb changed them as a person, made them into a better one even. paintbrush always spoke of her so fondly and so proudly, like she meant the world to them, because maybe she did. despite the silly antics and baxter and the times she got on their nerves, lightbulb was probably the biggest contributor to who paintbrush is now, besides themselves of course.

and then she was gone, just like that, and paintbrush was alone. they had to carry the bodies, if you could even call them that, back to the mansion with the knowledge that now they had to be a leader, that she wanted them to be a leader. something they once fought for and would’ve accepted in a heartbeat so long ago, but something i know for a fact was not worth the death it accompanied.

so masterfully executed, a brilliant sequence of scenes.

this was such a striking scene. cobs knows what he’s doing.

he’s presenting mephone with what he’s created in its rawest form. those scribbly descriptions of characters mephone drew in the cloud thrown right in front of him to really show what he’s done. these characters developed and learned and grew, yet now they’re nothing more than a feeble object with a menial 2d personaily scrawled across them.

its so visceral seeing what each character was made with in mind, and seeing how that translates to who they are now. i’d go through all of the characters present here, but it is 4am as i write this, so i will not.

but these were the lights of mephone’s life, his unintentional darling creations that he never knew of. the contestants that so perfectly slot into the reality tv show roles that were so drilled into his head. the characters that grew and fell and got back up and tried their best despite everything that’s held them back. and now they’re back to the drawing board, their basic concepts.

i needed to talk about knife somewhere, i mean cmon

he was trying his best here, directly paralleling taco’s apology to pickle and microphone. he knows he’s hurt people, but he’s genuinely trying to make up for it. while he didn’t quite get why it was such a big deal, he’s consciously trying to, which is so admirable considering it brings him only more shame.

when he was bickering with suitcase in the final battle, dig after dig, he was reduced to that fundamental concept of himself — mean and a jerk. yet when he sides with her, helps her, helps others, a different side of him blooms — a change of heart.

knife is trying, just as suitcase is. i never knew who was going to win because no one was ever meant to and they knew that. they were equals and understood one another so deeply that it felt wrong for someone to win, thus comes the ending.

through no choice of their owm orginally struck me as a strange episode title, but i get it now.

through no choice of their own, the contestants pulled the plug to protect reality, because cobs had them all wrapped around his funger, the same way mephone was.

through no choice of his own, mephone was broken. through no choice of his own, mephone created the contestants. through no choice of his own, mephone discovered cob’s true intentions. through no choice of his own, mephone subtly manipulated the contestants to suit his agenda. through no choice of his own, they realised. through no choice of his own, he was breached by cobs. through no choice of his own, his creations, his contestants, his friends, were destroyed.

through no choice of his own, mephone had to return to everything that hurt him, because that’s the reality of the situation. in cob’s eyes, mephone was nothing more than a kid drawing up a story who humiliated himself and had to go home.

to mephone, that was his home, and its all gone now. what else does he have? where else can he go?

i pondered long ago that inanimate insanity was representative of the cycle of abuse, and while i wasn’t too far off, i was wrong.

inanimate insanity was an escape, of course, but it wasn’t part of the cycle until cobs meddled in it. mephone watched everything he had be ripped away until he was left with nothing but cobs, and what could he do then?

through no choice of his own, that was just how the cookie crumbled, i suppose.

anyways, i’m exhausted and its nearly 5am and i have a 2 hour concert later today. i’m hoping i’ll feel a little better after i sleep, but i’ll be off now.

thanks for reading this far, and i hope you have a lovely day

[knottedhearts]

Movie night: C.S

The room was dim, the soft glow from the TV flickering across the couch as you and Chris settled in for what was supposed to be a relaxed movie night. You were both in comfortable clothes, the kind you throw on when you just want to sink into the couch and forget the world.

The opening credits rolled, but your attention wasn’t on the screen. It wasn’t on the movie at all, really. It was on Chris, sitting right next to you, the space between you too small for comfort but too big for the tension that was building.

You shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, but your knee brushed against his, and it was like a spark. Neither of you said anything, but the electricity between you was undeniable. You felt his gaze on you, and when you looked up, you caught him staring at you, his lips twitching into a small smile.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice quieter than before, as though he was suddenly aware of the close proximity between you two.

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, voice a little unsteady, not entirely focused on the movie anymore.

Chris chuckled, and then, before you could process it, his hand slid over to your thigh, resting just above your knee. You froze for a moment, feeling the heat from his hand seeping through your clothes. His touch was light at first, almost like a casual move, but the weight of it sent a thrill rushing through you.

Your breath caught in your throat. The movie played on, but neither of you were paying attention to it anymore. His fingers began to move slightly, tracing the line of your thigh in slow, deliberate motions. You couldn’t decide if you should pull away, if you should stop it before it got too far—or if you should just let it happen.

You glanced at Chris, meeting his gaze again, this time with a bit of uncertainty in your eyes, but his were dark, full of intent. His thumb brushed over your skin in a slow, almost teasing motion, and you felt a surge of heat rush to your cheeks.

“Chris…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the movie. He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he shifted closer, his face hovering just inches from yours, and his hand slid higher, his fingers pressing into the soft fabric of your pants.

The space between you two was nonexistent now. The air felt heavy, charged, as though the world outside had vanished. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours, the kiss tentative at first. A soft touch, as if testing, gauging how you’d react. But when you didn’t pull away, when you leaned into it, his kiss deepened, the tenderness morphing into something much more intense.

You responded instantly, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. His hand on your thigh moved further, his touch heating you from the inside out. Every kiss, every touch seemed to burn away the last remnants of hesitation between you two. The movie played on, but neither of you could have cared less. This—this feeling—was all that mattered.

Chris pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice a low rasp, laced with desire.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you kissed him again, more urgently this time, all of the tension you’d been feeling finally released in that one, heated moment. And as his hands slid further up your thigh, the world outside the couch seemed to disappear completely.

Chris’s hand tightened on your thigh, you felt every movement, every shift, as his lips explored yours. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his mouth soft and warm, tasting faintly of the Pepsi you’d shared earlier.

Then, his tongue brushed against your lips, gentle, testing, before slipping into your mouth, igniting a fire in you that was impossible to ignore. The sensation was overwhelming, his tongue moving with a slow, confident rhythm that left you breathless. A soft, involuntary moan escaped you, a sound you hadn’t even realized you were capable of making.

The moment you did, you felt him smile against your lips, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. His hand on your thigh tightened, fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive edge. The kiss became deeper, almost hungry, his tongue exploring your mouth with a boldness that sent shivers down your spine.

