#so maybe it’s possible he did the same here

[nugwon]

I want a Heeseung smut with forced eye contact stuff. Maybe, you could also have routine sex but it's unpredictable—like he's hard just watching you wash dishes, style yourself on the vanity, and stuff like that

🐦‍⬛ my ex was like this, and i miss it. a. lot. especially now that i can imagine it’s really heeseung eye me and teasing me in the kitchen instead 😗😗😗😗😗. #imdelusional.

heeseung couldn’t help himself. before he’d met you, he’d been celibate for a while. wanting to give the rest of his body and possibly his children to the one woman he was gonna love for the rest of his life. then you showed up, not necessarily throwing your body at him but you made it known that you wanted him and he could have you anytime.

so he made you his fuck buddy—aka. best friends until you both catch feelings. he took all his sexual frustrations out on you—he kissed you when he had sex with you. you did everything a romantic partner would do, except be romantic partners. “you look hot,” heeseung smirked from the couch.

not only were you a fuck buddy, you were roommates. “i’m cleaning the dishes?” you laughed softly, heeseung nodding to himself. but he saw you wearing one of his old shirts, with nothing underneath—one that stoped just barely above your thighs. “getting turned on by a clean woman? i respect that.” you hadn’t realized he’d walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter behind you.

checking you out, staring at your ass—how it fit into those panties so well. how the shape of it drew him in, made him harder by the second. his stare was heavy—it was hot.. it had you dripping already. heeseung had to think about how fast (or slow) he wanted to ruin you. it wasn’t even a surprise anymore.. this was your normal routine. “were you created to drive me insane?”

you jumped a bit but finally turned around, in the process of cleaning the sink—water dripped down your thighs and that definitely got him going. “it’s rock hard—.” he sighed, looking like a lost puppy, he looked down at his sweats before peaking at you through his lashes. “wanna help me?” you playfully rolled your eyes, turning back around and finish the sink—when you heard him shift closer, arms curling around your waist as he pressed himself against you.

you were trapped, but in a good way. he grinded himself up against you, moaning deeply before he looked at you again. “feel that? that could be inside of you..” and you were tempted.. right here. right now. on the floor or the counter.. whatever you want.

“don’t look away,” he says, voice low and dark, breath ghosting your lips. his fingers press deeper into your jaw, enough to make your thighs squeeze together instinctively. your heart pounds in your ears as he presses up against you, hard and throbbing, the thick shape of him grinding against your ass through the soft cotton of your shirt. he’s already so worked up, just from watching you stand there, doing nothing but being you. and you fucking love it.

he turned your body around, picking you up and carrying you to the couch. once he sat you down, he couldn’t help but free himself. cock slipping out on stiff. it was literally pointing at you. it seemed to get bigger every time you saw it. “awe~ it’s so red.. and angry.” you leaned in to kiss his tip.

“look at me,” he growls, voice rough and ragged, stroking himself a little before leaning down. eyes on the same level—“you know the rules, baby. you cum when i say. you break eye contact…” he leans in closer, lips barely brushing yours, smirking when you try to chase after the touch, “you don’t get to cum at all.” it’s a threat he’s made good on before, and the reminder has you clenching around nothing, dripping for him.

it’s always like this — it doesn’t matter what you’re doing. folding laundry, brushing your hair at your vanity, reaching for a cup on your tiptoes — heeseung watches you, hungers for you, and when he decides he’s had enough, he takes you. every time is different but just as reckless, just as heated, just as possessive. it’s part of the thrill, part of the reason you’re always just as needy for him.

you can barely breathe when he pushes your panties to the side and slides two fingers inside you without warning, slow and rough, dragging a broken sound from your throat. you nearly choke on a moan, fingers scrambling against the edge of the sink for something to hold onto. your thighs shake with the effort of staying upright, staying good for him, but you don’t look away. you wouldn’t dare.

“such a good little roommate,” heeseung mutters, his voice dropping into something even rougher, almost mocking, as he curls his fingers deep inside you, hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. but his grip on your chin is relentless, keeping your gaze pinned, making sure you see the way his lips curve into a cocky, proud smile. “mm, so desperate all the time,” he chuckles under his breath, drawing another choked whimper from you with a sharp flick of his wrist. “lucky for you… so am i.”

[xomakara]

If We…

SUMMARY |  You and Hansol pretend to fake date to get Mingyu jealous. But somewhere along the way, you start to develop feelings for Hansol.

PAIRINGS |  Hansol/Vernon (SVT) x Reader 

RATING |  Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked 

GENRE |  smut, just pure unadulterated smut, friends with benefits, fake dating

CONTENT/WARNINGS |  profanity, unprotective sex, fingering, breast fondling, creampies, dirty talk, kissing, biting/nibbling, praising, hair gripping, oral sex (f.receiving)

LENGTH |  6,131 words 

TAGLIST |  –

NETWORKS |  @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @keopihaus @cosyhomenet @winerys-collection

AUTHOR’S NOTE | First of all, I want to mention that this is a continuation of ‘What Are We?’ but it's also a standalone fic as well. There will be 2 more parts coming soon because we all need to know who she picks, right?

Also want to thank @heechwe and @lovetaroandtaemin for reading and beta-reading this and cheering me on! I love you two and I always appreciate the hype and the love. Hope you all enjoy! 💚

Seventeen Masterlist

"You guys still aren't dating?" Seokmin nudges you a little, making your drink spill a bit out of the cup and onto your pants.

You groan in annoyance as you grab a handful of napkins from the table to pat away the wet stains on your pants. "Why does everyone seem hell-bent on us getting together?"

"You guys have been bangin' it out for two years!" Minghao said from his seat, mouth full with the last of his hamburger. "You'd think you two would be together by now. What're you even waiting for, dude?"

"I don't know!" you exclaimed exasperatedly, sipping loudly on your drink. "I just don't know."

Mingyu is hanging with his other group of friends today, so here you are in a booth with Seokmin, Hansol, Soonyoung and Minghao, and no matter the topic of discussion, it always boils down to the relationship between Mingyu and you. It gets tiring hearing the same thing everyday from each person you hang out with. But in the end, you can't get angry at them. You can't stay mad at people who mean no malice in what they are saying. They all know the situation between you two and how delicate of a position you are in.

"Did he ask you to be his girlfriend again?" Soonyoung asks.

"Yes, and for the hundredth time, I told him no." You want so badly to tell them that you told him one day you'll agree, but a part of you is afraid that maybe when the day comes that you and Mingyu do become exclusive, it won't work out like it did when you two had first started fucking each other's brains out. That when it's confirmed that you and he have actually something serious, and when feelings get hurt, and when tempers get raised, then things will fall apart and crumble like the fragile foundation between you.

Because all this time, it has been based on a sexual relationship, not an emotional one.

You feel like things may be good for the first couple of weeks of an official relationship. Maybe it can even last six months, nine even.

But what about a year or even three?

"Seriously?" Hansol looked incredulous. "So what, you're happy with just sex, no strings attached?"

"Well...no, but it's complicated, okay," you grumble.

"How complicated can it be?" Seokmin asks. "You like the guy, and he likes you back. Just go be in a relationship together; you'd both be happy."

You're scared. Scared that everything could work out at the beginning, and then one day it would just fizzle out. The worst possible scenario you could think of is if Mingyu suddenly meets the perfect girl—a girl so amazing, perfect, beautiful, caring, understanding, and everything he had wanted in a girl, that he'll no longer want you anymore and leave you alone, forgotten and heartbroken.

The silence spoke for you, but Soonyoung picked up on the difference and eyed you carefully. "Are you scared?"

You inhale sharply and avert your eyes, "...He could just up and leave me. What if everything starts and then something happens? What then?"

"But what if nothing happens," Soonyoung replies. "Wouldn't it have been worth it?"

"Maybe... maybe not," your teeth bite your bottom lip anxiously. "I'm not sure."

"So what? You're gonna stay alone forever?" Minghao questions, not in the least bit teasing. He actually looked concerned. "What happens if he does date someone else? Would you really let him go to the next woman without a fight? If you care about Mingyu as much as we all know you do, you'll either go out with him or let him be happy with somebody else."

"Guys, cut it out," Hansol cut them off before any argument starts to ensue. "We're just going in circles. Now's not the time for this. It's a sensitive subject to Y/N."

Everyone slumps into their seats. A long awkward silence follows before Seokmin blurts out. "Why don't you just date someone else? Then Mingyu might get jealous and want you for himself and stuff!"

Maybe he's right. You need a distraction; you need someone new. Then maybe these feelings of uncertainty will dissipate, and you could actually have a reason to try going into a romantic relationship with the guy. Maybe then you would get over your fear of rejection. But maybe not.

Hansol then sighs heavily and scratches the back of his head before pulling you out of the booth. "Hey, I have an idea. Come on Y/N."

"Wait, what?" you yelp when your arm gets tugged at again. You reluctantly let yourself be led out of the café, leaving your half eaten salad untouched. Your friends wave at you when you exit, and once the door shuts, you shoot a look at him. "Why'd we just leave?"

He turned to face you and said. "Do you trust me?"

You shrug in response, unsure where he's going with this. "Of course I do, but where are you planning to take me?"

Hansol smiles as he puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you further and further away from the café.

"Let's give Mingyu some competition."

"Competition? Why, how?"

"By having a fake relationship. Make him think you've got another man, and then hopefully you two will settle on an agreement together or end it all," he replied simply.

"You really want to get your ass kicked by Mingyu, don't you," you ask dryly and shake your head. "Why do you even want to get involved in the drama?"

"Someone has to," Hansol snorts, turning a corner to the parking lot. "Besides, we can get him riled up. And if we get enough jealous tension, he'll ask you out. Then boom, job well done."

"Look, Mingyu and I may not be official, but I'd never stoop that low as to cheat." Your tone is firm and a little exasperated.

