#smart and thought provoking

[teafiend]

Thoroughly enjoyed and loved “Through the Darkness” and the production quality ⭐️ Fabulously performed, written and executed ✨👏🏽 (Special kudos to the actors performing the serial killers! They were skillfully villainous and horrifying!) 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

Especially loved the filter/colours and the angling of the shots - which reminded me quite a bit of “The Guest” in terms of angles and staging choices - and how wonderfully they utilised that technique to make scenes more intimate and poignant, to highlight the stark - or stoically accepting - emotions of the characters❣️ The clean and “simple” framings were simply fantastic!

Loved all the characters and particularly supporting character journalist-Chae 😍🤩 So pretty and principled❤️‍🔥

But what is it with SBS crime dramas and their characters’ un-shippable vibes? 😅🤔 To paraphrase the title of a fascinating article, “Everyone is Beautiful and an ‘Aroace’ Super-workaholic”! (“Everyone is Beautiful and No One is Horny” by Blood Knife)

(Except for our illustrious Team Leader Kook, who was canonically, happily married - offscreen - with children! A rarity these days). Not saying that is an issue per se, but give this pathetic shipping fangirl some crumbs somewhere?!

I wanted to ship someone so badly - for headcanon’s sake - but they made it so difficult 🤪🧐 (Not that I watched these type of shows - I know there will be none - for the romance/chance at shipping but still…)

I encountered this similar problem with “Nobody Knows”, and I am quite sure the performers not being my preferences (or fanciable to me) is NOT the only reason I had a hard time trying to come up with shipping feels, because I had a bit of shipping fun - as ephemeral as it was - with “The Good Detective” and most of the performers were not inspiring much feels either, but I still definitively shipped them while watching the drama. That said, I much prefer TtD as a show than TGD though both are excellent in different ways.

Ah, made me miss “The Guest” and the feels - and fixation - they inspired and provoked ❤️‍🔥😭 Also made me appreciate and thankful for the production even more each turn❣️ (I love TG for the writing, commentaries and stories too, not just the “other things” 😅🥰🥹☺️)

[finelinens1994]

question for you bc you seem smart. with freedom to read, freedom to write; would that also lump in minors writing porn? and, if yes, wouldnt that affect their safety (depending on how they advertise it)?

like obviously if an anon user posted smut on ao3 idk anyone would try and hunt them down. but like if a twitter user posted a full on smut fic and had their acc public and age visible, wouldnt that lead them the risk of getting hurt?

all genuine btw im really curious :0

i'll just say this: i joined tumblr when i was underage and befriended all people who were around the same age as me, and a few who were a bit younger. we were all one big friend group of teenagers being teenagers on the internet, so of course that included talking about sex and mature topics. when i was around 16 years old the friend group had expanded and some people in their early-to-mid 20s had joined, and it all felt totally fine. and it was fine! most of them had taken on mentor-like roles with us. it felt normal and positive, until one of the mentors decided to take my public posts joking around about sex and make them into private conversations. it was not good, it was scary, and i felt trapped for a long while. even though i was having fun with the other teenagers i had befriended, there was still someone with bad intentions watching me the entire time. that is the risk that i'm concerned about when i see underage people posting their erotic works online, in a place where it's way too easy for anyone to contact them directly.

it's natural for people to feel interested in sex and erotica basically as soon as puberty starts, but it really should be kept private (or maybe among trusted same-age friends) for their own safety. i don't want people to feel like their sexual thoughts are something shameful that need to be hidden, but there is just too much risk when it's discussed publicly. the gist is that when you're a kid or a teenager online, you really need to take your safety seriously. i know it sucks, but posting your erotic works publicly is just not safe until you're older. there are precautions you can take to more effectively protect yourself from predators, and you need to take them!

[gemkun]

anonymous said : Ratio do you regret coming to Penacony?

      ⸻       ❝   when   an   opportunity   is   presented   my   way   ,   it   would   be   a   contradiction   to   my   mission   if   i   declined   it.   ❞   perhaps   ,   it   is   a   roundabout   answer   ,   but   what   instance   of   facing   a   new   challenge   is   not   confronted   with   regret   ?   he   considers   the   task   as   a   whole   ,   in   all   its   facets   ,   before   he   begins   to   scrutinise   the   components   —   amounting   to   the   daunting   trials   he   and   many   have   encountered.   ❝   i   have   gained   valuable   insight   from   my   ventures   in   penacony   ,   and   in   exchange   i   have   been   fortunate   to   awaken   those   from   the   blight   that   plagues   them   in   reality.   for   that   reason   alone   ,   i   have   no   regrets.   ❞

  unsaid   experiences   exhibit   themselves   in   the   lines   of   his   disposition   ,   where   some   crease   and   others   lax   ,   whilst   the   rest   contribute   to   the   beginnings   of   a   frown   upon   chiselled   features.   ❝   every   destination   has   its   pitfalls   ,   but   if   we   do   not   attempt   to   fix   them   ,   then   we   are   to   blame   as   well.   what   doctor   would   i   be   to   witness   an   ailment   and   not   search   for   a   cure   ?   ❞

  he   sighs   ,   as   if   to   dispel   his   raison   d'être   ,   and   return   the   topic   to   one   without   personal   bias.   ❝   certainly   ,   i   have   come   across   troublesome   proceedings   ,   but   this   is   the   toll   we   must   overcome   to   ascertain   the   root   cause.   ❞

  ❝   if   i   harboured   any   regret   ,   it   would   be   because   i   was   unable   to   treat   penacony   of   its   strife.   ❞

[rickidaho]

If I could choose how I wanted to die it would be drowning, ‘cause I wonder how much water I could drink before I drowned. Not enough to save me, but probably more than usual.

[fauslayer]

why is it always the utena themed blogs that clog up the umineko search with the worst possible liveblog posts. like i get it erika furudo you cant read but do you have to make it my problem. i keep having to block them.

[knightcallie]

Baldur's Bounties: Language Learning

Language was something everyone shared and learned over their lifetime, and it came in many forms. Even a common language can have hundreds and thousands of different dialects. Weichei didn't realize his was so different than Faerûn's and forgets he wasn't with his typical party.

Weichei didn’t think it would’ve been a problem. He really, really didn’t think it would be one. All the gazes were questioning, his own lips parted and hands wondering how to sign next.

“Is, Is my Elvish that different?” he queried, signed.

Astarion’s gaze squinted, posture leaning towards one side. “Well— It’s still recognizable, but it’s more—” His coiffed head bobbled, trying to place it. “Sing-songy?” he offered, “Definitely different enough that I could notice darling.” His ruby eyes briefly glanced down at the drow’s hands.

Periwinkle eyes glance up briefly, before bobbling in self-affirmation. “Ruben does take on a more musical take on languages,” he recalled, “Kinda. Thought elvish in general sounds more sing-songy? To non-elves at least.”

Shadowheart lifted her chin a bit, brows furrowed a tad. “A bit, but I suppose it depends where you reside.” Her arms folded across her chest. “But you definitely don’t sound like a Faerûn native.”

There’s the unspoken ‘don’t look like one either’, but Wyll does note, “Or perhaps he’s from a part of Faerûn none of us been to. Northeast perhaps?”

The drow shook his head. “Fenim actually,” he replied, “Rubenschaun, Fenim. I’m not too sure how far exactly it is to Faerûn, but…” The forestline, he wondered how Beau was faring. “Far enough.”

It led to lots more questions about where he came from, what’s it like over there, the languages. Gale was particularly eager, and Weichei happily answered. Eres’ blessing burned pleasantly against his skin, patiently passionate. There’s talk about the possibility of using sign and signals in their repertoire, just to make communication easier on the battlefield. But, it will take teaching, and Weichei does have to think about what were the easier signs and signals to teach and see on the battlefield.

Though somehow, it did relax him enough to use a language he only really used for people he’s close to. He was sitting by Halsin, absentmindedly listening to the campfire talk during dinner. At some point, he must’ve reached for his hand, signing what the other’s were talking about, noting each speaker with a specific letter. He doesn’t really notice the eyes, until Lae’zel spoke up.

“What are you signing? Are you hiding something from us?” 

Her harsh voice broke through his lull, his eyes blinking owlishly. Periwinkle eyes looked around, before landing on the large wood elf. A smile was received when it landed on him, before Weichei returned his gaze to the audience. “Uh—”

“Oh, telling some saucy secrets are we?” Astarion grinned, a suggestive smirk on his lips. “Care to share with the class darling?”

“If it helps,” Halsin started, “I do not know this code you’ve been signing on my hand, so I’m afraid there’s no secrets to be had,” he chuckled.

Karlach then piped with a groan, “Don’t tell me this is another thing we gotta learn, I’ve only got so much space to spare in this noggin’!”

At this point, Weichei had returned his hands to his chest before smiling sheepishly. “No, no— This was just something when I was still in my early years in bounty hunting.” He tucked a loc behind his ear. “Having cannons blow off so often does something to your hearing.” He tapped at his earrings, an enchanted gift from his closest friends and family. “Lorm just makes it easier to keep me in the loop or just have less misunderstandings.” He looked off into the distance with an amused look on his face, a memory surfacing. “I’m so glad I was safe from being eaten for dinner.”