You lost yourself in the feeling, your fingers sliding up his neck, tangling into his hair as you pulled him closer. The sound of the movie was a distant murmur in the background now, completely overshadowed by the way he was kissing you, by the soft gasps and sighs that slipped between you as his hands began to explore.

The room felt warmer, the air thick with tension as his mouth left yours, trailing along your jawline, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You leaned back, feeling his hand steady on your thigh, as he pressed another kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear, making you shiver.

“God…” he whispered, his voice rough as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with desire. His thumb traced slow circles on your leg, his other hand reaching up to cradle your face, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that felt like it could go on forever.

[bridgertonandchocolate]

Finished Bridgerton season 3 part 2 this morning and I have some initial thoughts after only one viewing. So I may forget something along the way. I have mixed feelings as a fan of the books. Overall if I didn’t have any book knowledge I would say it’s stellar but as a book fan there were parts I was certainly disappointed with. I’m sure the more I watch it I will get more used to it just as I did with part one but for now here’s some things I liked and probably some things I didn’t like.

Spoilers abound so if you haven’t seen it don’t continue reading.

My favorite episodes for part 2 were 5 and 7. While episode 5 was jam packed it was a good mix of things we love from the book.

I don’t think Pens family should have found out about her engagement in LW but that’s slim pickings to some other things that happened in this part. I loved Colin telling Portia off. I love how he was very much putting his love out there unabashedly. Whereas in the book the boy still didn’t have a clue. Everything that happened in their home from the mirror to everything else I thought was exquisite and well done. They packed it full of dialogue and book references so much so that I felt like they’d have nothing left for the other episodes. Loved the scene overall.

While I love the intimacy scenes with Polin I wish there was more. They promised so much steaminess and sexiness and it wasn’t there. There were many of missed opportunities throughout the other episodes too that I felt like they could’ve focused more on Polin than they did and more intimacy scenes definitely wouldn’t have hurt.

I hated how Colin responded once he discovered her. His arguments for being so angry felt so disingenuous to me. In the first two seasons he really didn’t pay much attention to LW at all and in fact I think at one point he even suspected Eloise so I don’t understand where this sudden hatred came from because it never really came about before. And then he just continued to be so angry about it. I hated that he wouldn’t even sleep in their room with Pen because he knows he still loves her. He still wanted a life with her. I think in the book he was still able to do that and he was much less angry and more concerned with her well-being. It’s just a difference I’ll have to get used to for the sake of my Polin heart. It just didn’t make sense to me. I also felt like this led to not much development for Colin. We see him feeling not so worthy and even not sure if Pen reciprocated feelings for him. All we really see is that he kind of gets over his hero complex and he realizes he was just jealous of her. They seemed to give a lot of his character development to Benedict in this part particularly about purpose and I felt this was a wasted opportunity. There was growth but nothing like we see with Pens growth. I loved this change from the book. That through Colin she used her new confidence to “save herself”. She was proud of that part of her and seeing her want to expose herself as LW was fabulous.

The Polin wedding was so beautiful and I nearly cried. I think Penelope’s wedding ring which is a claddagh ring is definitely a nod to Nicola Coughlan which I thought was amazing for them to do.

My favorite line from RMB didn’t even make it into the show. I was so disappointed about that and was yelling at my screen at times. I don’t know if I’ll get over it. The whole bit about him loving her with everything he is, had been and hopes to be and his past and future. And the future children and the smiles. All just gone. I wanted to cry.

I’m sure there will be more Polin thoughts. Overall I was mostly pleased but wished there would have been more spicy things and more character development for Colin. I want a Polin spinoff. I know they’re going to be in season 4 but if they end up doing to them what they did to Daphne and Kanthony I won’t watch anymore.

Here’s some other thoughts:

Benedict. Good grief. The first part his story was so nonexistent and then BAM it became nearly the main story in part 2. Stealing Polins thunder. Benedict seems so aimless in this season that I didn’t find anything about his storyline intriguing at all. It felt frivolous. I’m definitely thinking Benedict is season 4 now after episode 8 but it seems like Benny just wants to explore his sexuality and have fun more than anything else. I was so disappointed with the number of spicy scenes they put in. One would’ve sufficed since he wasn’t the season lead.

Francesca. They have ruined Francesca’s whole story now. Everything that made Francesca who she is is gone. Everything I loved about her book will probably not exist. I think changing the gender of Michael was not a good idea at all. I know that representation is important and I’m not opposed to people being gay. For me her whole story and basis for her character won’t exist and I’m not liking it.

Eloise. Girl. I hated you until about episode 7. I really was going into it thinking I needed mama bridgerton to get some sense into Eloise but I’m really glad she got there on her own. I was really pleased with where they took her in the last episode and that she’s going after something she wants and is actively trying to change her life instead of sticking around where she doesn’t feel she fits at the moment.

Kanthony. I thought part 1 was bad. Part 2 was worse. Some of their stuff was fine but it just felt overdone. Like they brought them back to play a key part and then they’re like just kidding now we’re going to India. Anthony was so cute in wanting their child to be born there and everything but I felt like then they could’ve explained their absence in part 1 differently. I am sure that Jonathan Bailey filming and preparing for multiple projects was a factor. Not sure if it was originally planned for them to play a bigger role but it definitely felt like the same dialogue between them and I hated it. I also didn’t like that they didn’t use Anthony more with Colin. It was mostly Kate and her newfound wisdom about marriage and zero from Anthony. He’s like raw eggs in the morning bro. Like come on. That did nothing for me.

I’m sure there will be more to come but for now these are my initial thoughts. As a thing separate from the book it’s fantastic as a fan of the book just wish there were certain things different.

[lawsvalentine]

• Let’s Discuss…..Sex with Usopp • (18+)

Black!reader

CW: explicit sexual content, virgin!usopp, reader is described as chubby and have brown skin, praise kink, slightly submissive!usopp, a bit of humor in the beginning bc Usopp is so unserious sometimes with his lies 😭

Cee’s Note: a lil bday gift to my dear @csnovas happy birthday beloved 🤍 hope you enjoy 😚

Also usopp’s live action actor been on my mind 😮‍💨🏃🏽‍♀️

[minors do NOT interact; explicit content ahead]

First and foremost, I believe Usopp is a VIRGIN

Nothing wrong with that, but he loves to pretend like he’s not 😭

I’ve mentioned this in a few past hcs but he loves to say things that will impress you and yes most of those things are him just lying through his teeth 😭

And you see right through every single one sgdhdj but it’s so endearing to play along and act like you actually believe them

“I once made a girl cum 10 times in one go” or “Every girl I’ve had sex with has squirted”