"It's not cheating if you're not dating him," he fires back, and you bite the inside of your cheek. He's right. The man you've been crushing over has never called you his girlfriend, and therefore you aren't doing anything wrong.

But you never intended to lie to him and keep a secret about this. How could you? Mingyu doesn't deserve it. And besides, if you wanted a real relationship, you wanted something solid. Not temporary or fake, especially if you wanted it with Mingyu. "This isn't gonna make me feel good in the slightest."

"Trust me," he responded, a playful grin plastered across his face.

"Do I even have a say in this?"

"Do you have anything better to do?" Hansol retorted.

That shuts you up for a while. After pondering his offer for a couple more minutes, you heave a huge sigh and shrug your shoulders defeatedly. "When you put it that way, no."

"Good!" He smiles victoriously and hugs your side closely. "Now that that's over with, what do you want for lunch?"

As much as you want to protest, his arm has stayed tightly around your shoulder, and after a few more moments of consideration, you choose to shut up and lean into his embrace, enjoying the warmth and intimacy. He's just so warm.

Maybe pretending to be someone's girlfriend will give you a chance to think and get some perspective on things.

"Pizza sounds nice," you grin up at him, looping your own arm with his.

"Perfect! Pizza it is."

A week has passed since your lunch date with Hansol, and apparently word spread like wildfire between your group of mutual friends about the fake relationship. You were getting messages right and left from every single one of them asking about the status of your newfound 'romance'.

But you aren't the only person they are annoying with questions. You notice that Hansol is fielding the exact same interrogation from everyone in your group circle, and honestly, you feel a tad guilty knowing how nosy your friends are being with him, knowing the purpose is to get Mingyu to finally cave in and accept a real relationship.

Mingyu looks like he doesn't even want to breathe in front of you anymore ever since the rumor began circulating. Not that you blame him. The first time he laid his eyes on the pair of you since word broke out, his eyes widened like two giant saucers.

And to think Hansol was literally trying not to make a scene when he had to bring his lips upon yours to 'seal the deal' in public, a show of affection in order to convince everyone that there is definitely something between the both of you, with Mingyu standing literally right beside the both of you. It wasn't even a full blown kiss, just a brush of the lips in a mere second, barely a kiss.

"Just how fast does news travel?" Hansol's jaw practically drops to the ground as he walks you home one night.

"No fucking idea," you scratch the back of your head anxiously and chuckle. You trip on your own shoelace, and Hansol reaches forward to hold your waist and catch you. His body presses snug against yours, and you are met with a wave of overwhelming scent.

It smells wonderful, absolutely irresistible. He always smells nice—a mix of woodsy fragrance and spice, mingled with his natural musk—an intoxicating blend. It’s an attractive scent.

The two of you linger a little longer than necessary, a little too close for two people who are only supposed to be friends, acting like lovers, a little longer than two people in a false relationship should.

It feels comfortable though. Comfortable in your arms, his body pressed against yours, the faint smell of cologne lingering in the air around him, his warm palms against the curves of your waist. It feels different than being in Mingyu's embrace, but not a bad difference. Just different.

The more your nose fills with his fragrance, the harder your mind begins to fog up. What should you do now? The plan was only to pretend to be a thing and get some sense of jealousy to rise inside of Mingyu to then eventually ask you out. But how could you and Hansol remain friends after this?

You bite the inside of your mouth before stepping away, fingers gingerly gripping his forearms. "Th-thanks."

He shakes his head slowly. "Anytime." He clears his throat. "Don't mention it."

He steps a few inches back from you and pulls a hand through his hair. You then hear him sigh deeply. When he lowers his hand and meets your stare, he laughs sheepishly. "This might not turn out the way we think."

You force a laugh and reply, "Probably."

His stare turns solemn. "Are you regretting agreeing to this?"

"No no!" you reply a little too quickly. "Of course not, just a little nervous."

He moves to pat the top of your head affectionately. "It'll be fine. Like I said, just let me take care of you, yeah?"

"Stop that," you swat his hand away.

"But you're cute," his smile widens before kissing your temple and continuing to walk towards your apartment. "We'll think of something. Let's just let it work on its own for a bit."

You know damn well the effect he's having on you with each small act of physical contact. You know full well that with the way his hugs, touches, or kisses are affecting you that your heart rate is picking up the longer you remain in his company. Your mouth feels drier the more you breathe in his scent. You know he feels it too.

One of you has to break the silence. One of you has to voice your concerns.

But you are hesitant to speak and ruin the nice pace that you and your relationship with Hansol have been taking recently. The truth is, you just don't want to stop spending your time with him, to stop being in his warmth. He's a good friend who listens, a kind-hearted friend and good company, a funny and loving friend.

A part of you feels awful that you agreed to fake date him in order to get someone else jealous. It's unfair that he ended up being roped into this whole mess. But a small part of you, hidden deep down within, also wants to stick with the plan. To have him spend more and more of his time with you. And since the both of you have entered into this silly scheme of pretending to have a relationship with one another, this would give you more chances to indulge yourselves in the other's company.

The air feels somewhat tainted, but you breathe in deeply to try to dispel the thick air and shrug, "Sounds good to me."

And the two of you walk along in silence for the remainder of the way.

Your insides start feeling conflicted and chaotic. Part of you hopes that Mingyu will notice you spending time with Hansol, which you have been doing frequently, and that he gets jealous and angry because he is secretly pining for you just as you are for him.

And part of you just doesn't give a fuck and wants the relationship between you and Hansol to continue until...

Until what exactly? When and how could you guys bring this facade to an end?

Just a bit more. You want just a little more time together, a little more fun with him. The truth is, you wouldn't have wanted to spend less time with him. You're curious now. It was as simple and as stupid as that. You have never spent time with Hansol, just one on one together. Sure, you've always hung around each other in large groups, or some others were there, but still, never one on one.

And for the life of you, you never thought he would have such an effect on you, nor the other way around.

You swallow and look back at Hansol, his facial features, every line and dip of it, down to his body movements.

Now you really wonder what could've happened between the two of you had you two not been pretending.

"Get home safe and sleep tight," he smiles at you. He's so, so beautiful. So warm. "Message me when you do."

Your heart skips a bit and before you have any time to hesitate, you give in to instinct and stretch on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek gently, hoping you didn't cross any boundaries or lines you shouldn't. "Goodnight," and you disappear into the warmth of the lobby, press the elevator button and take in a deep, calming breath.

You check your phone in a half asleep haze and see that Mingyu has sent you a text.

'Are you and Hansol a thing now?'

You tap the glass quickly and reply, a little afraid at how the response may affect you or change you. But this was going to happen at some point.

'Yes.'

For the remainder of the day, you replay the expression of Hansol and how his face softens when you enter his line of sight, and the way his arms feel snuggly around you whenever he's pulling you close or for a side hug.

Yeah, you know for a fact that Mingyu is smart enough to connect the dots. You just hope that your little stunt ends up working out in your favor.

Two weeks into the fake relationship, it gets increasingly easier and more natural being in Hansol’s company. A kiss here and there on the cheek or temple is no longer awkward or unnerving. The physical contact doesn't weird you out anymore, and when he wraps his arms around you to hug you, your heart has stopped jumping in your chest. Your heartbeat remains steady and calm.

Things are surprisingly casual between you both. You start to invite him over to your place more frequently. For lunch, a cup of tea or coffee. You like having him in your space. His company is sweet, and every conversation, no matter the content of discussion, you can't help but crack a smile. He's nice and warm, a sweetheart to be exact. And sometimes you find yourself watching him cook up a storm in your kitchen whenever he offers.

At this point, it feels too real. All of it. The hand holding, the constant close proximity to each other, and you like it. The amount of attention and consideration given to you by him, a man you just decided to spend time with out of the spur of the moment, and you are enjoying his company more than the original plan was supposed to.

"What's wrong?" Hansol places his palm across your forehead worriedly, and you lean away, shooing his arm.

You mull over a reply, trying your best not to come off too rude or hasty. But you honestly have a lot of stuff you want to share with him. "I'm confused. I feel so different now... and I'm not sure if it's a good or bad feeling."

"Bad and good... about?" Hansol tries to prod, and you shake your head.

"Mingyu. Me. Us. I'm just confused about what's happening between the three of us," you answer simply, unsure of how to phrase it. You aren't sure about your feelings and emotions right now. "All this and..."

He slouches back and leans forward onto your bed, lying on his belly and looking at you through his long eyelashes. You blink, surprised to see him look like a curious puppy. Your hand comes over and pets the top of his head tenderly, and his smile deepens in reaction.

"Me being like this is probably affecting you in a weird way," his expression is soft, and yet his smile looks a bit tense. "Right? Maybe me acting this way is messing you up. Especially in a weird way. Since this entire thing was to make another dude jealous, and we are faking it. Maybe you're having mixed feelings because of it. How could you not? Maybe we shouldn't keep up with this."

"I don't know. My own feelings and thoughts are a mess right now," you sigh and tug the bottom of his sweater, pulling his form over you to lean into your side and snuggling against him, loving the natural scent and warmth he has, enjoying the subtle intimacy.

"If it's getting too uncomfortable for you, just say the word, and I'll drop it, okay?" Hansol mumbles next to your ear. "This is already bad enough, Y/N, having these kind of feelings for you is fucking up my head."

"You have feelings for me?" your eyes widen and your heart skips a beat. A tingly, good feeling blossoms in your chest, and it stays warm there. It feels wonderful and almost intoxicating, leaving you craving to have him be by your side or be near him. That is, if you let him.

You bite your lip. Fuck. What are you thinking? How could you let yourself feel anything at all for someone other than Mingyu?

His answer is hesitant, even a little stuttered and slow. "That's what I... yeah, guess so."