[roguelioness]

Sitting here in the middle of the night trying to contemplate whether or not Aly has feelings for the enemy no it's not just Zenos shhhh

[chronicroc]

Does anyone else who's been in a cult feel like the really, really smart people seem almost harder to get out?? I have some friends, one in particular, that were raised in it, and I can't even imagine how I would go about convincing them that it's all lies.

It feels like they're so smart that they've kind of trapped themselves. Anything that the religion didn't cover within their teachings or anything that was iffy about it, they would be able to rationalize and expand upon to the extent that those things DID make sense.

I don't know. Obviously, very smart people can get out of cults, but the conversations I've had with those people were always the most "faith strengthening" when I was still in it because they did the thinking that the cult itself didn't.

I really hope that one day the cognitive dissonance that causes these rationalizations lets up, but for now it feels like we're all kind of trapped.

[candracandor]

Sometimes I have unprompted thoughts like:

“I wonder if when we die, there’s a brief moment where our understanding shrinks to such an infinitesimal scale that it becomes clear in an instant how alike we are. Where we’re overcome with the understanding that our composition and our energies exist in uncontested harmony beyond our conscious mind, and that what divided us and all the grievances that plagued our minds didn’t have a lasting effect on the substances from which we were made. One moment where we finally understand that the carbon in our bones is just as pure and pristine as the day it came into existence.”

or

“HIP HOP HIP I PUT MY DICK IN THE SALSA DIP ON A TACO TUESDAY CAN I SPAFF ON YOUR BOOBLAYS SAY YES FREE TO SAY NO OLD MEAN AND FULL OF BEANS I GOT A YAMAHA KEYBOARD DRUM MACHINE METALLICA PATCH ON ME DUNGAREES HEY GIRL CAN I GET YOUR NUMBER PLEASE HANG MYSELF IN THE NEIGHBORS GARDEN WHEN HE COMES BACK THATS A NI-“

[crunchcasual]

i love cj the x!!!! and i’ve never heard anyone talking about them

omg yeah!!! my friend and i love cj, they are one of the few video essayists that just has both impeccable vibes and incredibly hot takes

[morikosa]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐞, 𝐡𝐮𝐡?

Summary: You just wanted to make a joke to your sensei, but you had no idea he'd get so angry.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY // MDNI — Spanking, Smut, Top Gojo Satoru, Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation, Dirty Talk, Gojo Satoru is His Own Warning, Possessive Gojo Satoru, teacher x student

"Do you think you're funny, little girl?" he growled, his voice laced with anger and disappointment. Making jokes about fucking another man?"

He glared at you, his blue eyes cold and unyielding. He pinned your delicate body over his knee, your soft ass was red and sore from the relentless spanking. He ran a hand over the heated flesh, eliciting a sharp cry from you.

''Ah!''

He spanked you again, harder this time, making you jerk forward. "Say you're sorry," he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Apologize for your filthy mouth and your stupid joke."

He could feel you squirming, and hear your sobs, but he didn't care this time. This was a lesson you needed to learn. "Count, sweetheart" he ordered, his hand poised to strike again. "Or I'll start all over again."

''T-ten''

''Too slow" Gojo snapped, bringing his hand down hard on your already sore ass. "Start over."

Your eyes widened in shock, not again... not again!

''N-no, S-Sense-KYA!''

Your pleas were interrupted when he spanked you. Gojo's lips curled into a wicked smirk. "Ten, again." he said, his voice a low growl.

You wet your lips, pain radiating through your ass with every impact. You began to count, your voice shaking. "One… two… thr-"

Smack.

The pain was unbearable, tears streaming down your face. "Three… four… fif-"

Smack.

"S-six… sev-"

Smack.

"Ei-eight… n-nine… ten!"

He grabbed you by the hair, pulling you up so you were kneeling in front of him. You squealed cutely, "Now, say you're sorry, and maybe, just maybe, I'll consider forgiving you as a good sensei."

"Sorry!" you cried out, tears streaming down your soft cheeks. "I'm so sorry, sensei-! *sobs* Please, I can't take anymore!"

Gojo chuckled at your pitiful pleas, "That's right, cry for me, little girl. Maybe next time you'll think twice before opening that smart little mouth of yours."

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he released your hair and pushed you down onto your back. He loomed over you, his blue eyes filled with a fierce intensity.

"You're lucky I love you." he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Gojo paused, his hand resting on your reddened flesh. He murmured, his voice softer. He rubbed your back gently, feeling you shudder beneath his touch. His silence scared you…

He looks at you for a moment and says, “You should be thankful I didn't throw you out on the street. You should be honored to have the strongest sorcerer in the world. But you say nonsense and make me angry. I just wanted to come home and hug my girl, but she makes jokes about cheating on me.''

He withdrew his hand, leaving you feeling empty and cold. "Now, stand up and bend over the bed." he ordered, his voice stern once again.

Oh god, what have you done? At that moment, the full weight of your actions bore down on you. You just wanted to play a silly joke, an attempt to provoke jealousy, but it had backfired severely. The coldness in his eyes, the icy tone of his voice, all of it was a direct result of your reckless actions.

You loved him, more than you could ever express. The thought of losing him caused a sharp pain in your chest, a physical representation of the emotional turmoil you were enduring. You didn't understand how things had spiraled so quickly, but there was no going back now.

You hesitated, but you knew that defying him at this point would only make matters worse. You slowly stood, your small hands trembling, before you bent over the bed, presenting your sore bottom to him.

You held your breath, awaiting his judgment, your heart a heavy weight that threatened to suffocate you. You were painfully aware, now more than ever, that you had gone too far, and the only thing left to do was face the consequences of your actions.

He laughed when he saw your wet pussy, a cruel sound that sent shivers down your spine. "You're a natural-born whore, aren't you?" he taunted, his fingers circling your slick entrance, teasing you without entering. "Soaking wet from a few spanks. Pathetic."

He leaned down, his breath hot on your ear. "Tell me, did you like being spanked? Did it make you horny, you little slut?"

He punctuated his words with a sharp slap to your ass, making you gasp and squirm. "Answer me." he demanded, his voice harsh.

"Y-yes, s-sensei…" you whimpered, your face flushing with humiliation and arousal. "It-it made me wet…"

Gojo tsked, shaking his head. "Such a naughty student~ I guess I couldn't teach some morals to my sweet student," he muttered, pushing two fingers roughly inside you. "But don't worry, I'll give you what you really want."

He pumped his fingers in and out of you, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit. You moaned, pushing back against his hand, seeking more friction. He chuckled, slowing his pace.

"Not so fast, little slut~" he said, his voice mocking. "I'm in charge here. You'll come when I say you can come."

He increased his pace, adding a third finger, stretching you. You gasped, your small hands clutching the sheets, your knuckles turning white. He could feel you're getting close, your inner walls tightening around his fingers.

But just as you were about to come, he pulled his fingers out of your tiny cunt. You whimpered in frustration

''Not yet, little girl. You will cum on my dick''

He watched you, he chuckled darkly, enjoying the control he had over your delicate body. He pushed you up, spinning you around until your tits were pressed against his broad chest. His erection, achingly hard, pressed against your back, demanding release.

He grabbed a handful of your hair, tilting your head back. "Beg for it, Y/N." he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. "Beg me for my cock, and I might grant your wish."

His free hand reached around, rubbing your clit again, just enough to keep you on the precipice of orgasm. He wanted to see you beg, to hear you plead for what he knew he would give you eventually.

Your eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan escaping your lips. "P-please, s-sensei, I need it… I need your cock…"

He smirked, loving that he had brought you to this point. He spun you around, positioning his throbbing cock at your entrance. "Good girl~" he praised, thrusting into you slowly, filling you completely.

You let out a sharp gasp, your eyes widening in surprise. He began to move, setting a steady pace that gradually grew more fervent. His strong hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he fucked you

As he thrust in and out, he captured your lips in a passionate and rough kiss. His thick fingers tangled in your silky hair, tugging softly as he kissed you deeply.

"Cry for me, little girl." he growled against your soft lips, his voice hoarse with desire. "Scream for me as I make you mine."

He slammed into you harder, his pace growing more erratic, as he plunged into you, seeking his release. His breath hitched, and his thrusts grew more frenzied, his skill precise in the way he hit that sweet spot inside of you.

He was closing, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the heat building up inside of him, coiling like a serpent ready to strike. His thrusts grew more frantic, his movements uncontrolled as he chased that glorious peak.

"Let me feel how tight you are around my cock." he urged, his words thick and guttural.

The pressure within him was becoming unbearable, his cock swelling inside of you, so close to the edge. His free hand slid between your swollen folds, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts.

He could feel your inner walls clenching him tighter, your orgasm surging through you. That push was all he needed, his body tensing as he came inside of you, his hot seed filling you to the brim.

After a short while, he pulled out and collapsed next to you, his muscular body slick with sweat. A satisfied grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he gazed at the afterglow of their coupling. "Good girl." he murmured, planting a tender kiss on your forehead, basking in the sweet aftermath.

His fingers trailed over your reddened ass, and you hissed from pain when he touched it. A sympathetic frown tugged at the corners of his lips. He knew he'd pushed you to your limits, but you pissed him off.

"I'll apply the ointment in a moment, to soothe that soreness," he assured you, his voice softening. There was no malice in his tone, only concern. "But don't make me punish you like this again, Y/N"

He gathered you in his arms, cradling you against his chest, his hand stroking your hair gently. The warmth of his body enveloped you, making you feel safe, despite the tenderness in your ass.