And your just like 🧍🏽‍♀️

Just the most OUTLANDISH lies PLSSS

But let’s say you play along bc you’re curious to see how long he will keep up his lies and part of you does have a crush on the sniper and wouldn’t mind seeing what he’s working with 🌝

When you propose the offer of sex to him, his facade falters and he is stunned that you actually want to have sex with him

But he quickly recollects himself and tries to act all smooth and you start to wonder how far he will go with this

He maintains his composure until you two are physically sat on the bed and that is when mans starts sweating bullets sgdhjd

You could feel the shaking sensation of his hands on your hips while you kiss him

You pull away and asks if he’s okay and he lies again saying he’s fine and that “this ain’t his first time” but you could see he is stressing out BAD

You pry again asking if he is telling the truth to which he finally comes clean when he sees how concerned you look and admits he has never done this before

You reassure him if he’s not ready, he doesn’t have to go through with it

Even though he is nervous as hell, he was not gonna pass up an offer to sleep with you. Mans has been crushing on you for the longest

So with that, you press your lips against his

I’m a firm believer that Usopp is a moaner and that he has trouble containing his moans, so when a soft moan escapes his lips, you smirk at the sound

In the start, you would have to guide him a bit. Now that he isn’t lying anymore his confidence is nonexistent

After a heated make out session, he is already half hard and bucking his hips into your touch

Yes I imagine him VERY needy

You start to unbuckle his suspenders (not the easiest item of clothing to get rid of sgshshjs) leaving him in nothing but his boxers with a prominent tent protruding under the fabric

You slide his boxers down and his cock springs out from it’s confines and your eyes widened at his size

You didn’t know what to expect but he was definitely more well endowed than you were expecting

You couldn’t help but to oggle the man under you , despite usopp’s cowardly and goofy personality you couldn’t deny that the 2 years did wonders to his physical appearance

If you vocally compliment his body, his dick would twitch and he would audibly moan at your praise

Yes he has a praise kink, i mean, are we surprised 🤭

As you undress yourself, his eyes gawk at your stunning curves of your chubby body and beautiful brown skin.

He moves closer to you and cautiously starts groping your chest, ears perking up when he hears your breathy sigh of pleasure

The sounds you make gives him a bit of confidence and he begins to suck the nipple, twisting and flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub

You begin to stroke his length while he continued stimulating you earning more whines snd moans from him

You guide his hand down to your front, growing impatient from the pleasure

Again, you will have to guide him on how to properly touch you and direct him to rub circles around your clit

Both of you were riled up and couldn’t do foreplay any longer

When you finally sank down around his length both of you let out gasps at the contact

You wish you could engrave the image of his facial features as you sunk down on him. His scrunched up face and mouth hanging open was a pleasant sight to see

You press down on his chest to keep him from bucking up into you, getting slowly adjusted to his size

When you start bouncing on top of him, he absolutely CAN NOT handle your pussy

He is VERY vocal and let’s out the cutest moans

You notice the more you praise him, the more dominant he gets

“You’re doing so well Usopp” “Feels so good” “Such a good boy”

He could cum right there just from your praise

He begins to take a bit of control and grip your hips, bucking into you rapidly

You throw your head back, high pitched moans escaping your lips as he hits your deepest walls

Usopp doesn’t last too long, the pleasure so overwhelming to him, the feeling of your warm walls clenching around him, has him seeing stars

You have to guide him again to rub circles around your clit so that you both can chase your orgasms together

After you both are done, Usopp is surprisingly a natural at aftercare

He is holding you and leaving kisses all over your face and neck. He offers to get you snacks or water.

He is just so much more infatuated with you after the sex and he will shyly ask if y’all could do it again

PLS he’s so cute

[merakiui]

What are your thoughts on reverse isekai where Azul really appears out of nowhere in the reader's world/room? It'd be funny if he just loses his mind over it because how did he mess up with his chanting of his ancient spells that he ended up (miserably) there.

And the reader finds him very pitiful and offer a temporary stay for him. He accepted reluctantly.

Omg maybe twst isn't a game in your world, so you have no idea who this strange man is and why he's waving some cane around trying to cast a spell on you LOL. ^^;;; after all of the commotion is settled and Azul stops speaking in spells and hexes, none of which have any effect, the both of you hesitantly introduce yourselves. He's Azul Ashengrotto, a mage who hails from a place known as Twisted Wonderland. That sounds positively absurd, but then to Azul the idea of a world without any magic is just as foreign. How do you possibly live? It's so strange... More importantly, if magic is nonexistent here, does that mean he can't transform back to his original form? Is he stuck in his human form? Not that that's the most pressing worry; it's actually more of a relief.

Even so, despite your reluctant hospitality and willingness to let him stay (for now), he doesn't trust you. You're right to be wary of him as well. Neither of you know the other, and the fact that he just suddenly appeared in your room all because of, in his words, "an incorrect incantation" sounds very suspicious. But he proves to you he really is a mage by showing you the strange stone on the cane, explaining in great detail its purpose and importance. You don't really understand a lot of this, but it's such a detailed explanation. Surely he wouldn't make all of that up...

Azul's ultimate goal is to (hopefully) return home. This is something he sticks with for a while, always grousing over how inconvenient it is that he can't use magic to solve such complex problems (the "complex problems" being laundry duty or washing dishes. He's gotten rather comfortable and lazy in your presence, but he adamantly denies it when you bring it up. He reasons he can be this way because you hardly know him and his achievements or pitfalls, and he'll be leaving soon anyway. There's no point in getting too friendly, and if you're letting him freeload in your home... Why shouldn't he relax in a stressful situation? He can think with his brain later!) You annoy him with your incessant questions and constant disbelief and doubt, but then he also annoys you with his grandiose ego and lofty confidence. Azul cannot wait to get back to Twisted Wonderland. This world isn't so different from his own, but it's without magic and as someone who depends on magic to do specific tasks that require magical aid... It makes his life so very difficult.

But then he actually befriends you. Suddenly, he's something of a roommate, albeit a roommate who's quite the demanding nuisance. Azul thought a magic-less world was the worst of his problems, but now he's actually getting attached to you. To you, someone he couldn't stand initially! Now, rather than being curt and distant, he sits beside you on the sofa to binge movies and shows and the two of you fall asleep together. Now he's helping you in the kitchen rather than bickering over who should cook and how "if you knew how to cast a simple spell, this would be so much easier!" Now he's learning that he's relied too much on his magical prowess. And now, unfortunately, he's not so sure he even wants to go home (if that's an option anymore).