In the past week, your mind has been everywhere but yourself. It had only started to register now that he said so much, but no words could pass through your lips and into sound. All you were able to muster was a soft, quiet: "Oh."

Hansol pauses and gazes straight into your eyes. His nose nuzzles yours softly. Then his eyes narrow, and he leans into you. Slowly, he nears you. He pauses and gently, ever-so-softly, and sweetly kisses you. The tip of his nose grazing yours gently.

His hands brush a lock of stray hair behind your ear before leaning back from you, cupping your cheeks and caressing the soft surface. The entire scene looks sweet and tender. "Is this okay?"

He's asking to kiss you. Aot just any kiss, a real, actual kiss. This is going against the original plan. What's worse is that it's turning your world upside-down.

You gave yourself a mental shake. God, what a mess. You're starting to get infatuated by him.

This isn't the same type of butterflies that happens when you're around Mingyu.

With Mingyu, he makes your entire world stop. It's like those scenes from your favorite rom-coms: the ones you swoon at, making you lose track of time and melt right before your screen, never wanting the movie to end.

With Hansol, it's... different.

It's sweet and cute and warming. A cozy, loving feeling settling deep within your bones and giving you tingly good feelings all over. A nice, calm and soothing feeling taking over and embracing you.

You nod. "Yeah, it's okay," and he's quick to move closer. Hansol's nose brushes your jaw, and the both of you angle your head towards each other, noses touching. "It's more than okay, actually."

A small smile, gentle and calm, stretches on his lips, and his hand comes over to cup your jaw and slowly pulls you closer. His warm lips touch yours. Your head begins to buzz, and everything feels a little lightheaded and woozy. He smells nice, and his hand is strong but comforting in a way.

Nothing lasts long, though, and he pulls away, stroking your cheek a bit and turning you back to face him, studying every little bit of your facial structure and expressions. "As much as I've waited for this, we have to stop now before we get caught up in each other and start doing more than kissing," he laughs, pressing another peck and resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes.

You've always thought Hansol is incredibly attractive. Any woman with eyes can see it.

And ever since you agreed to this whole fake dating plan, it's not the first time your brain has registered the attraction that you felt for the male in front of you.

Even now, it's not the first time. But now the attraction you were feeling was no longer platonic. He is just too charming and funny, warm and sincere to not be attracted to and you're grateful, and not at the same time, because it was making your entire world start spinning a little.

But at the same time, you also remembered how Mingyu made you feel the same, and then a twang of guilt aches in your chest at the thought of losing the guy you had originally intended to fall for. You sigh and close your eyes. Fuck. This is a huge mess you just made.

Your arms move forward to circle them around his waist, pulling him in a close embrace. You need comfort right now. Hansol doesn't protest or try to fight the movement, but you hear him sigh contentedly, and he pulls you even closer.

You inhale deeply his natural smell of spices, pine, and cologne. His natural scent that is. And damn, did he smell amazing.

"Hansol?" Your head rises from his shoulder, and you look at him.

"Hmm?" he grunts, tilting his head down to gaze at you.

You lean up to capture his lips with yours once more in the same manner. It’s tender and sweet, and something shifts a bit. It feels natural being close to him like this, not as foreign or awkward. You realize the chemistry you have is good between the two of you. His gentleness and demeanor makes it easier to mesh together. He feels safe, warm. And you like it.

It feels different from when you're with Mingyu, but not a bad difference. Just different, like nothing you had imagined it could. It's a new emotion and sensation, something to experiment with. You're unsure what it all means, and it frightens and exhilarates you at the same time.

"I want more of you," the words spilt from your lips faster than your brain could comprehend or your mouth could stop the words from coming.

"More?" Hansol echoes, blinking owlishly, eyes full of curiosity.

"Uh," your mind tries to form a coherent thought to save face, to cover up what just happened. "N-nothing! Nothing."

He laughs before pushing a lock of hair from your forehead and leaning down to whisper into your ear, his deep voice sending chills all down your body and back. "Well, I want more of you too."

"I'm not saying that we're together or anything," you murmur, fighting off a shiver. "Just... just let me have whatever is going on. A little while longer. Okay? Can we?"

"Ditto. Like you just said, no labels. It's just me and you," Hansol hums in agreement, wrapping an arm around your waist and drawing your frame close.

As if there aren't a lot of feelings to explore and unravel, Hansol leans forward and claims your lips in a softer kiss. Loving and warm. Not as heated or passionate like Mingyu or full of emotion like the one just a minute ago, but soft. 

Sweet. Comfortable.

You find that with each kiss and each minute that goes by, the more lost your brain and body gets. The more into the sensation that it forgets who he is or why the kiss was happening in the first place. The more you feel the strong and protective hands that hold you, and his scent fills your lungs, the more and more you realize how much you want his company and how badly you need him to make sense of yourself.

The truth is you are scared of losing Mingyu, losing the 'you and him' together because of Hansol and his presence, who has been steadily becoming a source of comfort for you and the confusing muddles of thoughts in your head.

Because of the immense and growing warmth of him, the growing affection you have towards the male has become impossible to ignore and push down. It's unlike anything you've had before, unlike the wild sparks of desire and heat that you had felt with Mingyu and the comfortable familiarity the two of you shared.

The passion is burning hot, a blazing bonfire that blazes and spreads as far as your senses can feel, licking at your flesh and feeding your desire for the guy before you. It's the dangerous heat you yearn for, but it isn't one that burns. It's gentle.

The gentle, loving way he treats and holds you. The soft kisses and soft way the tips of his fingers rub across the delicate skin of your arm as the hand draws a languid pattern across your waist, coaxing your frame closer.

"Fuck, Y/N," he mutters as he hovers above you with a gaze so focused on you, you have a difficult time hiding the effect he's having over you. Your hair is splayed wildly behind your head, fingers tangled in the short dark strands of his hair, tugging him close.

"What?"

"Don't say anything and just—" his lips descend upon your own again, biting and licking the delicate skin to savor the taste, memorize and take in every bit that he can. "Stop talking. Let me make you feel good," his head lowers and pecks the skin of your throat gently before biting the fragile skin, making you flinch and whimper, tightening your hold in his hair.

"Yeah?" you swallow, watching him grind his hips slowly. His dark eyes flicker and become brighter than before, and you watch them gloss over.

"Yeah," his hands come around and lift your sweater upwards, exposing your bra and bare abdomen. He licks his lips, desire flooding into his expression. "Jesus Christ," his warm palms cup your bare flesh, massaging and stroking the soft skin, teasing the waistline of your panties.

He lowers his mouth over the soft flesh. Licking, sucking and biting every square inch he can cover. You gasp, pushing his shoulders for his shirt to lift and come off. He smirks and sits upwards to rid himself of his clothes. "What? Can't wait to get a little more skin-on-skin?"

"Stop talking and just do," you mutter and sit upright to pull his face close to yours and claim his lips. "Make me feel good, yeah? You offered."

His gaze turns a little fiercer and lustful. "Don't have to tell me twice."

One hand falls back against your pillow, and the other buries itself in his soft, dark hair. You groan quietly against his lips and pull him closer. You aren't sure what brought you to do it. Hell, you aren't sure why you've let it continue and escalate. Maybe it’s because you have become curious. Curious about having sex with someone other than Mingyu. Curious if sex with Hansol would be as exhilarating, earth shaking or out of this world like with Mingyu. You and Hansol might not be a couple just like how you and Mingyu weren't one. But that still doesn’t stop the heat and electricity, the high the friction created and the way his hands touch and knead your breasts from building up a white-hot, intense energy to leave you gasping.

You hear him whisper his compliments, and it isn't long before he's slipping your panties past your knees and sliding between your thighs, his mouth enveloping the soft and sensitive bud. Your fingers are sliding into his hair and pulling him closer. You aren't sure how you look like this, but judging by the glazed look on his face, he doesn't seem to be complaining.

"Just like that, Hansol," you whimper and tug at his locks. "Fuck, you are good with your mouth."

"Babe, you have no idea how amazing you sound right now," he chuckles, holds your thighs down tightly, and kisses the swollen bud lightly. "I'm no Mingyu but, I'll do my best to make you come, and cry, and scream and feel like a fucking queen, yeah? Do me that favor."

You chuckle and groan softly, tilting your head back. Hansol is right, he's not Mingyu. But even without the sheer size, muscle or mass, he’s still holding his own and damn well giving you a good fucking experience. He knows exactly what to do. Hansol's fingers squeeze your thigh, and before you can say another word, the flat of his tongue licks slowly. "Taste so fucking good."

"Jesus fuck— don't say another word. Just," you take a deep breath, "just keep going," you shudder and roll your hips upwards.

He gives a light laugh and works his fingers around your flesh, flicking and rubbing your most sensitive place and chuckling a bit when your hips buck, and the sweet sounds of moans fall from your parted lips. "Mhm, keep those pretty lips parted for me. I want to hear every little beautiful sound, every breath you take." When his thumb rubs between your clit, it is slow and steady. "Don't hold it back," Hansol groans softly.

Your back arches and lips part when he strokes and licks at the pink, swollen bud of nerves, the rough pad of his thumb slipping past your soaked slit, rubbing in tight, little circles.

Your eyes slam shut, and your fingernails dig into the sheets as you fight hard not to come apart. No words need to be spoken, just the mutual need to touch, the need to be consumed. He fucks his tongue inside your cunt, licking your swollen bud. Licking, stroking and driving you insane.

"Hansol!" you scream his name and arch your hips, legs twitching uncontrollably, toes curling into the bed sheets beneath your feet. "Oh God. Please!"

Your core and insides twitch, and you scream loudly as the orgasm crashes over, wave after wave of pleasure, unable to catch the breath Hansol had knocked right out of you. He licks his bottom lip and smirks at you.