"You're mine and only mine, Y/N" he whispered, nuzzling the top of your head.

[rosemarie333]

Astro Observations/Opinions (Tropical Astrology Edition) Part Two

Hey guys! Thank you for the support of my last tropical edition🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾! I appreciate y’all so much!

I can’t wait to share what observations I have, so let’s start!

These are based on my perspective of placements and signs, so take what resonates and leave what doesn’t🫶🏾 I’d love to hear y’all’s take as well!

1. Pluto in the 1st house/Scorpio ascendants are secretive when it comes to their private life but at the same time if you really knew one you’d know that they don’t have anything special to their lives (NO SHADE ONE BIT) they just hide themselves and the more they hide the more interested people are of them but once they share it’s kinda like 🫥. like it’s the climax we expect but when in reality is just like everyone else’s. They are very magnetic and alluring HEHE like they walk in a room and EVERYONE cocks their heads but tbh they’re just like everyone else they just have a great way of hiding it to seem like it’s otherwise. For instance, we all wanna know BEYONCÉ and most people wish she wasn’t so secretive but at the same time her life consists of traveling, motherhood, touring, and singing and dancing like tbh in the grand scheme of things is very mundane. Not saying there’s nothing interesting abt her (NOT SAYING THAT AT ALL) but their lives are mundane (like the lady gaga meme “bus, another club, no sleep) like they do the same shit😭 imo (like there so only but so much they can do that’s new and interesting as opposed of what she’s been doing for 20 years atp) But at the same time, when they do share a part of themselves, people become extremely aggressive and provoked by the pluto in the 1st house for NO REASON (like beyoncé sharing her hair videos and people were so negative and saying that it was weave when it clearly isn’t, black women can grow long hair yk????) ESP when her daughter blue ivy was teared apart in the media for having more features of Jay Z than beyoncé like imagine having your child being hated and trashed on for something they can’t control???? no wonder why they don’t share and are secretive because people really tear apart what they have so🥺just my two thoughts but also some are overly secretive for no reason at times like 😀

2. Pisces placements are just as vindictive as scorpios lol like…. don’t let their delusional quirk fool you. yes are they delusional, YES AND they shouldn’t be hated for it all the time imo bc they are a very sensitive sign (like anyone with pisces or neptune personal aspects will understand like CRYING over the littlest thing, very emotionally receptive and can feel others emotions like mf) butttttrrrr sometimes they can use that against you lol

3. Gemini placements get wayy too much hate for no reason like 😭two faced and be called ANYTHING out the woodwork Lmao and not to say it isn’t true but at the same time gemini’s really are chameleons and they can get along and with anything and anyone tbh. Doesn’t mean they’re two faced for having completely different personalities, they really just blend in with any group they want to, they are veryyyygy mentally smart and have a great way of words. gemini placements are extremely perceptive too which people forget😭like GEMINIS CAN READ A BITCH really fast and that’s a underestimated part of them. Tbh in tarot they rule the lovers and i feel like if we’re going to hate on anyone it should be the devils (LMAO capricorns as they are ruled by them in tarot but i’m just kidding no sign should be hated more than the next)

4. Leo risings are insecure and they make people insecure very easily. Leo’s really do overpower a room like scorpios, and as much as people hate on leo placements i feel like they have such great magnetism and charisma that not a lot of other signs may have. Like scorpio risings, leo risings walk into a room and because their energy isn’t off putting anyone and everyone gravitates to leo risings (my mom is a leo rising and anywhere and everywhere so many people come up to strike a conversation with her lol) and that makes a lottttttt of people insecure. but although leos portray and exude confidence, they really do think of themselves as inferior sometimes (which can make them very prideful and “narcissistic” as others would say because both of those come out of insecurity).

5. Taurus venus women voices are sooo fucking powerful and soft like i’m so jealous (ariana grande, lana del ray, victoria monet, chris brown🤢, demi lovato) like they sing SOOO well i rarely meet a taurus venus that can’t sing. sound like goddesses real bad (taurus mercury’s to an certain extent have the same energy).

6. Virgos, you know you don’t have to overextend yourselfs to everyone🥺 BABY GIVE URSELF that energy you give others. On the topic of virgos, why are virgo moons so hypocritical?😭

7. Saturn in the 1st house people i feel so bad for y’all. Y’all never really let yallsevles loose and that’s a placement that can indicate suffering from depression 🥺

8. Aquarius’s are so fucking smart like everyone aquarius i know graduated a year early due to GREAT GRADES and a great sat/act. I think one that I knew went to an elite school and got a full ride likeee y’all are so fucking smart like I GOTTA SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACKK.

9. i’ve never met any person with venus mars aspects (even in harsh ones) that was not fine 😋

10. if you want a sugar daddy/sugar baby, find someone with planets in your 2nd house (benefic planets such as venus, sun, mercury, jupiter) and even 8th house hehe i shared 2nd house synastry with someone and they used to send me money like every week or so

11. 8th house synastry with mars is better than 5th house synastry (unless the two are paired together 😏) i had better experiences with 8th house mars synastry than 5th house synastry (5th house is super fun but sometimes it has no substance) but for anyone who is crushing on someone who has planets in ur 12th house, BE CAUTIOUS!

That’s it is! Thank you for reading and have a good day!!

[insidekatmind]

Our secret-Juder Bellingham

The sound of rain against the window windows filled the room, creating a relaxing but at the same time disturbing melody. You were lying on the bed, phone in your hands and a smile printed on your lips. The screen illuminated your face as your eyes read the last message from Jude.

"Are you sure he doesn’t suspect anything? I don’t know how long I can hold on without touching you in front of everyone."

You held back a laugh and responded quickly

"Don’t worry, Kylian thinks he’s the investigator of the century, but he doesn’t get it. We’re smarter than him, Jude."

Seconds later, his answer arrived.

"Smarter, you say? I want to see how smart you are when I have you in my hands."

You felt a shiver go down your back. Jude had a way of provoking you that left you speechless. It was always him who made you lose control, even with a simple message. But that secret relationship, that constant risk of being caught, made it all the more exciting.

"y/n! Come down, dinner is ready!" Kylian’s voice broke the spell. You got up quickly, taking one last look at the phone before turning it off and putting it in your pocket.

"Here I come!" you answered as you dressed your sweatshirt and looked at yourself in the mirror. There must be nothing strange in your behavior, no clue that could raise suspicion to your brother.

When you got to the kitchen, you found Kylian sitting at the table with a quiet expression as his phone was running. Your brother always had that leading air, a controlling aura that made everyone afraid. But you were his younger sister, and if there was anyone who could challenge him, it was you.

"Finally! It took you a lifetime to get down," she said, giving you a look of reproof.

"Sorry, I was texting a friend of mine," you lied naturally, sitting next to him.

"Who friend?" he asked with an raised eyebrow, as if he could really guess everything with a single question.

"Chiara, you know her," you replied nonchalantly, taking a fork and sticking a potato out of your plate. He nodded, visibly uninterested.

Your phone has vibrated slightly in the pocket of your jeans. You tried to ignore it, but the thought of it being Jude made you want to check it out right away. You waited for the right moment, took advantage of a distraction from Kylian, and pulled out your phone under the table.

"I’m coming to Kylian’s to watch the game. Get ready."

Your heart started beating faster. It didn’t warn you before. The tension started to rise. With a deep breath, you answered quickly.

"You should have told me before! Idiot."

Jude answered immediately

"I like to see you in trouble, honey."

You clenched your lips, trying to keep calm. You couldn’t let yourself be betrayed by the blush that was coming up on your face. You got up from the table, looking for an excuse." I go to my room, I’m tired," you said to Kylian, who’s eyes were up.

"After you get off, there is the game. Play the monk, I do not want to hear excuses,"ordered you as if it were your father.

"Yes, yes," you answered in a pissed-off tone, but you actually knew you’d have to come down, especially if Jude was there.

---

Later, the door of the house opened and you heard the voices of Kylian and Jude talking in the living room. Jude’s voice was unmistakable, warm and confident, with that relaxed tone that made you feel like you were always in the center of attention.

"Brother, your team has no chance tonight," said Jude, laughing loudly. "Prepare for defeat."

"Yeah, how not. We’ll see who laughs in the end," Kylian replied with a competitive tone.

You came down slowly, trying not to attract attention. When you got to the living room door, you saw them sitting on the sofa. Jude wore a black sweatshirt and sporty pants. His eyes noticed you immediately, even though he pretended not to see you. But you knew him too well. That micro-smile he had on his face was only for you.

"Here you are," said Kylian, beckoning to come closer. "Sit with us."

You snorted but sat in the middle of Jude and Kylian. The latter was too focused on the game to notice how Jude looked at you, his dark eyes following your every move. You felt his gaze burn on you.

"Comfortable?" he asked you in a provocative tone, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"I’m better without your voice in my ears," you said sour, but you crossed his gaze and saw the spark of defiance in his eyes.

Jude laughed softly, looking down at his hands. It was a continuous game between you two. A silent battle where you both tried to have the last word. But when Kylian wasn’t there, you knew who was always winning.

At one point, Kylian got up to go into the kitchen and you felt your heart racing. It was time. As soon as the kitchen door closed, Jude moved to your side. His hand touched your leg, and you held your breath.