Azul would be much more at ease to keep this relationship strictly business: you provide him with shelter and food while he works to solve this situation. In fact, he thinks he'd be better off hating you and acting annoyed because that helps him feel less attached. But he can't ignore the mounting enjoyment he feels when he's with you. This is the most fun he's had in a long time, and he likes your company. He likes cleaning the house with you, going shopping and grousing over budgets together, exploring the city you live in and seeing what it has to offer, getting to know you on a personal level... He thinks he may have gone insane because he catches himself telling you things he'd never want anyone back at NRC to know. He talks so openly about his aspirations and hopes because he's grown to trust you. He knows you're a safe friend, and it's been so long since he's had this kind of security in a friendship. And you genuinely support him! You tell him you know he can turn Mostro Lounge into a franchise, and your cheers for his success are so authentic and supportive. (And of course he can do that and more! He's Azul Ashengrotto, after all!)

Maybe, if he does find a way home, he can take you with him and show you part of his world. Wouldn't that be so wonderful?

[covertleathers]

Pulling Cords (Rookanis Fanfiction)

Chapter 3: A Nudge from Emmrich

Rating: 18+, Explicit, Gradually intensifying sexual tension, nudity, etc etc

Relationships: Lucanis Dellamorte/m!Rook (They/Them pronouns)

Key words: Yearning, teasing, jealousy (if i get to it)

Chapter 3: Rook seeks advice from Emmrich

AO3 Link

“You told him what?”

Emmrich and Rook were in his library, carefully perusing his extensive collection on ancient magics. Any information from the Nevarran archives about the Evanuris were scant or nonexistent. Of course, what information they did find was not proving particularly useful. Their magic was quite strange, raw, and pulled at their material reality until it ripped like cloth. It was unlike anything either mage had ever encountered before. Despite that, being in the company of another Mourn Watch mage made them feel more at ease and understood. Particularly at this moment.

It was this ease and comfort as a student with their trusted friend, that Ziya had confessed that they had been developing soft feelings for the aloof Lucanis.

“I don’t know why I said it,” They sighed, snapping shut a slim, purple book. They crumpled against one of the bookshelves. It had been a few years since they felt this embarrassingly exposed.

It was midday. Rook had returned from the Hossberg Wetlands with Bellara and Davrin the night before. They hadn’t returned for their nightly ritual with Lucanis in the kitchen since. The idea made their face hot and eyes cross out of shame. Killing swaths of darkspawn certainly helped relieve some of the nerves, but walking back into the Lighthouse, Rook was suddenly haunted by their social faux pas.

“Rook, while that may be a way to convey affection where we’re from, telling an assassin that you would lovingly dress his corpse in death might as well have been a threat on his life.” With a hefty black leather-bound book in his hand, Emmrich crossed the room to take a seat in his armchair. He gently gestured for Rook to sit at the chair at the other side of his desk.They groaned. “I am aware.” This made them feel all the more childish. However, the force of habit as a student pushed them to collapse into the stiff wooden chair. “I was…trying to offer him a way to understand me.”

“Ah,” Emmrich mused. “You were looking for connection.” He crossed his legs, stroking his chin thoughtfully. 

“There are moments where I think he feels similarly, but other times, he’s completely unreadable.” Frustrated, they hunched over the desk, head in the crook of their elbow. “I have never had this much trouble… getting to know someone .”

Emmrich chuckled.  “We’re adults, Rook. You’ve never had trouble with seducing someone.”

“Maker, fine, yes . I…get around.” They sat back, arms crossed. “I had probably bedded half of the Necropolis by the time Myrna and Vorgoth booted me.”

“Excluding the dead, of course.” Emmrich interjected quickly. 

The young mage winced, “Well, there was this—”

“Rook,”

“But you know, it could’ve been a dream—”

“I don’t want to hear anymore.”

“Right, sorry.” They felt heavy bearing down on their chest not unlike that day. Rook fiddled with a loose curl that had escaped its tie. “There’s this…gravity. It’s respect, fear, admiration. Maybe also some envy. I am feeling endlessly curious about him. I want to unspool him and know him… Ugh, I feel very juvenile.”

The professor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was a face he didn’t make often; Emmrich was usually the coolest head in the room, Lucanis being a close second.

“Oh, dear ,” he began with a short sigh. “It sounds like, Rook, that you are developing an affection that comes quite close to love.”

“I’ve got that much, yeah. No idea what to do from here.” Ziya tensely met his gaze with a look of anxious understanding. “It doesn’t feel like a good time to have soft feelings for a confidant…”

Emmrich smiled serenely. “Perhaps no, but that also shouldn’t stop you from trying to understand him. Meet him where he is; Lucanis has quite complicated personal issues and Spite is just one of them.”

A familiar hiss echoed from the hallway as Manfred pushed through the room door with a steaming teapot and cups. It seemed that Lucanis also managed to retrieve some sweet tea biscuits from Treviso after all. Despite the Antaam’s clamp down on the markets, somehow Lucanis was always able to deliver. Rook smiled at the thoughtfulness. 

The professor thanked Manfred who gurgled happily in return. He continued, “Knowing what we do with the events in Treviso, I can imagine more difficult choices ahead for our Crow friend. It may well be that he isn’t ready to reciprocate such feelings until they are resolved. But, I can imagine, establishing a foundational understanding and trust between you would be a wonderful place to start.”

“And what if he never does?” Rook grasped a teacup in their hands if not to just keep them from fidgeting in nervousness. Ugh , pitiful , they chastised themself internally.

Emmrich shrugged, a movement that felt too casual for a man of his esteem. He sipped his tea lightly. “What’s wrong with a powerful friendship built on trust and mutual knowledge? Is that not what we have?”

Rook nodded, feeling the warmth in their hands from the porcelain cup.

“Well, what am I supposed to do with these feelings?” A moment passed, Ziya  was staring down at the steaming cup of white tea. They suddenly had a craving for something more bitter and sweet. Putting it down, they resolved to take a biscuit and enjoy the soft texture on their tongue. “When we’re alone they become so overwhelming that I can feel them radiating off of my body.”

Emmrich, ever the romantic, his eyes shined with hope.  “Channel them, let them become the material with which you weave the bond.” He bounced up from his armchair and flounced to a particular section of his library that Rook had learned was…less academic. It wasn’t a particularly large section. Four shelves at the tail end of the left-most wall. However, what it didn’t have in quantity, apparently a few of Rook’s companions liked them so much, they had taken to borrowing them fairly often. He perused the shelf excitedly, reciting every title he scanned as if he knew them by heart. 

“I have here,” He began, pulling a mossy and dusty book from the jam-packed shelf, “An anthology of Nevarran folk tales that I read as a child. It took three years of searching to find another copy in decent condition. I believe it is a wonderful look into our culture.”