And only then do you realize how he has moved away from his spot to position between your parted knees and line himself at the center of your throbbing entrance. "All ready for the real fun," he moans and sinks slowly, inch by inch into you.

And when he does, his cock fills and stretches you deliciously.

"Fuck, so fucking good," Hansol growls and moves slowly, almost languidly.

He's not as big as Mingyu, but he still hits all the right spots, and it's enough, more than enough, to drive you fucking crazy. To feel the muscles in his back move under your fingers, to hear his loud groans as he pumps into you. To have his muscled arms around you, holding onto you. To know it was Hansol, Chwe fucking Hansol, fucking and making you a mess, and you are more than pleased.

"Yes!" you moan, enjoying the drag and stretch, the friction. You bite his shoulder and draw out a moan from him as well. "Fuck Hansol!"

You should've known the minute you agreed to fake dating that it wasn't a good idea. Now that you are actually having sex with him and enjoying the ride and the feeling, the urge to do it more is growing more and more each second.

He’s right. He’s no Mingyu. But Hansol has been more than everything, giving it to you as well as Mingyu had, giving it good and just enough, just the right amount to leave you craving for more. You don't know what it is. If it's just how he is during sex, or if it's just you reacting this way with Hansol only because he has just fucked and treated you so fucking good, leaving you addicted.

"How does that feel?" he leans closer and asks in a husky, sensual whisper, punctuating it with a short thrust, and your nails scratch across his lower back. Hansol looks like a damn model with the amount of control and sex appeal he exudes.

"Fucking incredible," you manage to gasp.

Hansol laughs, but it comes out as more of a soft chuckle. A low rumble deep within his throat and chest, the reverberations sending you deeper into bliss.

He rocks his hips slowly against yours, then presses his palms onto the backs of your thighs, pushing your knees wider and pressing his forehead against yours as he lengthens and quickens the strokes of his cock. "Fuck, Y/N, this feels..."

"Yeah," you respond breathily.

"Yeah," he says again.

It felt different than sex with Mingyu. Yet Hansol isn't better or worse, but his tenderness and careful caresses and handling of your body have you flustered. Every touch has a specific purpose. It is, for a lack of better explanation, pure and clean, sincere and passionate.

No shame and no embarrassment as the both of you rock into each other, the tension reaching a breaking point, and your whole body jerks as you come and shout. It seems that Hansol can feel the tipping point because he loses any hint of coordination he had and fucks harder.

"Yes, yes, Y/N," his voice is strained. "You're doing so good."

After he takes what he needs, Hansol follows you over the edge and spills his release. "Fuck," he sighs deeply, taking a shuddering breath and gazing deeply into your eyes. He leans forward, his arms on either side of your head, caging you.

There were no words needed to describe the experience. Your legs hooked around him, bodies stuck together with the heavy, damp and heat of a sticky mess. His forehead rests on yours, and you can see his beautiful chocolatey, caramel brown eyes shine. Your own gaze full of awe and content.

"So I wonder..." he murmurs, gazing into your eyes, studying.

"About?" you swallow thickly, staring back.

"If this is a one-time deal... or not?" his thumb strokes your bottom lip. "I know how much you like Mingyu," his words pause, his throat swallowing and eyes turning a little bit unsure. "But can you not choose him yet? Not just yet?" he inhales through his nose and licks his lips slowly. "I'd like a fair shot. At whatever this is, if I have the chance. Then you can decide after."

Hansol lays there beside your frame and gathers you closer to him, holding you and giving you the chance to rest. It’s comforting, his warmth. And you decide it wasn't as bad or awkward as you had thought, letting Hansol stay longer, maybe spend the night? And being beside him. Maybe having sex with him wasn't the worst or best idea ever. You like him. If you weren't infatuated with Mingyu, he'd have definitely given Mingyu a run for his money.

You hum softly and rest your head upon his broad shoulder. A smile, content and small stretches on your lips. "Yeah. Sure." You agree, making his whole face brighten up.

Mingyu or Hansol?

You were fucked. Absolutely fucked.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Residual Effects

Spencer Reid x fem!reader x platonic!James Wilson

wc: 5.8k

note: I came up with this as a second part to Differential Diagnosis, but you can read it as a standalone if you prefer. I hope you like it; I tried to humanize both men as much as possible. In other words, they make mistakes and are foolish, but they're still good guys.

Solving cases almost always left the team with an emotional burden that was difficult to recover from. That's why most took the opportunity to return home, rest, or relax as much as possible before being called upon again. However, this situation had turned out quite well: just a few victims and an unsub who wasn't truly dangerous—just a confused, somewhat unstable man, but not exactly deadly. Plus, it was local, which meant no wasted hours on the jet or the annoying process of packing and unpacking.

That meant good humor. And good humor always manifested itself in the desire to go for a few drinks.

“I’ve got them”

“You spoil us too much, Rossi,” Penelope commented with a cheerful laugh. No one, not even her, balked at the suggestion. Although, in reality, you hadn't decided where to go either.

You and Reid had been left behind, walking out of the building more slowly. He had that slightly hunched posture, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. You too, hands in the pockets of your leather jacket, trying to ignore the slight tingling of tiredness in your back.

“Will you go?”

“Maybe. I'm kind of tired. I'd just go get a soda or something. Are you going?”

“Yeah... I mean, if you go,” he said, and finally looked at you, half smiling, “Then I’ll go.”

Ever since that case in New Jersey, almost a month ago, Spencer had been behaving differently toward you. Not weird or hostile, but definitely not the same. Sometimes he was quieter, shyer, as if he didn't know where to put his hands when talking to you. Other times, he looked for any excuse to be close, to comment on something, to stay a little longer. Just like now. As if being by your side was his priority, even if it meant fighting his social awkwardness.

You were about to say something, maybe a joke about how everyone needed to relax a little, when your phone started ringing. You had to fumble your hands out of your pockets and search for your phone, which seemed to be caught between the fabric and the lining.

Even though you moved quickly, it wasn't fast enough. Spencer managed to read the name that appeared on the screen. His expression changed almost imperceptibly: his jaw slightly tense, his eyebrows a little lower.

"Hello?"

“Is this a bad time to call?” a warm, familiar voice asked.

Hearing it, a smile spread across your face, almost reflexively.

“No! I'm just getting off work. We finished a case, and I was about to go out with my colleagues for a drink. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Just... I’m around.”

That simple phrase brought you to a complete stop. So did Spencer. You turned slightly to stand back from the group and hear him better.

“What? What do you mean you’re around? In Quantico?”

“DC, actually. There was an oncology conference today at the convention center. As the head of department, I had to attend. It wasn't anything spectacular, but I'll stay until tomorrow. And… I don't know, I was thinking about you.”

His voice sounded honest, a little unsure.

“I thought if you had time, we could have dinner. I know a really nice Italian restaurant a few blocks from where I'm staying. But if you already have plans, I don't want to interrupt anything.”

Your heart beat a little faster, though you weren't sure why. Maybe because of the surprise, or because of the way he said it. It wasn't just an invitation. He'd been thinking about you.

“You’re not interrupting. Seriously. We were just going somewhere. Nothing planned. If you’re here... I’d love to have dinner with you.”

In the background, you heard Emily playfully call your name. It was clear there were several curious ears.

"I'm at the Hilton, right across from the convention center. Do you want to meet me at the restaurant? Call a taxi, I'll pay for it."

“Oh, no need, I brought my car today. Is 40 minutes okay for you?”

“Perfect. I’ll take a shower and wait for you there.”

"That sounds great to me"

“I’m glad you said yes,” he added, more quietly. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.”

There was no way to hide your smile anymore, and you didn't try either.

“See you in a bit”

“I’ll be waiting for you. Drive carefully.”

You murmured a goodbye and then hung up. Emily and Morgan, like vultures circling emotional drama, immediately approached.

“And that happy face?”

“A friend invited me to dinner,” you replied without thinking much.

“A friend?” Morgan repeated, raising his eyebrows. “One who makes you smile like that on the phone?”

“He’s just a friend,” you insisted, even though you knew it wouldn’t convince them.

“It’s a he!”

By this point, the rest of the team was speaking more quietly to catch some of the conversation.

“What do you call this ‘just a friend’?” Emily asked with a mischievous smile.

“James Wilson”

Morgan burst out laughing.

“Is he handsome? Smart? Tall?”

“He’s a doctor. We met a few years ago.”

“He better be a cardiologist… because someone here is going to need help,” Emily joked.

While they laughed, Spencer remained silent. He didn't look at anyone, just at the floor.

“Aren’t you coming then?” he asked suddenly, without looking at you.

“I’m sorry, Spencer. I said yes.”

His posture made you feel like you owed him an explanation. He nodded once, briefly, almost as if he had trouble keeping his teeth from clenching.

“Okay. Have fun.”

“Is something wrong?” you asked softly.

“No. I just... thought we'd all go together. But it's okay.”

Emily and Morgan exchanged a look. Morgan, as always, was the first to break the awkward silence.

"Boy, if you want, we can invite the doctor too. Maybe you'll even become friends, you know, nerd to nerd."

“Very funny,” Reid muttered, walking toward the street without waiting for the others to follow.

This kind of behavior was unusual for him, and it made you wonder what was causing it. Your friends thought of a probable cause, but they didn't want to mention it. It was better for romantic matters to be resolved between those directly involved and not through mediation like theirs.

The other curious people had already realized that you wouldn't be accompanying them, because as soon as you got a little closer, they all crowded around you.

“I would love to go with you, but…”

“Say no more. We understand.”

“Should we expect a ring soon?”

“Come on, Garcia,” you laughed at how reckless the comment seemed compared to JJ’s. “He’s just a friend I haven’t seen in years. There’s no mystery to solve.”

You said goodbye to everyone with a hug, except for Spencer, who offered you only a wave. Distant and simple. But that's how he was when it came to contact, so you respected him and tried to take it in the best possible way.