"I missed you," he whispered in the lowest, warmest voice ever.

You swallowed, feeling his fingers caress your thigh.

"You’re crazy, Kylian can come back,"you answered in a low voice, but you didn’t move.

"Then we better hurry," he said with a haughty smirk.

Your heart was beating so fast you were afraid he could hear it. But, as risky as it was, you couldn’t help it. No one was to know, but that secrecy made it all the more exciting.

[heliads]

Something More

Based on this request: "a jealous four. reader isnt oblivious and sees the way four looks and acts with her but she gets tired of him taking long to shoot his shot so she starts flirting with another dude to make him jealous"

request sourced freshly from wattpad

masterlist

Something in this room is driving you mad. You can feel the weight of it pinned directly between your shoulder blades like a knife, following you relentlessly no matter where you go. You can pace back and forth across the training room, you can traverse the whole of the Dauntless complex, but you still know it’s there, he’s there. Watching. Waiting. 

Four. 

It is not an aggressive stare, this, it does not make you afraid, far from it. Four is not a threat to you, nor, you think, he will ever be. He is simply looking, simply observing, but for some reason that act has the power to completely throw you off kilter. 

Maybe it’s because he is only ever looking at you like this. Yes, that must be it. Four is an instructor, he has the responsibility to watch everyone here to keep them from harming themselves or others, but something is different when he’s around you. Instead of passively observing, he’s well and truly looking at you, like he likes what he sees and wants to see more, too. 

You try to put it out of your mind. Four is not your concern here, or not so anything more than the fact that he’s one of your initiation instructors and you’re trying not to get dropped before you enter the faction properly. It’s not Four’s fault if you get distracted by his attention. It’s not Four’s fault if it only ever leaves you wanting something more. 

As time goes on, though, and that something more never comes, you start to chafe against the constant pressure of his attention even more than before. He treats you differently than the other initiates, but only slightly, only ever enough to make you dream of the possibility of something changing down the line. He’ll never give you more than the time of day, but from the way he won’t ever stop his constant affiliation with you, you can’t escape the idea that maybe, just maybe, he wants that something more just as much as you do. 

The end of Phase One of Dauntless initiation draws ever closer, and Four fails to act on anything he may or may not be feeling. You could be wrong, of course, he could mean nothing by his ever present attention, but you’re not willing to take the risk of letting a small something fade away and be forgotten once initiation is over. 

If Four will not do something, well, then, the burden of acting on these impulses falls to you. Tricking an initiation leader into revealing his hand won’t be the easiest task in the world, but you’re not one to back down from a challenge. Four should know that, seeing as he’s so inclined to marking your every action. He should know that you would provoke him like this, and he should have seen it coming from quite far off indeed. 

You need one more person in your scheme to get under Four’s skin. You find your target with ease— Thomas, a dark haired boy also in your initiation class,  close enough to your rank that you won’t have to worry about keeping him close but just enough below that you’ll be able to drop him without needing to fear retaliation. Thomas is fast, smart, strong, all the things that would perhaps give someone like Four cause for concern. In short, he is perfect, and so the plan is laid. 

Next morning, you ask Thomas if he wants to spar together the next morning, just to practice. He nods readily; you’re one of the best people here, it’s why you thought Four started paying attention to you in the first place, up until the point when he stayed there in your corner even when you made mistakes. The two of you head to a fighting ring near the side of the training hall, and if you specifically chose the one right in Four’s line of vision, well, no one needs to notice that but the two of you.

You jump up and down, trying to get some blood back into your muscles. Across the ring, Thomas does the same. He grins at you, evidently proud that you’ve chosen him of all the other eligible fighters. “Hope you aren’t looking for a victory, Y/N, because I’m going to kick your ass.”

He’s grinning, though, so you smile back. “You wish. When we’re done, you’ll have more broken bones than everyone in the med wing combined.”

“Promise?” Thomas asks, laughing, and lunges for you. You roll just in time, hitting the ground right before him. 

Usually, this is the part where you get right back up again, ready to take him down for good. However, your primary motive for this little endeavor isn’t necessarily to win, just to get someone’s eyes on you. So, you stay down, grappling with Thomas so he has no choice but to pin you, up until the point where you escape out from under him and do the same.

Thomas raises a brow suggestively. “You know, I may have lost that round, but I’m kind of happy anyway.”

You grin. “Does that mean you’re fine with losing again? I’m sure my ranking and I won’t have any problems with that.”

Thomas opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by the sound of an irritable shout. It’s Four, arms folded so tightly across his chest that he looks a few seconds away from breaking a rib. “Focus, initiates! You’re not here to talk.”

When you glance over at him, you can’t help but smirk at how furious he looks. Everything is going according to plan, then, he’s jealous, just as expected. He may be in charge of everyone here today, but damn if you can’t play him like any other. Looks like all that talk about so few fears and so much bravery doesn’t stand in the face of plain old envy.

In a great show of reluctance, you get off of Thomas, extending your hand to help him up. He takes it, knuckles lingering over yours for a few moments longer than necessary. You can just make out Four’s silhouette over Thomas’ shoulder, how every fiber in his body seems to radiate with barely controlled anger.

You can only push a ruse so far before it becomes too obvious, though, so you drop Thomas’ hand and get back into a fighting position. This time, you try a little harder to win, exchanging punches and kicks for a good period of time before ‘accidentally’ dropping your guard and letting Thomas tackle you around the middle. He’s obviously in the mood to play around too, and takes his time spinning you in the air before placing you carefully on the ground.

“You better watch yourself,” he says, breath uneven from the exertion of the fight, “I think I’m catching up to you.”

You look up at him, eyes half-lidded. Thomas’ dark hair falls around his face, given the impression of a halo by the light right behind his head. All of a sudden, though, he’s ripped away, and the blinding light falls onto your face to reveal a newcomer. You didn’t hear Four climb up onto the platform of the fighting ring, nor did you detect him coming so close until he pushed Thomas away from you.

Four’s face is a dark slate, devoid of any emotion except a sharp, cold fury. His voice is clipped when he speaks, and when he tells you to meet him outside, now, Thomas actually jumps out of his way. Thomas flashes you an apologetic look as you go, but you can’t find it within you to return it. After all, this isn’t a punishment, not for you. 

In fact, this is exactly what you wanted. A scene, a public show, some sign that Four would be willing to transgress his perfect picture of leadership to make his feelings known to you. You may have forced his hand more than a little, sure, but all’s well that ends well.

The door slams shut behind you, abandoning both you and Four to the dark emptiness of the hall outside the training room. All the other initiates are somewhere inside that cavernous chamber, running laps or practicing their form, and the other Dauntless are at their jobs. No one would see the two of you, then. No one would see what transpired here at all save you and him and the beating tension between the two of you.

Four’s face doesn’t lose its chill even when Thomas is out of sight. “Do you want to tell me what that was?”

You shrug as casually as you can. “I was sparring with a friend. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Oh, really?” Four asks, “A friend? That’s what you call whatever that little display was?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him. It’s far more fun to play the innocence card as long as you can, it certainly doesn’t help Four’s temper.

Four scoffs. “Of course you do. You think I didn’t see how often you were looking at me? That whole time you were with him, purposefully going easy so he could keep his hands on you. You think I wanted to see that?”

“I don’t know,” you repeat, “You haven’t given me any reason to think otherwise. All you do is stand there and watch. Maybe one of us had to do something.”

“So that’s what this was?” Four asks, brows raised, “You wanted to do something? I’ll show you something.”

You’re expecting the kiss, you have been all morning, but that doesn’t stop the breath from leaving your lungs in one rapid rush when it finally happens. His hand is on the back of your neck, keeping you there, with him, in that moment. It feels like drowning, but the thought of living after this is such an inconceivable notion that you’d rather just let the waters claim you whole.

He breaks away eventually, unfortunately, and even in the shadows of the corridor with his face only bare millimeters away from yours you can still tell that he’s proud of himself, corners of his lips twisted up in victory. “Was it worth it?” He asks slowly.

You let out a half-laugh, a needy breath taking over the rest. “It was,” you decide.

“Good,” he tells you, and kisses you again, just so you can be sure. Perhaps jealousy has its merits after all.

divergent tag list: @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @manyfandomsfanvergent, @imwaysthelastchoice, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @crazyhearttragedy, @alex-1967s-blog

[vinjinssunglasses]

Hi dear how are you I hope you are doing well! Can you write a hc about yamazaki shingen in which he loves one of his wife(yn) but yn is and independent , smart and strong will woman who doesn't like her situation! And he only knows her children his own!

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✧ character; yamazaki shingen

✧ summary; all your life, you’ve been mistreated. Until you met Shingen, who showed you compassion. However, in this clan you’re just a pawn. To them, you’re not human. Shingen only claims his children as his like the others do, brainwashed by his upbringing. You hate your situation, and admist the tears you tell him how you really feel.

✧ tags; hurt/comfort, angst, tragedy, communication

✧ w/c; 3.4k

✧ a/n; tysm for req ^^ help this took so long. shingen crying btw?! uhhbye ily guys <33

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You head towards your favourite place in this forsaken place, the only area you could feel calm under its gaze — the fountain. Its splashes of water calm you, letting you take a deep breath as if a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. You flipped a coin inside, wishing upon the stars to give you a stroke of luck. Even though you did this everyday, everything always seemed to get worse. Cleaning up for others beyond your own will, while questioning authority will only get you tied in tighter shackles than before, is it really worth the risk? Despite your protests, you were always forced into submission.