Ziya looked at Emmrich incredulously, as he handed them the book. The leather was softer than they expected. Its cover was embossed in gold lettering that read OF FIREBIRDS AND ASHES: FABLES FROM THE GLORY AGE . Ah, memories shifted their dust from Rook’s mind. They remembered snippets of these from their childhood in the Necropolis. Though, the focus for much of that time was dedicated to academia, mostly by Vorgoth’s direction.

Maybe being raised by a pluralistic entity made of dark fog wasn’t so normal.

“You want me to…read to him?”

“I am suggesting,” the professor pressed. “You would benefit from sharing more about where we come from. Nevarra’s history is renowned for its artistry and that includes our writings. I have already suggested to Lucanis that he should be reading to Spite. Think of it as a meeting of your mutual needs.”

[fifteenth-entity]

Surprised no one is talking about Tulin

Or at least not that I have seen, because just Rito village as a whole was so depressing to me, and I just feel the overwhelming urge to talk about it.

This is obviously for pre-Colgera stuff, but let me tell you, as someone who did all of the other main quests before Rito village and left it for last (cuz it's usually my favorite to do cuz I like flying and archery), going to Rito village was so horrifying at first.

It's the only place so far in TotK that I feel mimicked the feeling of desolation and abandonment as well as BotW did, because in BotW, the Rito are all so friendly to you and while they live in fear of Vah Medoh, they're not in immediate danger, which makes Rito village as a whole quite sunny and enjoyable to be around, that alongside the fact that it's a relatively easy to traverse landscape and the Rito aren't needlessly cruel to you, just rather dismissive. And then in TotK, you enter, expecting the sunniness (in attitude at least) of Rito village, only to be met with a silent, snow-capped landscape with zero life in sight.

And then you go to the market and you see it's being manned by a child. And then the only demographic you see manning the village is children. And then you realize all the adults have abandoned ship while they wait for you to come help and the children had to step up to the plate of supporting the village.

And then you meet Tulin.

In the beginning, I was slightly relieved to see Tulin be with Teba - finally, I thought, a supervised child, a child that doesn't have to take up the mantel of being an adult to survive.

And then Teba talks about the Stormwind Ark's song, a song originally sung to children, who by the way still believe in the existence of the Stormwind Ark, and how all the adults believe that the Stormwind Ark exists. And Tulin dismisses it as just a fairytale.

That crushed me. Of course Tulin has grown up, he's not the same fledgling he was in Breath of the Wild, he can hold his own. He doesn't need fairytales anymore. But even Genli, who looks to be around the same age as Tulin, believes in the Stormwind Ark. Every child and every adult believes in the Stormwind Ark, except for Tulin. This child has had to take his role as protector of the village so seriously that it has disillusioned him. Disillusionment isn't a good feeling even as an adult, but a child should not have to be disillusioned, especially when it comes to a higher protecting force like the Stormwind Ark is supposed to be. Tulin should still be allowed to believe in the existence of a Stormwind Ark. But he doesn't, and he speaks about its nonexistence with such conviction, with such confidence, that it's depressing.

Which, then, puts into context why Tulin was so dismissive of Teba's tutelage. Teba still believes that there is someone who will come save them, so the man who taught Tulin to take initiative and fight for the village's safety, isn't doing anything to help the village. Instead, Tulin's tutor sits around and waits for a saving grace that, in Tulin's eyes, is not real and will not come to save them (because why wouldn't it have come already if it were real?). So, when Teba is stressing the importance of stuff such as training and teamwork, Tulin is quick to dismiss him - Teba believes in something as fake as the Stormwind Ark, why wouldn't he believe in other fake concepts? (Yes, this mindset is extremely juvenile, but Tulin can't be more than 12.)

Link doesn't start out the BotW/TotK duology as an adult but when he joined Tulin, I was so relieved that someone more experienced would be there to take some of the burden off of Tulin. And when he got the secret stone and had to vow to help Link save Hyrule, that pained me. I didn't want to have a child accompanying me in a mission to save the world because no child should have to do that (Riju included, honestly, but Gerudo values muddle that conversation a little bit). And then I remembered it's only a ghost of Tulin that follows Link, not Tulin himself, and I felt slightly better about it.

But when you look at the wider picture, pre or post Colgera, Tulin is a child soldier, essentially, and I'm surprised I haven't seen people talk about him more as a character. When people call into question how dark TotK is, I just... immediately think of Tulin. This kid is forced to live in a dark and disillusioned reality because of the wider circumstances, and he's conditioned by those circumstances to be alright with that. I don't know if this was intentional or not, but that's quite dark on Nintendo's behalf.

And when I put it this way, there's also some parallels to draw between Tulin and Link here, but that's a different conversation for another day.

I just think this part of the story is depressing, and Tulin is my favorite character. And just to reiterate the title of the post - I'm surprised I'm the first person I've seen bring it up. I don't know if this is a bigger conversation, but if anyone has anything to add, I'd love to hear it because, owch :")

[soraviie]

you compare yourself to him.txt

━ type: bts x f! reader ━ navigation ━ part II here

━ about: angst! discusses themes of abandonment and inadequacy

━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: "There's honestly no way to undersell your influence," the woman gushes on and it's like you don't exist. Joon is giving her the trademarked, polite smile, one of neutrality. It means nothing. But also at this moment, you mean nothing.

"You went to the White House and the UN, and now you're visiting my little gallery! Gosh, it's such an honour."

"Ah, it's...it was unprecedented. I'm just doing what I love, it's the people I should be thankful for. They helped me to get to these heights."

"Don't be so modest!" she pats his arm, perhaps lingering a tad too long but where once there would be a kindling flame of jealousy, there's nothing now. Her words have poured a bucket of ice-cold water soaked with a certain realization, washing away all happiness of the day.

You can't compare.

You won't ever compare.

"I have a private screening of the latest works. Usually, I wouldn't reveal such a thing, but you're Kim Namjoon!"

He takes a step back, sporting quite the awkward stance. Because this is Namjoon. He's polite. Tries to not show judgement upon anyone else. Like you, for example.

"I was actually preoccupied -" he waves at where you've been standing mute and unmoving whilst whatever this was unfolded.

"Oh, your secretary!" all too confident the owner of the gallery calls out and you can only muster to stand there. No strength left to argue.

"She's not my se-" Namjoon fruitlessly sputters but the lady waves his indignance away.

"Are you familiar with the work of contemporary artists?"

"No," you truthfully reply. They were but colours to you.

"Oh, not very educated in this field, are you?" she coos in a farce of sympathy and blankly you shrug.

"No."

"Well, then, let's go. This level of art needs viewers of...worldly inhibitions."