“Have fun, drink responsibly, and don’t do anything you might regret tomorrow.”

“Or in nine months”

Emily winked at you, and the rest of them burst out laughing. Sometimes—most of the time—they were a total nightmare.

At the chorus of jeers, you just shook your head and started walking in the opposite direction. A smile still floated on your lips, but also that stabbing feeling in your chest that you couldn't understand where it was coming from. You're supposed to be excited about the invitation, right?

The drive was surprisingly short, and by the time you parked, you were a nervous wreck. You tried to fix your makeup as much as possible and were thankful there were no chases or anything that would make you sweat until you were smelly. Your hair didn't look too bad either, and you'd picked a nice outfit, thank God.

Then you looked at the bright sign on the building: RPM Italian. Wilson had texted you the address, and honestly, the place hadn’t disappointed at all.

It wasn't hard to find him once you were inside, after all he was the only man sitting, alone, at a table for two.

And it was impossible not to notice.

He wore a light blue shirt, impeccably buttoned to the neck, and a dark-striped tie that gave him a classic, almost collegiate look. The black jacket accentuated his straight shoulders, and the contrast with the restaurant's warm lighting brought out the softness of his skin and the subtle shine of his brown hair, combed to one side but with a few unruly strands falling over his forehead.

He had that kind of presence that made everything around him seem more contained, more intimate. Effortlessly elegant.

And just as you saw him, he saw you too. He looked up as if he'd been waiting for you all along. His smile—quiet, gentle, all his own—littered his face as soon as he recognized you. And that smile—the one you tried to hide—inevitably appeared on yours too.

"Hello"

“Hi,” you replied, moving closer as his gaze scanned your face with an expression as serene as it was genuine.

His cologne filled your nostrils: sophisticated, with notes of wood and something citrusy you couldn't quite identify, but it made you close your eyes for a second. It was a clean, masculine scent, as if his mere presence gave you a feeling of calm. As if it were his natural scent and not that of a fragrance perfectly chosen for him.

He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek.

“You look beautiful,” he said naturally, as if it were a fact, not a compliment.

Then, with a subtle gesture, he pulled your chair out for you.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. Even without traffic, the streets are a mess."

“Okay, my invitation was too hasty. I didn't even know if you were busy.”

“Today was a good day, cases don’t always turn out so well,” you began, watching him sit down in front of you.

He asked you to go deeper into the day's events, and you happily shared them with him. A bottle of wine was perfect for accompanying the conversation and, in the process, lifting both of your spirits.

Wilson told you about the conference, how everything had gone, the activities, the hustle and bustle of the day, and a little bit about what had been happening in his life over the past month. The past few years, actually, since the conversation you'd had while in New Jersey lasted only a minute. Although it was logical, after all, you couldn't gossip with him in the middle of such a delicate situation.

Now the night was yours.

“It’s so weird seeing you after so many years, you know?”

You frowned at his confession, not quite sure how to interpret it, and at the same time you smiled at him.

“Is it something bad or…?”

“No! Of course not. I mean, I didn’t think I’d see you again. I figured you’d be like most of the interns we have at the hospital, but when I saw you in House’s office that day, it was like… I don’t know, like I’d gone back in time or something.”

“It was a good time, wasn’t it? My twenties crisis seems like a breeze next to what it's like around thirty,” you murmured, making him laugh. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

"Really?"

“Yes. And I mean that as a compliment, for the record. I mean, you always seemed so… so human. Kind-hearted, gentle, funny. I always wondered what made you House’s friend.”

“He’s not that bad,” he defended him. “He just needs a little help sometimes. And patience most of the time. Deep down, he’s a good man, he tries hard to save patients.”

“I see you and I feel that every time you find a mess you think 'I can fix it,' and I honestly don't know if it's an act of selfless love for the world or some kind of self-imposed moral burden.”

“Are you saying I should stop being friends with House?”

“I’m saying you’re a complex personality. Very bright, polite, and kind, but at the same time, it’s as if something compels you to collect outcasts from around the world to try to rehabilitate them or something,” you smiled. “Forgive me if I took the liberty of assuming things about you. It’s part of… well, you know, my job.”

Wilson didn't seem offended. It was more like he was impressed by what you were telling him, perhaps too close to the truth.

“I can't imagine how complicated it is. The human mind is so… unpredictable. I rely on medical evidence, on tests, on the effectiveness of medications. But trying to understand the twists and turns of humanity—that's a challenge.”

“Sometimes it's enough to look a little deeper. You think you know something, but in reality you're looking at it from the wrong perspective or you're not seeing it objectively. It all depends on the person you are, who they are, their life story, their modus operandi. You have to look at things from the outside. It's like... when you eat something that seemed like the greatest delicacy in your childhood, but, as an adult, you realize it wasn't as good as your memories had led you to believe. Maybe I'm digressing, but…”

“No, I understand perfectly,” he finished. He looked at you with a certain admiration, though with those bright, tender brown eyes, it was hard to tell if it was genuine or just a natural reflex.

You were about to say something more about it when a hand placed on your shoulder made you jump. You doubted it was a waiter touching you so familiarly, and when you turned around, you found yourself staring into the face of your elegant Italian colleague.

“Rossi?”

“I just wanted to stop by and say hi. I want you to know we're not spying on you or anything.”

“What?” you squealed. He was speaking plural, what was it…? “No way.”

Your answer appeared a couple of tables over. They were all sitting at one of the tables, the whole team, laughing amongst themselves. Almost as if he felt your gaze, Spencer turned in your direction until he met your eyes; a second later, he focused on Wilson.

“It turns out we suddenly had a collective craving for Italian food, and since this is the best restaurant I know…” he shrugged, smiling, “What can I say? It’s just the coincidences of life.”

James watched with some interest and a touch of entertainment, as if he was enjoying the scene he was witnessing.

“Wilson, this is my… he’s my coworker, his name is David Rossi. Dave, this is Dr. James Wilson, one of the best oncologists in the country.”

“Just James,” he murmured, standing up to shake his hand. You could feel the BAU’s eyes on you. “It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine. How lovely to see our darling so happy.”

You were going to make sure you killed him one of these days. Or if not, at least make him suffer. Your mind immediately went to how much fun the others must be having seeing you blush, and suddenly, you thought you wanted to kill them too. Spencer was the only one who watched everything impassively, as if he didn't want to be there. But he never went places he didn't want to be, so what was happening to everyone?

“Well, I appreciate you coming, but I think it's best if you advise our friends on the dishes. After all, you come here often, don't you?”

“You’re right,” he smiled. “We’ll be there if you need anything.”

You practically shoved Rossi out of your way and tried desperately to ignore how tense the atmosphere had become, at least from your perspective. Wilson wasn't uncomfortable at all; he was even smiling slightly.

“So those are your colleagues?”

"I swear I didn't tell them where I was. They must have heard it on the call or…"

“Does it bother you?” he interrupted. When you looked at him, confused, he continued, “That they’re here, I mean. That they see you with me.”

“No! My God, of course not. What I'm trying to say is, I hope you're not uncomfortable with them being here or anything. They're a bunch of gossip and… I'm sorry.”

“Do they know you like me?”

While that was true, it didn't stop you from freezing completely. You never expected him to express it so shamelessly, so directly and casually. A nervous laugh soon emerged, almost touching disbelief.

"Sorry?"

“Oh, it’s just… I don’t know, I thought you told them about the little conversation when you went to the hospital. Or your friend, anyway.”

“For starters, Reid isn't a big mouth. Second, that's none of their business. And third, you just said I like you, and in any case, the correct tense would be past tense: I liked you. A mild crush that all college girls eventually have, nothing more.”

A chuckle escaped his lips and you dared to look at him.

“Does this amuse you?”

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just… I don’t know, I thought it was really cute when I found out. I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of House, but I kept wondering how accurate his conclusions were.”

“House is reckless and an idiot”

“But most of the time he’s right,” he smiled, watching you closely. “Don’t feel bad.”

“I don't. That's in the past, Wilson. Besides, you are older than me.”

“Yes, but…”

“And you're married”

Suddenly, it was his turn to pale. He hadn't even mentioned his current wife, and the way his hand unconsciously went to his ring finger, searching for the non-existent jewel, gave you the confirmation you needed.

And yet, you felt like you'd just hit back. He didn't know for sure if you had ever been—or were ever—attracted to him, and you weren't sure a wife even existed. You were playing the same game, even though he didn't think you knew the rules.

Poor, naive Wilson.

“How… how did you know?”

"I made some guesses. You're not wearing your ring today, but you have a habit of going to that area with your thumb, as if you're used to playing with it. Just like you, a moment ago, I was just throwing a guess into the air."

He remained silent, observing you, as if your comment had activated a mirror he didn't know he needed. His expression didn't show annoyance, but rather a strange mix of vulnerability and respect. As if he felt exposed, yes... but not entirely uncomfortable about it.

Receiving no response, you continued:

“What I find curious is that you decided to forget it today. Maybe trying your luck? Are there a lot of pretty female oncologists at the conferences you attend?”

James didn't answer immediately. His hand slowly moved back from his ring finger, as if you'd caught him in the act. He cleared his throat, his smile barely visible.

“Things with my wife haven’t been going well for a while now…” he said, lowering his voice slightly, as if he knew any misspoken words could backfire on him “It wasn’t a planned gesture. Sometimes, when I’m feeling confused, I just… don’t wear it.”

“That sounds dangerously symbolic. Not wearing the ring, I mean. As if you're subconsciously permitting yourself to be a little less of a husband.”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly “I promise.”

He understood the nature of your comment. And, honestly, he couldn't blame you. He'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't contacted you as an attempt to escape the routine, to see if maybe you were what his life was missing.

But he wouldn't tell you, of course not.

“Can I say something without sounding nosy?”