As if the world despised and damned your very existence, cursed your name in spite, life seemed to only get worse from here. Letting out a disappointed sigh, you hear the familiar laughing and gossiping in the background. As soon as you turned around, you instantly regretted it. Those other ‘lowlifes’ were laughing at your situation, accompanied by a few low-rankers of the Yamazaki clan.

Don’t they ever get enough?

Nobody here liked you, they all wished upon a more wealthy clan to take the spot as Gun’s mother. They only knew you as Gun’s mother anyway.

They yelled and threw curse words at your name, while you rightfully walked past them, ignoring their usual antics. It was like this everyday, it was just something you were forced to get used to. You know better than to let them go like this, however your protests don’t improve the situation. And they’re starting to get tired of reprimanding your behaviour.

“Go back to your lethargic husband then, huh? We all know Shintaro—.” What? The rage hit you, sharp and blinding. Before you had even realised, your hands shot out, tangling in her hair before yanking her forward, forcing her to look into your eyes.

“What? What did you say?” The girl’s laughter cut off, dissolving as you slapped her, the sound ringing in the silence.

“Talk about me all you like. But I won’t sit here annd listen to you insult my husband, understood?”

Her eyes widened, darting between you and your clenched fists, body trembling as she dared not spare another word. Her defiance crumbled under the weight of your hard, breath catching in her throat as she nodded obediently.

Then you heard it, the familiar shout of your name, cutting through the noise, sharp and unyielding. You loosened your grip on her, turning to the tall figure walking towards you. Quickly picking up those girls were creating false accusations against you, claiming you started to pick a fight, you could only sigh and await your punishment.

Here it comes, the bitterness sinking deeper.

“Come with me.”

You clicked your tongue in a subtle gesture of disapproval, following along unwillingly. The distant chatter of the girls fading away eased you a little, yet you were still stern. He fanned himself, choosing his words carefully as though to not provoke you up further. The trees are starting to blossom into a lovely pastel pink, and the sun is starting to set later than it should. Summer is one of the only things you look forward to. Its burning rays distract you from the thoughts that often keep you awake at night.

“What happened?” His tone unusually kind, as if offering a branch of support.

“Whatever they said about me.” A curt reply passed your lips, as you upheld your serious frown.

“Still, there was no need to—“ He stopped himself, adjusting his glasses as though rethinking his approach. Shintaro parted his lips, as if to say something, before speaking: “I have an offer for you.”

His gaze narrowed slightly, and you raised an eyebrow and you came to a halt. Shintaro scanned the area for any potential spies, then leaned closer, breathe warm against your ear.

“Betray Shingen with me. It’s a simple process, and I guarantee you a happier life.”

“What?” This bastard is also a traitor? Recently, there has been a slow yet steady rise of people disliking the current leader, and the vice president’s support of this sentiment increases the danger. For a moment, you were paralysed. Is this some sort of a rebellion? “I’m not going to do that.”

Shintaro sighed, almost as though he expected your refusal. “I should’ve guessed.”

“Don’t speak another word of this.” You spat, your mind whirling as you turned sharply, making your waytowards your chambers. Each step felt like nails stabbing into your feet, and you dragged your torn self.

‘Rebel against Shingen’ Those words replayed in your mind like a broken record, making your mind dizzy. Lost in thought, you collided into someone. Mumbling a rushed apology, you tried to push past, only to feel a clamped hand around your wrist.

“I was looking for you! Shingen’s kid are playing In the garden when he should be training, so can you-” Shingen’s kids? Those words struck like a slap. Am I just a babysitter to these people?

“Get off me!” You pushed them away onto the floor, tearing up at the eyes. Once having fought for your independence, you believed your life had a purpose other than the cruel expectations set upon you as a birthing machine, a housewife. Your beliefs are all worthless, mercilessly proven by how now you were drifting upon a place that left no room for your wants and needs.

Where did all of this mess began? Was it the day you were born that life was fated to become like this? Nurtured to be obedient and quiet, yet you never want your voice to be silenced. It didn’t matter how much you tried to scream, yell, protest, it was if you were deafened to arrogant ears. Your teenage years were the worst point, you were described as reckless and selfish to the yakuza rules. All these emotions stirred inside to create a mixture of depressive episode and lashes of anger, all to make someone listen to you even once.

It wasn’t your best bet to resort to violence. But it worked. Even though you were allowed to personally train as a woman, you were just as capable as a man at heart. Secretly watching how your older brothers took over aikido, you begged for them to train you behind your clan’s backs. When they found out, they almost disowned you. Where else were you to go? Wandering the streets, with all these tattoos? Nobody would talk you in as the mess you were.

Shingen.. The leader of a clan known for its ability to make even the strongest, well-known clans to sink to their knees. Although he was seem ruthless by his uptight exterior, he was the first to ever appreciate you. The only man to ever carry you in his arms, bury his face into your neck, and treat you so lovingly. You hated yourself for the little you were worth, but he truly made you feel like the only person in the world.

It feels like your world is collapsing atop you, nobody there to pull you out of the way of a boulder. Deep breaths, deep breathes… For all your life you’ve bottled up all your emotions, so why is it so difficult now? As soon as you pushed open that door, you practically collapsed onto that bed, sinking into the warm sheets.

That following week came the dreaded family event, where other clans came to congratulate the birthdat of Gun. He was just a little boy by now, 10 years old. That little boy deserved the world, to be happy and play kendama all day as he wished. Though his life was already planned for him — the day he was to take over all the gangs in the area, the day he’d give up all his dreams and surrender himself. Just two years ago, would he cling to your skirt and hold your hand tightly when you spoke to unfamiliar people. How do they expect an innocent soul like his to ruthlessly murder like his father?

Life isn’t fair on him, nor on you. Coexisting in this selfish world, only you stood by his side. You wanted the best for him, for him to do anything he wanted. Against your will, he were to be a street fighter, fated to inheriting that name, ‘Machine Gun’.

You make sure to apply extra concealer to cover the dark circles and the tear stains from the night before. Shingen came from behind you and kissed your neck, biting your earlobe teasingly, his tall stature curling around you.

“Are you okay, baby?” It’s best if he doesn’t know anyway, right?. Around you, he seems to never stop smiling, unable to keep his loving gaze off of you. it’s be a shame to wipe that all away with your own burdens.

“Im alright, Shingen.” I smile, resting my free hand upon his head, stroking through the silky-smooth strands.

“We have to get going,” Shingen softly spoke, taking your hand in his. Before leaving, he pressed a delicate kiss on the back of your hand, reminding you how much he values you.

It’s 5 o’clock, and Shingens swarmed with the other ladies from different clans. Although jealous, they must be going through the tough traditions we must uphold — to marry and have sex with the man who upholds the most power. In this case, your beloved. That was how your twisted romance started — from the unfairness placed upon you and thousands of other undeserving women. You were lucky to have given birth to your son. Ever so often, you think about what could’ve happened in stead. What if Shingen never opened his heart to you, fallen so deeply in love with you?

Taking a glass of wine, you finished it in one gulp, hoping to shove these thoughts to the back of your mind. Shingens still the same man he was when he first met you — cold, unbothered with a sharp, scrutinising glare. The same one that you found yourself shamefully attracted to. Unbothered, he sighed, absentmindedly making conversations, eyes drifting away from theirs as if something is occupying his mind.

Before you could even stand, you hear the familiar shout of your name. Applauding joyfully with a half-finished wine glass in her hand, hiccuping while congratulating you

“It’s been a couple years,” She smiled, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. You scowled while stiffly trying to make some distance in between you two. “How’s his son?”

“His..?” You muttered, confused. “He’s doing well, he’s a quick learner. The Kojima’s have said he’s mastered Aikido by now.”

Keeping up appearances was something you were always taught to follow. It was engraved in you, impossible to unlearn after being beaten for forgetting.

“Right, right. He’ll grow up just to be like his father. Shingen-nim has been raising him well.” One thing you hated about Shingen was that he was not present in his child’s life often. When Gun cried in the middle of the night, it was put upon you to rock him to sleep once more; despite the aches of your back. Breastfeeding, playing with him, changing his diapers — your responsibility. The only thing the Yamazaki clan did for you was train him to be a killing machine, it was his sole purpose for his birth in the first place.

“Yes. He’s a good father.” Your eyebrows furrowed, yet you had to keep that polite, strained smile on your face.

“He looks just like him, doesn’t he? Reverse eyes, fighting skills—“

“Apologies, it seems I have something to do right now. Is it okay if I get back to you?” Your fists clenched at your sides, voice straining to keep its elegance.

“Oh well, if it’s that important then it cannot be helped.” She took another drink of her wine, waving you goodbye while you stormed off. Fighting skills and reverse eyes… If it wasn’t for that, would she even care? Was she purposely ignoring all the resemblance I have to my own child? He’s the splitting image of me for crying out loud?! Holding your head in your hands, you quickly realised this would be a bad look.