Her long red nails sink into Namjoon's beige shirt, one you gave him on his birthday, like a reborn harpy of old tales. He looks back at you, eyebrows furrowed in million confused questions but you quietly wish him to have fun. His educated, smart fun, remaining to stand there in the middle of a fancy art gallery. And you can't stop thinking about that shirt and laughing dryly to yourself. A multimillion pop singer, donating his money to art galleries, collecting masterpieces, visiting presidents and here you were gifting him shirts because that's all you could afford.

"What are your thoughts on this piece?" a stranger approaches you all of a sudden probably thinking that just because you were here you belonged here, that you earned your spot here when in truth you were just someone Namjoon dragged along.

And with a carving, empty feeling you don't see any reason at all why would he do such a thing.

"It's beige," you breathe thinly, glimpsing at the painting on the wall and he leaves upon hearing the simplistic answer. Figures.

YOONGI: "Already thirty and still unmarried? Is there no one in your life?"

He looks almost apologetic into the camera. A glimpse lasting a second, travelling through infinite miles as if he knew you were watching.

"No," he lies. "No there is no one."

He lies for your safety because it's what he has to do. It's what you agreed to but right now you couldn't name a worse feeling to have than to be called nonexistent. A ghost. A void, not a living human being occupying space and deserving it.

"No way," your cousin laughs loudly across the table. "No way this guy is dating you!"

"It's true," you object poking at the plate of dinner you have no intention of eating anymore. Her words have created a gaping hole in your stomach, that honestly had been churning away for longer than you had noticed.

"What's he doing with you then? A charity?"

"Keep your mouth shut!" her mother hisses sharply but bolstered by the many wine glasses, she drones on.

"What? I'm just stating what we're all thinking. This is what? Just a reprieve, a cleanser! He'll have his fun with you and then will marry a supermodel or a singer. Cause it's what they all do. No rich person marries a commoner."

Yoongi is not like that. You knew he was not like that. He liked to eat tangerines by your side and fix the broken shelves, night upon night he'd cried how he just wanted to make music but be that as it may his life was set.

And a quiet librarian was in no sort of way part of cameras and red carpets.

And he'll have to say it time and time again that you did not exist.

And you feel like you don't.

The night is empty and cold with the house gone deathly quiet. The water runs underneath your hands as you scrape the dishes - to have something to do, to not be consumed by the gaping wound of being hidden away. Like a scab almost.

A phone rings.

"How was the dinner?" he immediately asks, sounding a bit rushed. "Sorry, I couldn't make it this time."

Or the time before that and the one before that, and a hundred others in the past, making you seem like a lonely ghost wailing false moans that you were loved by a star. He was an innocent idol onto whom you had delusionally pushed your need of companionship, pictures could be downloaded, and lies could be spun.

And as far as most people knew - you did not exist.

"It was fine," you answer monotonous. There's a wobble in your lip so you have to really frown to not let it spill.

"I didn't mean it. None of what I said. It's just something I have -"

"- to do," you finish for him and your voice wavers. "Yeah, I get it. Listen I have to go, alright."

"Wait, no-!" you drop the phone and lean over the sink, swallowing down rushing tears. Breathing in a determined breath, you wash the remaining dishes in complete silence and no one calls or talks to you for the rest of the night.

JIN: "Yeah, right," the front desk lady sneers. "Get out of here, freak."

"I'm literally handing you my ID. You saw me before!"

If only any proverbs were ever listened to. A wise saying once claimed to not judge a book by a cover. What a wonderful world would it be if it was actually listened to.

Dripping rainwater and mud, you scoffed, frustrated and just wanting to lie down. It had been an exhausting day. The kind where you regret ever waking up.

"Do you not have a register or something? This guy literally is vouching for me."

You point at the gardener of Jin's apartment building and he nods, eyes full of compassion. He was a good guy.

"It's true she was here and the day before that."

"So, you're a hooker. I'm not letting you up. Just look at yourself."

Look at yourself. Those words were like an axe to your head. A dull blade swinging time and time again as you bent your knee at the podium.

Wherever you went they reverberated like ripples in a lake.

"Just look at yourself," one woman sneered while you went to the bathroom at a party with Jin.

"Really look at yourself. You must think you have some sort of inner beauty? People like you make me sick! You're all delusional," and she had stormed off, face warped in such contempt as though you'd done something wrong. But you just stood here.

"Don't listen to her," you told your reflection but the eyes looking back were tired. "You did nothing wrong."

You can only insist that you did nothing wrong but no one listens. Certainly not the cops shoving you in the van on the charges of stalking.

The holding cell is very cold and you're freezing, wet hair seemingly lowering your body temperature even more.

"HOW DARE YOU?" Jin's voice rings even down the hallway. "WHAT SORT OF COUNTRY IS THIS WHERE INNOCENT PEOPLE GET ARRESTED?!"

"We apologize, sir, but the front desk worker phoned in as it was susp-"

"IS SHE THE CHIEF OF THE POLICE?! YOU JUST CARRY OUT THE ORDERS OF SOME RANDOM WOMAN?! LET MY GIRLFRIEND GO THIS INSTANT!"

The doors open and stiffly you clamber out, immediately swarmed by Jin's warm embrace.

"Don't think I'll let this go so easy," he growls at the nearby officer before guiding you away.

"I'm so sorry, honey, it won't ever happen again," he strokes your head all the way home but the cold doesn't dissipate. It's all a blur and you're just so very tired.

"What are you doing?" Jin asks gently opening the bathroom doors where you finished taking a warm shower as he had ordered. You wipe the steam off the mirror. The shoulders are hunched and there's no spark. Just another face in the proverbial crowd.

"Just looking at myself."

HOSEOK: It's nothing that anyone says. They think it, you can certainly tell by the snide glances occasionally thrown at where you're standing, but they don't dare to say it. The rest of the group is here and they wouldn't tolerate any off-hand remarks just as much as Hoseok himself.

But they don't need to say it. No one needs to do anything. You just have to look.

He's swarmed by celebrities, the A-listers, the top of the top, all celebrating the genius of his album and they blush as he pays they some attention. Because he's not just a celebrity, he's the top celebrity, he's what the people above aspired to be. And he wants this, he wants more of this.

And you don't belong here.

You don't belong here at all.

Like a piece of furniture or a fallen decoration, you stand in the corner invisible. The scarce attempts of talking all ended with an awkward side glance. The one given to friends, saying: "who invited her?" They excuse themselves with gritted teeth, sometimes just simply walking away and you stand by the side, admiring and not participating. How could you when this was not your world? But it's his and amidst all the fans and all the meetings, even Hoseok has forgotten you're here.

You don't belong here. You don't want to be here. Didn't want to see anyone ever again.