Wilson nodded, looking at you with genuine interest.

“Maybe... and I say maybe because I don't have all the answers, okay? But... maybe you should think about whether you're there because you still love her or because you're afraid of being alone.”

He gave a short laugh, with no trace of mockery.

“Would you say that from your own experience?”

“I say this because loneliness often disguises itself very well as commitment. And because there's nothing more exhausting than trying to keep a dead relationship alive just to avoid the silence.”

Wilson seemed to process this more seriously than you'd anticipated. He looked at you as if you were much more complex than he'd initially believed. After a moment, he tilted his head slightly.

“You are quite perceptive.”

“I already told you, it’s my job.”

As you watched him speak, with that polished charm that had once seemed unattainable, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment.

For years you had idealized him, as if James Wilson were the perfect representation of the thoughtful, brilliant, and emotionally available man who was so scarce in the world. But now, standing before you, you no longer saw the idol you had once fantasized about from a distance, but a real man: one who made mistakes, who made selfish decisions, who could be emotionally irresponsible without even realizing it.

You were still attracted to him (because it wasn't easy to shake off the feeling), but now it was tinged with reality and maturity. You might like him, you might desire him, but you also knew that trying something with him would be like walking on glass: complicated, unstable, and probably painful.

The parallel with your previous analogy –the objective view of your favorite food– felt like a bitter omen.

A comfortable pause settled between you. The restaurant music, the murmurs, the drinks, everything seemed to continue, ignoring the conversation you'd just had. Until he spoke again.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

It wasn't a loaded question. There was no ulterior motive. But you still looked at him with some suspicion.

“Was that a flirtation attempt?”

“No, it’s not that,” he said quickly, his hands raised. “I just… wanted to know. That’s not why I came to you, I just wanted to see you. I thought it would be a good idea to invite you to dinner”

A relaxed smile suddenly appeared. You felt more comfortable now that you knew he wasn't trying to get into your pants, although, to be honest, a month ago you would have accepted the offer without a second thought.

“It’s okay. I'm glad to know I'm not a whim of your midlife crisis,” you admitted. “And to answer your question, no. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

You said it sarcastically, and he smiled. You reminded him a little—too much—of House, and he wondered if that was a good or bad thing. He was surprised to think that the passing of time had taken away that insecure little girl, whom he now saw in Cameron, and made way for a worthy apprentice of the doctor. Perhaps that was why you had argued so much during that visit; two such strong personalities didn't get along so easily.

Oblivious to the other person's thoughts, your gaze involuntarily returned to the other table. Something in your chest suddenly tightened.

Spencer.

He wasn't laughing. Not like the others. He was watching you.

His eyes met yours, and for a moment you couldn't read him. He looked confused, annoyed... or just plain hurt. But it was him, after all, so nothing was as simple as it seemed.

“Everything okay?” Wilson asked, following your gaze.

“Yeah,” you answered, looking away from Spencer as if that would make him less important.

He knew who you'd been eyeing. He also wondered if your answer about a relationship was only half-truthful. If you'd been hiding something or had subconsciously been searching for the object of your desire after answering the question.

“House was quite impressed with your friend. He said he was brilliant.” James poured himself a little more wine, not hiding his curious tone “Rare for him to praise anyone other than himself.”

“Reid is… peculiar”

“I read some of his publications. The guy is a genius,” he took a sip. “And he seems very serious. I wonder if he’s always like this or if he’s just trying to kill the man in front of you with his eyes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You knew Spencer was good at keeping his emotions under wraps, but you also knew he had a way of letting them show when he wanted. That was one of them.

Wilson looked at him once more.

“I think I just made an enemy without knowing why.”

“You’re not his enemy,” you said, your voice calm. “He’s just not used to seeing me outside of certain scenarios.”

“Like on a date?”

“It’s not a date”

“But it might seem so”

“Now you’re implying that he likes me?”

“No,” he murmured, without a trace of lying “I’m just saying what I see. Just like you.”

The sudden setback he gave you, with your own arguments, made you laugh while you shook your head.

“You know, of all the things that could have happened, I didn’t expect our evening to go this way.”

“Nor me. But I'm glad it did.”

"Why?"

"Because sometimes it's good to talk things through. To avoid misunderstandings."

“To think that I'm still in love with you, for example?”

“Or assume I’m trying to cheat on my wife with you.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere felt like there was a certain complicity, you could even say a certain unresolved tension. As if you were saying those things, but deep down, you were thinking that if you had kissed at any moment, it would have felt natural.

In a sort of tacit agreement, the topic of conversation changed, and you continued eating dinner as normal. The wine glass in your hand was almost empty, but you did not attempt to refill it. He didn’t either.

You both paused in that strange, comfortable moment that occurs after a long conversation, one that seems to have lasted minutes and yet a lifetime. The murmur of the Italian restaurant was soft, discreet, just enough to envelop you in a bubble where no one else seemed to exist.

At some point, dessert arrived, and with that, the time to say goodbye. You hadn't realized your friends were no longer at the next table, which made you wonder how long ago they'd left.

“It was… nice to see you,” he finally said, that nostalgic smile forming in his eyes more than on his lips “I didn’t know how much I needed it until it happened.”

“Yes,” you replied barely, in a soft voice. “I didn’t know either.”

He looked at you more closely, and then he said it. No drama, no cheap insinuations. He just blurted it out, as if he were confessing it more to himself than to you:

“If one day circumstances were different… I don’t know, I’d like to see you again.”

And there it was. The phrase that left the air suspended between you. You could have done many things with it: laugh, say yes, shake your head, respond with something equally ambiguous. But you did nothing. You just looked at him. And he understood.

He paid the bill without much insistence, and you didn't argue, because you knew it was a way to close the moment; to make everything intact, without cracks. When you left the restaurant, the night air greeted you with a light breeze and the scent of distant rain.

You wanted to say something else, but whatever thought had crossed your mind was cut short by what you saw. Spencer, standing on the corner, hands in his pockets and the collar of his coat pulled up to his cheeks. He didn't seem rushed, but he did seem expectant. When he saw you, his frown softened slightly... until he noticed who was walking beside you.

“Dr. Reid! It’s so nice to see you again.”

The aforementioned greeted him with a nod, trying to be as rude as possible, and saying a soft hello.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“A taxi,” he muttered dryly.

The idea of giving him a ride immediately occurred to you, and as you looked at Wilson, it was as if he'd already read your mind. A soft smile told you he agreed.

“I can take you home.”

“Thanks, but I already called the taxi. It would be very rude to just leave.”

“That’s no problem,” the doctor chimed in. “I could have yours. I was thinking of taking one to get back to my hotel.”

Reid looked at you then, as if seeking confirmation that the option was really valid. Then he looked at Wilson, assessing without hiding it. The moment became intense, although no one said anything.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Either way, James was about to leave.”

“I was thinking of walking you to your car, don’t think I’m a savage,” he joked, and you laughed softly.

That brief, carefree laugh made both men look at you. For a moment, you were the exact center of two opposing universes.

You turned towards the elder.

“If you come back to town, please call me.”

“Same here. Even if you're not in Jersey and want to call me, I'm available.”

You leaned forward to say goodbye, with a hug, and he leaned his head down to kiss you. A simple, polite touch, with no ulterior motives… but not entirely innocent. Because Spencer saw it. Because Spencer felt it. And because you noticed it too.

“Sleep well. Good luck on your return flight.”

“Take care,” Wilson said, before saying goodbye with a last smile.

You gave Spencer a small nod and started walking toward the car. He followed you, but not before saying goodbye to Wilson with a formal handshake. You didn't want to pressure him. You decided to wait. You knew that if something needed to be said, it would come from him.

He walked in silence for several minutes, with his hands in his pockets and his steps slow.

“Did it go well?” he asked, without turning around completely. His tone was calm, but there was a barely perceptible tension in his words.

“Yeah. It was quite nice. I liked the food, the wine… the conversation was good.”

There was another pause.

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

You raised an eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?"

“I don’t know if you had plans to go somewhere else afterward.”

You paused before looking at him again. You were almost back at the car.

“We just wanted to have dinner. Sleeping with married men isn't my style.”

Spencer turned his head, now yes, to look at you fully.

“Is he married?”

“As I feared,” you said, with a dry smile.

Your friend didn't know how to interpret that and looked down for a moment. The cold ran through you, chilling you to the bone, and you wondered if you could ask him for his coat to warm you up a little. But that would have been cruel.

“And if he wasn’t?” he then asked, without embellishment, “Would you have something with him?”

The question took you a little by surprise. Not because you weren't expecting it... but because the way he said it was too direct, even for him.

You sighed, letting the warm air escape through your lips.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered. “He’s kind, very handsome, and I like him, but… today I realized there are things about him, emotional things, that I don’t know if I could deal with. He’s full of voids that I don’t know if I want to fill.”

Spencer didn't say anything for a second. He just looked at you, as if trying to read what was behind your words. As if it hurt him that you weren't sure, but also as if he was relieved to hear that you weren't entirely convinced.

When you got to the car, you leaned against the door for a moment, searching for your keys. Spencer stood by your side, his hands still in his pockets, as if the weight of his coat could keep him firmly on the ground. The night was still warm, but you couldn't tell if the trembling in your hands was due to the weather or everything you'd said to each other. And everything you hadn't.

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No, Reid, it’s okay. I know you hate doing it.”

Your thoughtfulness made him smile, and he climbed into the passenger seat. You were grateful that it was warmer inside, something that would improve once the air-conditioning was on.

The man snuggled into the seat, staring out the window at the streets, and then you sat for a while enjoying the comfortable silence in the car. The only thing that remained was the murmur of the radio, which had just changed songs. A guitar filtered through the speakers, followed by a slightly nasal voice.