Your son was sitting next to his nephew, Haruto. Gun loved playing games and having fun, while on the other hand Haruto was interested in strategies and books. Whenever you saw him, he was always knee-deep in another tale. Although they were opposites, they always got along. Such a shame that Gun won’t have much time to play with him when he got older. Their bond was like brothers, if you saw Gun you would also see Haruto. As if they were attached at the hip. He’d even watch him practicing martial arts, and Gun would rest his head upon his shoulder while Haruto read. The warm, spring breeze hitting their faces while he basked in the sun’s rays.

Unlike Gun, you felt isolated — nobody to truly let out your emotions to. Everyone was enjoying the evening while you were torn in the corner. Where’s your happy ending? That son, your blood and tears in one being, wasn’t even socially considered yours. And Shingen didn’t seem to mind your discretisation. Sitting here, bathing him his own luxuries, on top of the world like he’d always had been. Raised to be head, nobody had ever put him in his place.

That rebellion Shintaro mentioned.. Your eyes shift to Shintaro’s overwhelming presence in the crowd, creating chatter amongst the women. If they couldn’t have Shingen, they’d atleast marry another powerful man like him. This all makes you wonder, is the rebellion valid? Again, you’re giving yourself a headache, it’s best not to think about it.

The night carries on, and you find yourself sitting, alone with the company of the depressive thoughts to fight to shove them away. That conversation replays in your head like a broken record. He’s your son too, right? You birthed and raised him all by yourself.

Shingen excused himself from the idle chatter and came to sit next to you, lacing your hands in his.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you. What was the lady from that clan talking about?” He asked, unable to suppress a smile when he’s with you. Softly gazing into your eyes, a sharp contrast from the same stern eyes that he used at those women striking conversation.

“Jonggun. She was asking how he were getting along.” You answer honestly, while his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. “I told her he’s mastered Aikido.”

“Of course, he’s a Yamazaki through and through,” Shingen spoke, taking a deep breath while using that steady authority he always used, with a hint of gentleness. “I expect no less, my bloodline is pure.”

Those careless words pierced through your chest like a sharp blade. All this constant stress made your headache even more, and you poured another glass of the wine resting on the table.

“Pure..” You muttered, those words buttering your tongue, voice drowned out by the hum of chatter. Taking a glance at his face, he remained unfazed, looking down upon your soft fingers against his scarred, calloused ones. He never noticed how you felt. Never read the emotion building up onto your voice, causing your face to contort into one of frustration. Then again, you’re in public, you’ve been taught to remain calm and collected.

“The children will carry on my legacy.”*

“Your legacy, you say..?” You repeated once more, this time loud enough for his ears to catch on. Setting the glass down with more force then necessary, creating a loud thump that diverted eyes and conversations.

“I’m feeling unwell, please excuse me.” Walking through these damned hallways once more, the echo of gasps seemed to fade away. You almost couldn’t bare to see his face any longer. Undoing the laces and ties of your kimono, you threw it onto the floor in a fit of fury . The undergarments lay scattered upon the floor while you buried your head into your pillow. The makeup slid off your face, staining the pillow and smudging your mascara. Whether it had been minutes or hours, you didn’t know. After a while, you eventually calmed down, sniffling while staring at your blank ceiling. Only then did you hear the door sliding open.

He called your name, and you instantly rolled over, turning away from him.

“Are you alright? What’s the matter?” He sat onto the bed, you weren’t ready to confront him with this yet. The years you’ve endured this pain. The mistreatment. You were ashamed for yourself. Gathering all your courage, you spoke:

“What you said back then. Before I excused myself.” Shingen raised an eyebrow. “You always say that.” You spat, voice trembling, bubbling over with the suppressed tears.

“Our children. Our legacy. They’re my children too. My tainted blood runs through their veins just as much as yours. But you never say that, do you? Not does anyone. Nobody acknowledges my very existence, they only talk to talk about your son, your achievements. You don’t bat an eye — no, you don’t even care how I feel.” You swallowed throat right, tears streaming down your face. “Or maybe it’s my fault, I..”

The words tumbled out your mouth now, chest tight, spilling with the words you’ve always wanted to say. “How come the world only cares about you? I was the one who changed his diapers, I was the only one who was acruallly present in his life. Were you even there when he took his first steps? Or learnt how to say ‘mama’? I’m just the perfect vessel to continue your perfect bloodline.”

The room was deadly silent. Shingen held his head in his hands, lips parting yet remained silent. He took a deep breathe, as if fully processing it all.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You let out a chocked sob. “Pretending everything’s fine, being fucked over constantly, I..”

Shingen breath hitched, the silence between you becoming unbearable. Finally he spoke, low and ashamed.

“I haven’t been completely blind to all of this. I know they haven’t been as accepting of you as they should. You’re a strong woman, yet I’ve let things go too far. There’s only so much in person can take.” Voice barely above a whisper, laced with a vulnerability you rarely heard, he felt too ashamed to even look at you. “The things they’ve said behind my back are unacceptable. I’ve seen how they deduce your worth to nothing…” Shingen could barely piece himself together to finish that sentence, struggling to string together words.

“They’re my family; I was raised this way.. This ignorant mindset of mine passed down from generations, it’s almost apart of me. It’s no excuse for what I’ve let you go through. You’re right — I should’ve been there but I wasn’t.” For the first time ever, you watched a tear glisten down his cheeks. “I should’ve been there. Not just for you, for our son.”

“Why must you make me stay in a household where I’m never good enough? I can’t live like this forever.”

Shingen didn’t have an answer. He sniffled, as if weighing all the years he refused to reflect on. The silence was think and oppressive, and neither of you wanted to spare a word. Finally, he raised his gaze, coming to terms with himself.

“It’s time things changed. From now own, I want you to tel me what you want. I’ll do anything, even if it’s means shedding blood.”

You blinked, the words sinking in slowly.

Shingen reached to cup your face, with the familiar feel of his firm yet gentle touch.

“This clan has always been my legacy to take over. Ever since I was young, I’ve been subjected to vigorous training to be the man that I am today. But if it costs me my beloved and our own child, it’s time I choose differently. For you, for us, for him.”

The you pulled yourself into him, pressing your tear-streaked face against his kimono while he wrapped you in his arms. You choked back your words, your sobs muffled against his increasing heartbeat. The tension within you. unwinded slowly while his words lingered in the air. Shingen sighed, uncontrollably smiling while he sobbed.

Shingen’s hand found its way back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair, his relieved breaths a soothing sigh against your temple. As he held you, his face twistes into one you’ve never witnessed before — remorse. After years, he saw himself break, quiet trembling sobs escaping his lips. His grip around tightened, as if he were afraid to be alone.

It was his first apology. A start to a new era.

[ssa-dado]

Annoyingly Yours - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, angst though it's more like ♫ LOATHING, UNADULTERATED LOATHING ♫ Summary: At 33, Aaron Hotchner prides himself on discipline and control... until you become his deskmate. With quirks that seem to clash against his precision, you’re nothing short of maddening. Even your breathing seems to provoke a visceral reaction in him... surely out of frustration, right? Not out of... attraction?! Warnings: None, just wanted to clarify the story is set in 1998, before Hotch became Unit Chief (Gideon and Rossi were charge instead). Word Count: 4.4k Dado's Corner: Based on this ask sent by the loml @c-losur3. Made a few tweaks because I can. And because I’m evil. Enter Aaron “convinces himself he hates you while secretly nursing a big fat crush” Hotchner. A timeless classic. Hope you like it.

masterlist

“People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use.” - Søren Kierkegaard

Written in blue gel ink on a neon pink sticky note, it sat smugly atop the pristine case file Hotch had spent hours perfecting the night before.

No signature, no admission of guilt.

Just a bright, audacious square of defiance left to mock him.

In all his years as a profiler, he’d never encountered a case this easy to solve. Hell, he wished his active investigations were even half as simple as this. Because only after approximately half a second of analysis, the profile of the Unsub was crystal clear:

Female. Early 20s. A twisted sense of humor. A fascination with philosophy, particularly the existential, though occasionally dabbling in absurdism. Works in law enforcement - specifically, the BAU. Only writes in blue ink because she needs her words to stand out as much as her personality does. Likely has a compulsive habit of arriving to work early but never early enough to beat him to the office.

And there she was, the Unsub, strolling through the entrance just as the clock struck 6:01.

“Good morning, Hotch,” you said without even glancing in his direction, as if you somehow sensed his irritation wafting across the bullpen.

You were the Unsub.

His polyglot, sarcastic, sticky-note-vandalizing deskmate.

Case closed.

“Why did you leave me this?” he scoffed as his fingers carefully peeled back the neon pink square from the folder.

The glue resisted just enough to be infuriating, threatening to leave a smear on what he privately considered his masterpiece - a report so cleanly written that it might one day serve as the gold standard for FBI rookies.

And now, his file, had been vandalized.

It bore your mark.

“Educational purposes,” you said airily, as you dropped into your chair facing his own, a complete lack of regard for the disruption you caused just by existing in his vicinity.

He despised it.

That your desk had to face his, ensuring that every time he so much as lifted his gaze, he was met with the perpetual source of his unease, was nothing short of torture.

Why couldn’t you be like his last deskmate? That moron at least had the decency to leave him alone unless absolutely necessary.

The most small talk he’d ever inflicted was the occasional, self-congratulatory monologue about whatever barely-legal college girl he’d managed to con into bed last Friday night with the oh-so-irresistible revelation that he was FBI.