"Where are you off to?" a voice asks and you peek underneath the table, surprised to see Jin's head poke through. His phone light illuminates the hiding spot with flashing bright colours of a nameless webtoon.

"Just need some air," you answer emptily before pointing at the device. "You're having fun there?"

"Ah, I don't want to meet anyone," he whines and you offer a small, meaningless smile.

"I get that."

He glances up and you think he sees something in the way your eyes gaze grayly around, observing but not seeing. Though in the end, he says nothing and you're free to walk on the street. The music of Hoseok's album party pours out even there but at least it's dull. Another world now.

You push your hands deep into the jacket and not wanting to return to an empty apartment, end up in a 24/7 convenience store. It's cheap and common. Your spot, a planet familiar.

"Rough night?" the guy at the counter asks as you quietly slurp a cup of noodles on a rickety chair nearby.

"You probably had it rougher," you point out at the 2 am flashing on the clock hung behind him. He only shrugs.

"Not really. People leave me alone during night shifts and to be honest during day shifts as well. It's like I don't exist."

You frown at the red noodles and there's nothing but an empty pang in your chest. It's not one of hunger you realize now.

"Yeah. Me too."

JIMIN: The day is long and weary. Your legs ache and your apron is stained with dry milk. You're trying very hard to not cry in the break room and then you see him and you want to cry yourself to death. Be the princess that drowned in her own tears.

He's beautiful, the literal "It" boy of the nation. Kind, gorgeous, determined and you're crying in the break room.

The TV shoved in the corner has no sound but you don't need it. It's plenty enough seeing him laugh generously on the main story of the day, one discussing his success.

"Good day, sir, how ma-"

"Iced espresso," he interrupts and doesn't spare you even a single glance. You're just a machine here to obey. Nothing more.

"Damn, ________, you're still here?" a coworker asks, tying her apron hastily around. "I thought you applied for that new job?"

"Yeah, well, they rejected me," you explain lifelessly, face turned away.

"Is there no one else?"

"Yeah, and they rejected me as well. And all the other thirty places I applied."

She sucks in a breath through her teeth.

"Damn, that sucks. Still, don't keep your nose low, you might end up staying here forever."

Yes, that's just what you might end up doing. Someone had to be at the bottom of the barrel. Someone always had to do the dirty job you just never assumed it'd be you. That it'd be you who'd be the failure.

"She's a surgeon, you know," your mother says on the phone and you scuff your shoe against the tile ground.

"Yes, I know."

"Since this degree of yours didn't work out, you might apply to study something useful you know like a lawyer."

"Mom, I don't want to be a lawyer."

"Do you want to be a barista all your life? Because this art degree is certainly accomplishing that. And you're not marrying a rich man."

"What if I did?" you snap back spitefully.

"Well, then I'd be embarrassed to have a daughter whose such a liability."

"I have to go."

You're trying really hard to not cry but it's not quite working.

"I'm not a liability," you mutter underneath your breath but it feels like a lie in your mouth.

"Hey,______, we need you out here. It's a madhouse!" the frazzled head of your coworker pops in and all you can do is wipe your face and raise your aching legs once more.

"Good evening, ma'am! What would you like-"

"Iced espresso," she orders without looking up from her phone. You nod.

"Can you take the register?" you whisper to your colleague switching places.

"Why?" she furrows her brows.

"Just don't want to talk anymore."

Thankfully, she only nods curtly and you're free to do what is needed, alone and unbothered.

It's evening already but Jimin is still on the news and he smiles brightly as the sun. You don't even remember when was the last time you met him in real life, held his hand in yours. Last time he felt like a real person and not just someone you can look at through the screen.

"This dude really has it all," your coworker mutters underneath her breath whilst counting the register once there's no one in the sight.

"Yeah, he does."

TAEHYUNG: It's nothing but the truth to call jealousy a disease, a fatal one at that. Incurable, unstoppable rot wrecking you from within. Never before had you looked at a video of your boyfriend and felt...felt bad. If bad was even a word to describe the awful hollow that washes the world grey.

The entire Paris screams for him, hell, maybe the whole of France. They talk of Lisa, Park Bo Gum and V. The infamous V. And they talk of Lisa, the A-lister, the star, the face of the fashion, the top girl of the top.

"You just have to work hard, okay," your mother always said. "You work hard and you can do anything."

It was such a comforting lie. Because you did work hard, you worked so hard it nearly crushed you and all it did was land you in an office cubicle, creating documents day upon day. Just like millions of others before you and like millions after you. Just an expendable tool.

You can't help it, because it's a disease, it's wearing down all the kindness in your heart, all your confidence and reducing you to a husk slumbering on the bed. What did they have that you didn't?

As a sick sort of punishment, you continue watching the video. V is getting quite cosy with the other celebrities, the 1%, the people not doing the office jobs, not doing the sowing of the fancy clothes they wore, not serving the drinks like the nameless waiters people treated as mindless robots. You ponder how horrible they must feel, how tired. The video suggests you want this, this is the world everyone should aspire to but it leaves a sour taste in your mouth and the fact that V is there makes it only more appalling. Because that is the fact. He was your boyfriend, Taehyung, the guy from a line of farmers, a simple guy who respected everyone but it's hard to see that Taehyung in V. The fashion icon, the creme de la creme sipping champagne far far away from you. He seems happy. Happier than he was when you parted.

Coincidentally, it's your birthday the next day and there are only three calls - your mother, your best friend and for some reason Jimin. Jimin who remembers it's your birthday before Taehyung or should you say V.

You get yourself a cake. It costs a pretty penny but it's cute and just this once you want to have nice things. Just this once. You take a picture of it, almost upload it on Instagram but then think better of it. Who cares what you post. It's there that you scroll upon a video of V cutting up a cake and you just know it's much more expensive than yours will ever be. This cake he seems almost bored with costs more than your life and it's given to him. Even if he would get it himself he wouldn't have to worry about the cost. It didn't matter how much you work hard, you will always have to worry about the cost.

In the end, you blow out the candle right there in the bakery and the girl working the register is the only one who claps. She asks what wish did you make, you answer none but secretly you just wish he would call. That he would remember of his girlfriend at home as low as she was.

He doesn't call but at least a video floating around the internet tells you he has a grand old time spinning around the pole with Lisa.

JUNGKOOK: "I don't like dispassionate people, I guess. I can't imagine how can one live without a goal. I'd rather die than live without passion."

It wasn't like Jungkook to be cruel and he probably didn't intend to be one as well but it still is cruel. Your own boyfriend just told everyone on national television that he doesn't like you. You're everything he loathes - the dreamless drifter, people who are just here.