I met her in a club down in old Soho…

Spencer blinked, then tilted his head slightly, as if recognizing an old acquaintance. And when the song reached the chorus, he smiled.

“Did you know this song was banned on some radio stations for mentioning a soda brand?” he said suddenly, without you asking.

You barely turned your face towards him, without taking your eyes off the road.

"Huh?"

“Coca-Cola,” he explained, with that half-smile that appears when he’s about to share a piece of trivia that probably no one asked for but that he finds fascinating. “In the original version it says: 'Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola' But the BBC didn’t allow explicit commercial references, so The Kinks had to go back to the studio to re-record it saying 'cherry cola' just so it could be played on the radio.”

“Are you kidding?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No. And it wasn't even because of the song's content. Which, if you think about it, is a lot more scandalous.”

Girls will be boys and boys will be girls, it's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world…

He raised an eyebrow, as if the song had just proven its point for him.

“It was written in 1970. A song about a relationship with a trans person or drag queen, amid the Conservative era. Ray Davies wrote it after his manager realized, too late, that Lola wasn't the woman she seemed. The fascinating thing is that the song never pokes fun at the subject. It's more… tender. Confusing, yes, but honest.”

You chuckled, impressed.

“I've never heard it before. It's a beautiful song.”

You were silent for a moment, listening.

“Also,” he added, in a softer tone, “it’s a good metaphor for embracing the unexpected. Things that don’t fit with what you believed. Or what you were prepared to feel.”

You didn't say anything, because you didn't need to. You just kept driving, while Lola continued singing her cheerful chorus, and you wondered if, in some way, that song sounded a little like what Spencer wasn't saying.

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ MIDNIGHT CONFESSIONS, D.W

summary. You and Dean always find your way back to each other.

⭑.ᐟ this is part 2 of unanswered, read part 1 here(it’s kinda sad). I loved writing this one🫡, please interact and request if u have any! <3

word count.870

supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Dean’s not sure how long he’s been standing in front of your door. His feet ache, his hands sore from keeping them in fists for so long, his entire body wet from the rain that started falling harder not long ago. His eyes still adjusting to the night that fell probably hours ago.

You’re on the bed, but you can feel him. You’re not sure how exactly- but you know that he’s right behind your door. You feel his presence, you can almost hear his brain running, his heart beating fast.

You decide not to open the door, not until he decides to knock.

You were harsh-the last time you saw him. It was only a couple days ago, but being without him, the dread felt too heavy- like it’s been months since he last touched you.

Maybe you didn’t tell him the right way- or telling him he was a coward wasn’t the right thing to do, but it’s too late to take it back. Plus- it seems like it worked in the end, if he does decide to knock instead of turning back.

Dean doesn’t know why he’s stuck. He woke up thinking it was going to go smoothly. He was going to show up at your door apologize, tell you he loves you, and all would be good.

But now that he’s here? He’s not so sure he can.

Except he does. You stand behind the door for what feels like hours before you hear the slight knock on your door.

It’s barely here, so hesitant, you can barely hear it over the rain falling outside.

A part of you fights. It fights to not open the door, let him stay in the rain a little longer to make sure that he really wants to be here- but you can’t wait any longer.

You swing the door open, and Dean stands there, his hands in his jacket’s pockets. His hair is dripping on the wooded floor, his clothes sticking to his body, he looks so-desperate.

One second, Dean feels like he can’t speak. The next- seeing you standing there looking so hopeful that he won’t disappoint you, his throat isn’t so tight anymore. He can actually speak without feeling like he’s about to break any second.

‘Just hear me out, please.’ Is what he manages to say before you step out of the room. Maybe it’s not logical- you should let him in, but because he’s so wet, the only thing crossing your mind is joining him in the rain, because you just want to hear him say it-you don’t think.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me- I wanted to answer. You didn’t deserve that.’ Dean looks up, he almost looks like a sick dog.

‘No, I didn’t.’ Maybe your tone is harsh. You don’t want to be so mad over the fact that he can’t say it because you know he wants to. You know the only reason he didn’t is because he was scared to let you in. What you’re mad about - is that he didn’t trust you enough to tell you- to let you in- to not break your heart.

‘I’m sorry.’ Dean steps closer. Your arms were crossed on your chest, now they’re being held by him. His hands go from your elbows to hold your hands. He brings them up to his mouth, and kisses them ever so slightly, making you close your eyes.

‘Why didn’t you just trust me?’ You open your eyes to see Dean sigh with his head down.

‘I trust you. I trust you, it wasn’t that.’ He nods his head.

You step even closer to him if that’s possible- and press a hand to his cheek.

‘Then why couldn’t you tell me? Do you not feel the same?’

Dean melts into it before answering.

‘I’ve never felt this way. I’ve never said it with the intention of a future together, I was scared.’

Dean’s never been one to admit that. He doesn’t talk about his feelings- he buries them, he doesn’t even trust himself with them. That’s when you know he means it.

‘I love you. I love you and I should’ve said it. I should’ve said it before you did because the moment I saw you, I knew. I’m so sorry, I didn’t imagine this happening but I froze.’ He admits to you- his hand on top of yours still on his cheek.

You look at him. Really- look at him. You can see how sad this makes him. How he knows how much he’s hurt you by just being scared. And you feel sorry for how harsh you were to him. You were hurt- but you should’ve understood. You should’ve been there.

‘We both suck at this, huh?’ You suck in a laugh, and Dean looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way- he wishes he could change it, but he can’t, and you’re still here. You still accept the flaws, the fears, the uncertainties, because you feel them too.

You’re not sure about anything.

The one thing you’re sure about, is that you love Dean- and he loves you, and that’s all you need right now.

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Protector

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

Warning: Implications of Human Trafficing, Talks of Murders, Creepy Man, Cursing, Violence

Summary: You're walking home late at night when a drunk stranger approaches, clearly with bad intentions. Thankfully, a stranger steps in to help you.

This doesn't really follow the movies or shows.

*Not Proof Read*

My mom always told me to be careful at night. The darkness emboldens people in a way they wouldn't dare to normally behave. It unleashes the darker parts of their personality, giving them a sense of confidence that they won't be caught.

It's happened before. It'll happen again. I've heard stories of girls in my neighborhood getting snatched in the middle of the night. Some return home -although never the same as they were before. Some are never found or are found dead. I've heard the gunshots that ring through the deathly silent streets. Later on the news, my suspicions are confirmed. Someone was murdered once again.

My neighborhood is rough. But I have no choice but to stay here until I can save up enough to leave.

I was supposed to be home hours ago. I try to leave work before the sun goes down. That wasn't possible today, and unfortunately for me, the buses stop shortly after sundown.

My boss kept me late filing paperwork and filling out forms. Something that should've taken me a few hours ended up taking me the entire day due to his negligence and irresponsibility. He figured that I wouldn't mind receiving months' worth of work a day before it's all due to be checked. I did.

Maybe he just didn't care.

Either way, because of him, I've been forced to spend that last half hour walking through the dark streets of the city towards my home.

If I could, I'd call a cab. I barely have enough money to cover rent this month. I have to tough it out.

The street lights send a faded glow onto the dark streets. My steps clack softly against the cracked cement, echoing slightly through the rows of apartments and worn down homes. Most of the buildings are completely dark. No one is out. No one is awake.

I tighten my grip on my bag as I continue down the street. Cold, bitter air nips at my face and the exposed skin on my hands. My coat only holds in so much heat. My body is cold and tense.

Trees and large bushes cast ominous shadows across the sidewalks up ahead. Worries flood my mind about possible things hiding in the shadows, waiting to attack me.

I push through my fears and force myself to continue forward.

It's eerily quiet outside, save for the occasional dog that will bark as I pass their house.

I finally make it onto my street. Like all of the other streets, everyone's inside and asleep. I

I let a small sigh of relief and I feel my shoulders relax slightly. My peace is short lived.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot movement on one of the porches. The home belongs to one of the many local drug dealers. All sorts of different people crash at his house at all hours of the night. It's not unusual to see someone on his porch.

I just wish there hadn't been anyone over tonight.

I pick up my speed, hoping the person will stay on the porch.

Unfortunately, they don't. A rough hand grips my wrist, spinning me back in the direction of the person.

A tall man stares at me, his eyes glassy and filled with a wicked glint. His smile is wide and unnerving. He's dressed in messy, torn-up clothes. Stains, I think may be blood, are splattered around his collar and under his nose like he's recently been in a fight. The smell of booze spills out of his pores, flooding my nostrils. His grip is firm and slightly painful.

"Hey baby, whatcha doin' out here?" He asks, his voice slurred. His eyes scan over my body, staying a few seconds longer on my chest than anything else.

My spine shivers at the leering man. My stomach twists and turns in fear. I'm frozen in fear, unsure what to do. He's stronger than me. He'll overpower me. If I scream, I doubt anyone would come. They know this neighborhood. They know what happens after dark.

I'm on my own.

"Please let me go." I try to say it confidently. My voice slightly waivers.

The man clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Baby, you don't need to be scared."

I want to vomit at the nickname.

"You and I can have a lot of fun, you know that? Go back to my place...see where the night takes us." Once again, his eyes settle on my chest as he finishes his words.

"I said, please let me go." I say in a more stern tone. "I don't want to go anywhere with you."

The man's eyes narrow and snap up to me. Anger fills his gaze. His grip on my wrist tightens, and he twists it tightly, sending pain flooding through my hand.

I let out a yelp and try to pull back.

The man doesn't let go. "Listen, Bitch. It wasn't a real question. You're coming with me whether you'd like to or not." He spits.

"Please stop! You're hurting me!" My chest pounds louder. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

The man lets out a sinister chuckle. "Good." He's about to say something else when, all of a sudden, a large hand roughly grabs his hand and pries his fingers off my wrist.

Loud pops echo through the air as the man's fingers are pulled into an unnatural position. The man lets out a scream in agony at the sight and feeling of his fingers being broken.