At least after spewing his bullshit, the guy would shut up and return to his self-inflicted misery, no doubt haunted by the limitations of his pitifully small brain.

You, instead, were far too smart - too sharp for your own good, really - but still your humor was as broken as his own. You had the same, if not more, level of drive. And for some inexplicable reason, you shared his obsession with arriving early.

It was maddening.

It was his thing - his small act of rebellion against a world that had always expected more from him than he could give.

His hours of solitude before the office filled with noise, before the madness and the demands of others hijacked his peace. Those few precious hours were his escape, his refuge, where he could think, where he could breathe.

But no, you had to show up too. Every damn morning.

“Educational purposes?” He echoed flatly, regretting, for the hundredth time, that he ever encouraged you to speak before his second cup of coffee.

“Yes, Hotch. I’ve never seen you use a sticky note,” you retorted, as if your reasoning were completely rational and not mildly absurd. “So, naturally, I assumed you didn’t know they existed. Thought I’d be kind of me to introduce you to the concept.”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned, the sarcasm sliding off his tongue with a sharpness that matched the ache now forming at his temples. “I know what sticky notes are. I don’t use them because they’re impractical. They always leave glue residue, it’s annoying.”

Since for some reasons he felt the need to emphasize his point, he held up his sacred notebook - a worn, leather-bound treasure he treated like an extension of himself. “That’s why we have these. To take proper notes. Like agents. Not middle schoolers.”

But you didn’t even flinch.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, the movement slow and casual, yet just enough to make him irrationally nervous that you might tip over. “They don’t leave residue if you close the case fast enough. The glue won’t have time to dry. But I guess if it takes you ages to solve something, that’s not really the sticky note’s fault, is it? Sounds more like a problem with the agent.”

His jaw locked so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack.

The nerve of you.

He hated how his body betrayed him like this, the faintest tingle at the back of his neck, the way his pulse faltered and then stuttered, because his decision to remain silent didn’t let his voice do the stammering instead.

Oh, he wanted to argue.

Desperately.

To lay out an irrefutable case demonstrating, that the fault lay not in the man who would undoubtedly climb the FBI ranks faster than anyone dared imagine but in the cheap adhesive some factory somewhere had slapped onto your stupid pack of hot pink sticky notes.

And all he wanted, absurdly, was to prove you wrong.

Not just wrong. Spectacularly wrong.

But instead of offering a retort worthy of his reputation, he exhaled sharply, forcing his jaw to unclench.

He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours, narrowing into the kind of look that could silence seasoned agents, suspects, and even Gideon when necessary.

Yet somehow, it had no discernible effect on the 21-year-old profiler sitting across from him - the one who’d been in the BAU for barely three weeks and already seemed impervious to his most withering glares.

As if in response to his futile attempt at dominance, your smirk widened, as though you could hear the unspoken debate raging in his head. Worse, it looked like you were enjoying the fact that you’d managed to rattle him.

And God help him, he felt rattled.

“How many of those sticky notes do you have?” he finally asked.

Your response was almost immediate.

“As many as you need,” you said as you pulled open your top-right drawer – the drawer that had come to symbolize everything he couldn’t categorize about you.

It housed your so-called “essentials”: pencils, a collection of elastic bands you had an infuriating habit of launching at him when the mood struck, and the same six markers in various states of decay - probably relics from your high school days. There was a stapler in there too - one he had to admit, with no small amount of shame, he borrowed from time to time.

But then there were the other items. The ones his categorically organized brain couldn’t quite justify sharing space with stationary essentials.

A box of tea - the kind of black tea with a scent so strong it practically sucker-punched him from across the desk every time you brewed it, chocolate bars that mysteriously appeared and vanished like contraband…

…and, as it turned out, the dreaded sticky notes.

They were hidden beneath the tea box, of course - because why not force him to think about the assault on his nostrils that would begin precisely three hours and twenty-seven minutes from now?

You lifted the box, revealing the fluorescent pink squares of doom, a shade so bright it only made the pain going on in his head since the first moment you opened your mouth today even worse.

“I only have hot pink, though,” you announced, holding the sticky notes up.

“…And?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to use hot pink? Do you have a problem with that?”

“On the contrary,” you said, your lips curling into that infuriating smirk again. “I’m impressed. I thought you’d whine about a color demasculating your sacred reports.”

He felt his pulse thrum in his ears at that.

He almost - almost - wanted to tell you that you were looking at a man currently wearing pink socks under his neatly pressed slacks. A pair that had, unfortunately, turned pink during his first solo attempt at laundry in college and had somehow managed to stay in his rotation all these years, as a reminder that even the best could make mistakes.

But he didn’t.

Not because he was embarrassed - he wasn’t - but because he knew you’d twist it into something else entirely, another jab, another laugh at his expense.

And the last thing he needed right now was more of this.

Whatever this was.

Instead, he picked up the hot pink sticky notes, tapping them against his palm. “I’ll take them, we’ll see if it’s really the agent’s fault."

By mid-morning, to his reluctant surprise, the sticky notes had become one of his favorite tools - not just for their undeniable practicality but because they gave him the perfect weapon to deliver a dose of your own medicine.

And you deserved it. Absolutely, unequivocally deserved it.

After all, it wasn’t him launching elastic bands at his deskmate with sniper-like precision at ungodly hours, the faint thwack cutting through the quiet bullpen as the band landed squarely in his lap, while he was clearly trying to work. This, from the same person who’d managed to fail their firearm certification twice

It wasn’t him leaning subtly - though not subtly enough - to sneak a peek at his case files because your own workload wasn’t challenging enough to hold your attention. Still too new to the team, you’d only been sent into the field once, a prisoner of the bullpen and endless paperwork. Yet, despite the monotony, you remained undeterred, tirelessly determined to prove your worth at every possible turn.

And it certainly wasn’t him disrupting the flow of the day by asking if his coffee needed refilling when he was clearly already immersed in work, only to return moments later with an extra steaming cup - and a piece of chocolate from that drawer - placing it without a word on his desk like it wasn’t an unnecessary intrusion. Because you were just kind like that.

It wasn’t him rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, the fabric bunching unevenly around his elbows - a motion so predictable it had practically become your tell when you were wrestling with a puzzle more stubborn than the agent that solving it.

Nor was it how your forearms inevitably transformed into impressionist paintings of smudged blue ink, the accidental artwork often bleeding onto the cuffs of your shirt, leaving the unfortunate soul seated across from you utterly derailed from whatever he’d been about to jot down, unable to look away.

It wasn’t him who dressed like that.

Had a brain like that.

A voice like that.

A face like that.

No.

It wasn’t him. It was you. And that was the problem.

Because for all his irritation, for all his carefully constructed disdain, he couldn’t stop noticing. Couldn't stop looking. Couldn't stop… what exactly?

…Right.

Couldn’t stop scribbling down his meticulously crafted revenge, which he would plant squarely on your desk the moment you wandered off to refill your coffee.

“We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid.” – Benjamin Franklin

Thought you might enjoy something to ponder while you’re busy ignoring the typo you made on page 7, line 15 of your report.– A.H.

He placed the sticky note precisely in the center of your desk, ensuring it was impossible to miss. Satisfied, he returned to his seat, feigning an air of indifference as he watched you from the corner of his eye.

It didn’t take long.

He didn’t look up when you arrived, but he heard it - the subtle shift in your breathing, the gasp as your eyes widened. The pages of your report rustled as you flipped through them, and the sharp exhale that followed told him you’d found it.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Never had a sound been so soothing to his ears.

And yet - he should have known better.

He barely had time to blink before the loud thud of your hand slamming onto his desk jolted him upright. He looked up to find you standing over him, your eyes gleaming with a smugness so infuriating it made him want to wipe it off your face.

His gaze darted down to the sticky note you’d slapped in front of him, and -

Oh.

Hotch stared at it. Then stared some more.

There, in all its crude glory, was what could only be described as a "creative interpretation" of a very specific part of the male anatomy, staring back at him from the bright pink square.

“The proportions are all wrong.” He deadpanned.

And then you, with all your infuriating composure, leaned on his desk.

Close. Too close.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Agent Hotchner," you said, raising a brow. "If you want it anatomically correct, maybe next time you should hand me a reference photo."

His brain short-circuited.

For a horrifying moment, he couldn’t think of a single word, but only at the implication of what you said… you couldn’t mean that… right?!

“Not yours!” you blurted out, your hands flailing in a frantic attempt to erase the moment. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t asking for- I just-”

"And I certainly wouldn’t-" he cut in, his own voice breaking due to the sudden clumsiness of his own tongue.

But the damage was done.

Your cheeks turned the same vivid shade as the neon pink sticky note still plastered defiantly on his desk. He felt his own face burning, and the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably, like his own body was actively rebelling against him.

Both of you were way too stunned to say anything that wouldn’t somehow make it worse.

Hotch’s mind raced for a way to defuse the situation, but every possible response felt like it would either escalate the embarrassment or reveal… something he wasn’t ready to confront.

And then, mercifully - or perhaps not - your survival instincts kicked in.

“I’ll just… uh… get more coffee,” you muttered, backing away from his desk like it might physically combust if you stayed a moment longer. You turned on your heel, clearly aiming to escape the bullpen as fast as humanly possible. “Do you want some?”

He blinked, thrown off by the question. “Yes, thanks. Black,” he replied automatically, his voice still a little stiff.