"Why are you frowning?" a voice asks and you turn to look at him standing in the doorway with a frown. He must have said something before this but you hadn't heard. The mop in your hands lays still as you finish sweeping. Bam is there as well, his big brown eyes flickering in between both of you.

"Nothing," you reply quietly.

"No, it's something," he insists. "Don't lie."

"Why is passion so important to you?"

The frown on his face deepens and Bam begins to whine from the surging tension.

"I don't know," he laughs, sound falling strained and awkward. Because it's not funny. "It just is. I mean what's the point of life then? Hanging around? That's useless, isn't it?"

"I'm useless?"

His eyes widen for a fraction the second he understood his own words.

"I didn't mean you," he corrects but whether or not it's real or just in your perception, you don't think they sound sincere enough. It's just something he has to say.

"You just haven't found your passion yet."

"Because it doesn't exist!" you don't mean to yell. It upsets Bam, upsets you and most importantly it upsets Jungkook but he's never understood this. Never grasped that it's not the matter of you not finding your special devotion, it's because you simply didn't have one. And you're tired of trying to explain yourself over and over again.

"I don't care for jobs! I don't care about hobbies! I just want to live!"

"Okay," he brushes off passively. Not that he believes you, not that he listens to you at all, he just doesn't want to fight.

"Why is it so hard for you to comprehend that I don't have any aspirations? Yoongi -"

Abruptly he rolls his eyes, arms tightening around his chest.

"Again with Yoongi. Would you stop bringing him up?"

"Because he makes me feel heard! I don't have goals, I don't have great dreams and aspirations! Does that make my life meaningless?"

"What do you think?"

For a while, the only sound are the whines and the scraping of Bam's nails against the floor.

"You think my life is meaningless?" you echo breathlessly. Jungkook merely scowls at the floor.

"Right, who are we commoners against the mighty Jungkook? The millionaire, the young idol, right?"

"It's what my passion led me to," he mutters obstinately and for all intents and purposes, he might as well just have punched you in the gut.

"You won't achieve anything if you're just hanging around."

Exhaling a shaky breath you gather the most strength you ever needed.

"I have a dream, Jungkook, it is to live happily. And I'm not happy with you."

There's really, absolutely no way of knowing now either whether the flash in his eyes is out of fear or anger. They remain only as assumptions but what is an indisputable fact are the words spoken out loud.

"Well, I'm not happy with you, either."

The floor dries as you stand in front of this man, a stranger suddenly, one to whom you're too exhausted to defend yourself anymore.

"No, you can't come with me," you whisper to Bam who tries to squeeze the nose in through the door gap, tail wagging behind him. He must think you're going on a walk. How lovely animals were, they didn't care how you looked, who you were, or what you lived for. They simply were, and enjoyed life at its face value.

"You have to stay."

Bam is a sweetheart through and through but above all he's well behaved. His eyes are brimming with sadness but he does as he's told and steps away.

"I'll miss you, buddy."

"Enjoying the weekend?" the man at the local bakery friendly questions and you cast him a smile.

"Yeah, you know, appreciating the day."

"Ah, preach! It's nice to just enjoy yourself, isn't it?"

As you pay, your phone lights up and a picture of Jungkook flashes in front of you. Briefly, you break and zone out in his eyes. Weeks have passed, you should change it.

"Does that make my life meaningless?"

"What do you think?"

You shake yourself out of it and lock the phone.

"It is," you agree with the baker.

© soraviii/soraviie 2022-23

[eliteseven]

Any headcanon for Tav and SH's first time? SH confidently dragging her to her tent and totally out of her mind after the group's flirtatious attempts would be... hilarious. Not to mention Tav, who has no idea what's going on but is just happy to spend time with SH (even if she doesn’t know where the night will take them).

I imagine it as something that started out of comedy and led to a sincerity and vulnerability that... oh girl, give me three cups of that. Probably, the nonexistent expectations both had about being able to make love would make the encounter better than expected, despite it being their first time together.

And hey, the room for improvement is always a great incentive to practice ;)

Btw, SH telling Tav she didn't expect Lae'zel to kiss her.

Well, I think their first time officially in NLS is still “building sandcastles” on the beach, after Shadowheart leaves Shar.

But this could be what happens before they slip away. I could see Shadowheart trying to work up the courage but the camp intervenes bc she’s taking a while and everyone can see it between them 😅

I think, at first, Shadowheart is obviously a little miffed. I mean, she did just watch everyone in camp flirt with Serena 😭 and Lae’zel’s searing hot kiss, ofc. Who could forget that?

It starts out comically. Shadowheart is understandably frustrated and curious as to what in the hells she’s just witnessed. And Serena is just giddy to be alone with her 🥹 Shadowheart is affronted, demanding to know who her apparently new “bosom companion” is. She WILL have answers. Is it Lae’zel, of all people??? Because of that kiss??? Is it Wyll with his infernal little dances??? She thought she was the special one in Serena’s life.

(And tbh it’s all made funnier by the fact that Tav’s heart is RACING bc Shadowheart is so CLOSE in her interrogation, and she is so blatantly obviously in love with her 😅 she keeps staring at Shadowheart’s lips even though she’s trying to focus…)

And tbh I think her stupid spacey smile will infuriate Shadowheart further in her jealousy, and right as she feels her heart breaking, realizing Tav might have feelings for someone else, Tav probably just mumbles something incredibly intimate. Out of the blue. Just a simple “you mean everything to me.” Just whispered, confessed, bc she simply cannot resist telling her anymore.

Ugh, the way Shadowheart would stop in her tracks and just blink at her. For all her bravado, she is riddled with self-doubt. We’ve all seen it. To hear it confirmed that she is the one Serena daydreams about????? To be chosen first by someone, after Shar’s rejection??? To be the reason behind the romantic sparkle in Tav’s eyes???? 🥺 she’s never felt that in her life.

So Tav says it again. And again. And again, as she dabs at Shadowheart’s tears with her thumb. Again, as Shadowheart yanks her close and kisses her until they’re both crying. Again, as she does away with Shadowheart’s clothing and replaces every inch with kisses instead. Shadowheart is coming off the loss of Shar, but she’s gained a soulmate. She’s not alone, and won’t be, as long as Serena lives.

Their first time is beautiful: it’s awkward, they ruin half their kisses with laughter and smiles, they both shake a little in their nervousness. But it’s oh-so intimate. They’re comfortable with each other, despite the nerves. They’re so eager to please one another. They cuddle for hours, well into the early morning. Shadowheart thoroughly claims her woman, this time 😅

Serena isnt all that surprised when Shadowheart wants to revisit the subject of that smooch from Lae’zel, tho. 💀 she will have her vengeance