As soon as you were out of sight, he allowed himself to crumble. His left hand dragged across his face, fingers pressing against his temples as if they could massage the ridiculousness of it all out of his brain.

Stupid. The whole thing was so stupid.

A slip of the tongue, a misstep, blown completely out of proportion.

And yet, here he was, sitting at his desk, undone by a pink sticky note and a fleeting moment of awkwardness.

With a low, frustrated groan, he let his hand drop, hitting his forehead against the heel of his palm in a futile attempt to snap himself out of it.

Focus. He needed to focus.

He stared down at the open case file in front of him, its neatly typed words mocking him with their clarity.

He knew they were legible - he’d written them himself.

But right now, the letters blurred into meaningless smudges on the page, overridden by a far more vivid image - your face.

Flushed. Wide-eyed. Flustered.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Just a joke, he reminded himself. Just a stupid, ill-timed joke.

And yet his chest still felt tight, his pulse erratic, like he’d run up the stairs two steps at a time.

His gaze flicked to the sticky note still sitting on the edge of his desk, as bright and offensive as the moment it had first been slapped down in front of him. Without thinking, he grabbed it, crumpling it in his fist.

There. Problem solved. Gone. Out of sight, out of mind.

He could move on.

But then his hand stilled, his grip loosening as he stared at the crumpled ball of paper.

His pulse still raced, his mind still spiraled, and all because of… this.

A rational man would throw it away. Rip it into pieces, toss it into the trash, and let it become a fleeting, forgotten memory.

He should throw it away. He would throw it away. Any second now.

But his hand didn’t move.

Instead, and against every shred of common sense he prided himself on, Hotch smoothed the crumpled edges as best he could and opened his desk drawer, tucking it far into the back, behind a few other things he pretended not to care about but couldn’t quite get rid of.

Hidden away, out of sight.

Safe.

From what? From you? From himself? He didn’t have the answer, and he didn’t dare linger on the questions.

Instead, he closed the drawer with more force than necessary, ignoring the faint tremor in his hand - but even as he turned his attention to the files in front of him, the pink still lingered in his periphery, an afterimage burned into his mind.

Of your flustered face.

Adorable.

So adorable that, over time, that sticky note became far from the only item inhabiting that drawer.

Aaron Hotchner - the very man who had once scoffed at your so-called “miscellaneous essentials” drawer - now secretly had one of his own.

A collection of odd, seemingly random things: items you had given him, thrown at him in moments of boredom, or those ridiculous little tokens you’d started exchanging lately that blurred the line between teasing and genuine thoughtfulness.

Because that’s what deskmates did, right?

They shared. They joked. They exchanged these odd little tokens of camaraderie that somehow made the job less crushing.

Except this felt like something more.

Maybe you were more than deskmates. Maybe even… friends?

And he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Gideon, had been starting to observe the two of you like he was profiling a particularly complex unsub, his sharp, knowing glances making Hotch feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

Then there was Rossi, who took an almost perverse delight in making his observations less subtle. "Synergy," he'd say with a pointed smirk, the kind that made Hotch’s jaw tighten. "It’s a rare thing, you know, finding compatibility like this. Magic, really."

They saw something. Something neither of you was ready to admit.

And ominously - no, deliberately - they decided to exploit it.

Because that’s what bosses did.

The BAU was chronically understaffed, perpetually fighting against the outdated perception that profiling was glorified guesswork. The pay wasn’t anything to write home about, either. Most cases were worked from behind desks, saving the budget for the bigger field assignments.

But what the BAU lacked in glamour, it tried to make up for in partnerships - teams so seamlessly synchronized they became the backbone of the unit.

Apparently, you and Hotch had become one of those teams.

What had started as two distinct desks - two well-defined territories with clear boundaries - had slowly morphed into one chaotic shared space.

A 5’x5’ no-man’s-land where it was impossible to tell where your workspace ended, and his began.

Like now.

The oversized map of your current case sprawled across the desk, forcing you both into closer proximity than either of you would normally allow.

You were perched on his side of the desk, tracing potential paths and patterns, completely absorbed in piecing together the unsub’s geographical profile.

He told himself he was focused. Jotting down victim locations. Marking points on the map with  little red magnets.

Totally immersed in the task at hand.

Except he wasn’t.

Because the occasional brush of your arm against his felt electrifying in a way it had no right to be.

Because your voice, low and steady as you murmured your observations, felt less like background noise and more like the only sound in the room.

And yet, this closeness, this seamless partnership, felt natural.

Effortless.

Distracting as hell.

So distracting that by the time he placed the last magnet, he realized he’d miscounted. One victim left, and no magnet to place them.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your eyes scanning the map, “It looks like we might’ve missed a pin for Daniel Hardman.”

How diplomatic of you.

How unnecessarily kind, considering it was entirely his fault.

He’d miscounted the magnets - a mistake caused by a momentary lapse in focus when, mid-count, you casually asked him if he wanted to go watch the first Star Wars prequel with you next year.

It wasn’t just the advance planning that sent his mind reeling - though the thought of you penciling him into your future like that was disarming enough - it was the fact that you remembered he liked Star Wars.

A detail you had no business remembering, and yet, somehow, you did.

“Yes, sorry. There are more in my drawer,” he said, standing quickly to fetch them himself. But before he could stop you, you were already at the drawer, pulling it open.

“It’s the second one-” The words barely left his mouth before he heard the gasp.

“…from the top,” he finished weakly, already knowing what you’d seen.

There they were. Your tokens. In his drawer. Staring right at you.

The gun casing from the bullet you’d proudly handed him after finally earning your firearm certification on your third attempt. You’d declared, almost giddy, that you’d never be a burden to him again, and maybe it was his lessons, you’d added shyly, that had helped you finally overcome it. He wasn’t sure what had struck him more: the pride in your voice or the fact that you’d thought of him at all.

A framed solo photograph of the two of you from that year’s Thanksgiving spent stuck in the bullpen, drowning in case files while Rossi and Gideon insisted on a makeshift dinner with takeout. You hadn’t hesitated for a second, throwing an arm around him for the picture and leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. For you, maybe it had been. For him, it had been anything but.

Every single elastic band you’d launched at him -143, though he’d never admit to counting.

A single stray hair tie - the one you’d used to tie his hair into a ridiculous fountain one day when his fringe had gotten so long it kept falling into his face. He’d left it like that the rest of the day, silently cursing himself for how much he didn’t hate it.

An unopened pack of hot pink sticky notes, the only color he now allowed himself to buy, though he’d never admit why.

And, of course, every sticky note you’d ever left him, arranged in chronological order - except for one.

The “caricature,” the crude drawing that had started his ridiculous collection. That particular sticky note hadn’t stayed long in the drawer. Somehow, it had made its way home with him, “inexplicably” framed and placed on his bedside table.

It now sat next to his alarm clock, the two most irritating objects in his life.

Both constant reminders of things he couldn’t seem to escape - one for its relentless insistence on dragging him out of bed every morning, and the other for how it made him feel every time he looked at it.

And now here you were, looking up from the drawer, eyes wide. “Hotch…”

He tensed, his pulse quickening with each step you took toward him… what were you doing?

Without a word, you opened your drawer—the infamous "essentials" drawer he thought he knew like the back of his hand.

Except this time, its contents had changed.

Because right on top, perched like a cherished keepsake, was a photo he hadn’t known existed.

Another one from that Thanksgiving night.

The one photo taken moments later, when you’d decided, in your infinite ability to wreak havoc, to joke about “capturing a moment” and had wrapped your arms around his head, holding him still as you planted a kiss on his cheek.

His expression in the photo was pure indignation, eyebrows furrowed in protest - though it also captured the deep rouge spreading across his cheeks.

“This one is my favorite,” you said, laughing as you held it up for him to see. “You’re so red in it, it’s hilarious.”

He stared at the photo, feeling the telltale warmth creeping up his neck, threatening to betray him all over again. His ears burned as he managed to mutter, “Never been kissed by a woman before.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long.

You blinked, your laughter abruptly halting as your mouth fell open in shock. “Wait, seriously? Are you-?”

He sighed, cutting you off before your pity or disbelief could spiral out of control. “I was joking,” he said, voice flat and utterly deadpan. “I’ve been kissed by women. Multiple.”

You burst into laughter again, this time doubling over. “Oh my God! Why did you say it like that? Multiple! Hotch,” you said, gasping for air between giggles, “you’re killing me.”

“No,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned back to the map in front of him. “You’re killing me.”

You didn’t hear him, thank God - or if you did, you gave no sign. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

A moment later, you were back at his side of the desk, the missing red magnet in your hand. You held it out to him, your smile still warm, still lingering. “For the record,” you said, your voice softer now, “I think it’s kind of sweet. That you framed it, I mean.”

His hand hesitated as he reached for the magnet, his fingers hovering just over yours. Something so simple suddenly felt unbearably complicated.

Delicate.

He couldn’t seem to figure out how to take the magnet without brushing against your skin - not that he didn’t want to.

He just wasn’t sure if he should.

“It’s a good photo,” he said at last, his voice quieter than usual, his eyes flickering up to meet yours briefly before darting back to the map.

Safe. Neutral.

But you didn’t retreat.

If anything, your smile only grew.

“Yes,” you said, voice just as quiet. “It is.”

---

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