My eyes widen, and I gasp, stumbling backwards. I take in the sight in front of me. The man who helped me is dressed in all black clothing, the only thing showing being some skin above his face mask and his muscular metal arm. His hair is dark brown and long, blowing slightly in the cold breeze. His angry eyes are pointed at the man in front of him. He grabs the other man by the collar, punching him in the face. Then he drops my offender on the ground, puffing his chest out to intimidate him.

The other man cowers, holding his damaged hand to his chest. He spits out a string of curses, begging my protector to stop. He scoots back as fast as he can, almost falling over from not being able to use one of his hands.

My protector takes a slow and intimidating step towards the cowering man, daring him to speak again. He follows the cowering man, pushing him backwards until his back is pressed against a spikey bush.

The cowering man is whimpering, begging for mercy. My protector leans down until he's at eye level with the cowering man.

The cowering man refuses to meet his gaze, his sobs loud and fearful.

"Touch her again, and I will find you. I will kill you." His words are stronger than a threat. They're a promise. This man is not fucking around.

Something about this man tells me he'll have no problem following through with his word. He won't struggle to find where this man lives.

My attacker nods furiously, his face red from his crying. "I won't! I promise."

My protector grabs the man by his collar once again, eliciting a yelp from the other man. "Leave." He tosses the man towards the sidewalk leading away from us.

The other man stumbles forward, quickly catching his balance and running off away from us. He clutches his hand against his chest, his cries dying down the further he gets.

My protector watches as the other man runs away, making sure he's fully gone before finally turning to me.

I stare at the man, shocked and horrified at what I just witnessed. My heart pounds, fear climbing up my throat once again. I tightly grip my bag once again like it's somehow going to protect me. "I-I...Thank you." I finally say, trying to shake off my nerves.

The man gives me a curt nod, glancing down at my bruising wrist that's covered by my jacket.

For a moment, all the chaos distracted me from my injury. His gaze brought the sore feeling back.

I lift up the sleeve of my jacket slightly to reveal a forming blackish blue bruise.

"Go home. Take care of it." The man's voice is monotone, exactly the way it had been when he was talking to my attacker. His gaze shifts from my wrist to my face. He's watching me.

"O-Okay." I nod in agreement, pulling my sleeve down. "What..." Should I ask him? I decide to do it. "What's your name?"

The man doesn't respond. He just continues to watch me.

Feeling nervous and not wanting to push the dangerous individual, I decide to thank him one last time. "Thanks again. I...I don't know what I would've done without you." I say sincerely. "Is there anyway I can repay you?" I offer.

"I don't need repayment. Just get home. It's not safe out here." The man states.

"I'll go then," I say, not wanting to argue. I turn around and begin walking down the street towards my apartment. When I get to my building, I turn to look back in the direction of the man who saved me.

He's unmoved. His eyes connect with mine. He was watching to make sure I got here okay.

I give him a small, nervous wave and smile before stepping into my building and closing the door. I peek out of the window in the door, trying to catch a glimpse of the man again.

But he's gone. Within seconds, he vanished into the night.

Who is he?

------ Years Later -------

After that night, I began training so I could protect myself in case something like that ever happened again. I never saw the man again. But I'll never forget how he saved me.

My training paid off. It unlocked a harshness in me I didn't know I had. I began to box. It started out legal, but eventually turned into underground paid events. I took my opponents out quickly and painfully. It paid well. It made me strong.

Eventually, my interests took a turn. My neighborhood was getting worse. I needed to protect myself.

I started to learn how to use weapons-it started out for protection. It evolved into me becoming a hitman. It all happened so quickly. It was a blur of my normal life turning into violence. Eventually, my skills were sought after by SHIELD, something I never thought would happen.

I was recruited to become an Avenger. Everything was fine until Tony and Steve started fighting, and we were forced to pick sides.

The day Steve found Bucky and brought him back was the day I realized he was the man who saved me. It brought so many unanswered questions back into my mind.

Why did he save me? Why was he in the neighborhood? Had he been stalking me?

As soon as Bucky came too and Steve asked which Bucky he was, I got my answers.

Bucky's eyes land on me. A glimmer of recognition flashes through his eyes. "You're the girl."

I don't need further explanation to know he's talking about me. "I am," I cross my arms and walk closer to him. "You're The Winter Soldier."

He doesn't say anything.

"Why did you save me? That night with the man. You didn't need to. Why?" I ask, my eyes steadily holding his gaze.

Bucky's brows draw together like he's trying to remember.

"Why were you there?" I try not to make my questions sound like an interrogation.

"I was there on a mission," Bucky responds, his gaze torn away from mine. He looks at the ground, still trying to remember. "I was sent to kill a dealer in the neighborhood. Someone who knew too much. I saw you walking through the dark. The man grabbed you, and I saw your face. Your fear. I remembered...I remembered a woman I'd helped protect in the past...In the 40s before I went to war. I felt pulled to help. So I did."

His instincts overpowered his training.

"Thank you." I let out a slightly shaky breath. "I don't know what would've happened to me without you. You helped me get here today."

His eyes turn to look up at me.

"I owe you. And I will pay it back." I promise.

"You don't have to." He says quietly.

"I do and I will. I'll help you the way you helped me." I insist.

It's my turn to stand up for him. I won't let Tony get his hands on him.

That's a promise I'll fulfill.

[no1blacksapphirefan]

Hi! Uh, kind of new to this request thingy but anywho for the self-aware au, you know how you did the ancients and beasts reaction to the reader saying they're their favorite cookie? Well, can you do the same thing but with the legendaries and some super epics +epics? (Mainly Stardust cookie, Squid ink cookie and the legendaries, please!)

Also, can you do the cookies getting jealous when the reader's pet (cat, dog, doesn't really matter) interrupts them playing cookie run kingdom?

Ofcofc ^^ If anyone wants to read the beast/ancient version of this, it's here

I usually prefer if requests didn't have 2 in the one ask but I think I can kinda tie both of your requests together :)) So I hope that's okay and you don't mind :D

Squid Ink cookies part is STRICTLY platonic ONLY of course. Gotta keep adopting the small kiddos...cookie-os? Also their part won't have the getting jealous of readers pet bit

Possible OOC for a few of the cookies

Stardust Cookie Favourite? He's...you're favourite? He didn't expect that, but it isn't something he's against. He likes it, a pleasant feeling in his chest grows more and more if he hears you go on rants about him, especially once or if you give him the best toppings, beascuits ect for him. I feel like, to him. The fact you favour him so much is the closest thing he'll get to having a personal relationship with you. He doesn't think he can meet you through the screen but he's content with just watching you as you happily play.

I don't see him getting jealous of your pets, at least not knowingly. Maybe your pet comes and crawls onto the bed when you're doing some story quest with him in it. He expects you to continue but you don't, looking up he sees your attention of him. He says he doesn't mind and that is true on the most part, but he can't help but want the attention back on him after a while.

Squid Ink Tears...keep coming, they may not look like it but they're surprised and happy that you seem to like them so much. They aren't scary to you? Them constantly crying doesn't annoy you? They see you as a parental figure and constantly try their best when they're placed on your team. Even before hearing you say they were your favourite, they're so happy their efforts worked and you care for them so. (Even if them trying harder in fights didn't have anything to do with it)

Fire Spirit Hell yeah!! He's so prideful about it, he doesn't exactly brag to other cookies but it's clear with how much more brightly he glows with his flame that he loves hearing you say he's your favourite. He feels a lot of satisfaction and "repays" you by using more power in arena. Maybe he'll even give you another promotion as a thank you. He'll love to hear you scream in delight if you got double in the one pull..he'll just have to figure out how to do that.

He definitely gets jealous if an animal interrupts and suddenly captures your attention, he isn't afraid to fight for it either. He'll say random voicelines so you look over, even if you're just looking at the story. ESPECIALLY if you're only doing the story, that'll get your attention for sure!

Wind Archer Oh? He didn't expect out of all the cookies, he'd by your favourite. He's not complaining at all though and wants to hear all the reasons to why, even if it just ends up being you think he's pretty. He has to admit, when he first "met" you/first started growing aware, he found you strange. You weren't a witch, you weren't even from their world yet you seemed to show such love for the world he's in, he's gotten used to it and has grown to want to protect you in a way.

He may not show it but he does get a tiny bit jealous when your pets come by and distract you, he won't show it and he'll try to ignore it. You're allowed to place your attention elsewhere after all, besides. Just knowing he's your favourite is enough for him to settle down a bit.

Stormbringer I see her quickly telling anyone who'll listen about it, like heck yeah she's your favourite, she wouldn't have it any other way!! She thinks it's a given, it should be obvious why. Well, that's what she tells other cookies, her logic is that since the cookies have to look up to see you when in your kingdom, that you're in the skies right? And what is she? Ruler of the skies!! ((She knows it's weird logic but she brushes it off until she hears you "confirm" it))

At first I think she wouldn't particularly care if your pet comes by, then she does get a bit grumpy if your attention is on it for awhil- OMG THE CAT IS ADORABLE. She's totally a sucker for cute things, she forgot about the jealousy and now she wants to pet your lil cutie.

Frost Queen Her ears perk up, she isn't sure if she heard you correctly and silently hopes you say it again. Well she was instead met with reasons why which, technically did confirm what she had heard. She isn't sure what to think, not that she isn't flattered! She is, she thinks it's a pleasant thought to know you essentially "picked" her over others. On the other, she does still wonder why it's her you favour, despite the reasons you've ranted on about...hm, she's content though.

She seems like the silent jealous to me, she won't say anything and nothing she does shows she's starting to get jealous at how much you've been petting your dog...aside from the icy stare she has, she will say though, if it weren't for the fact you looked so happy. She might've tried to get your attention.

Moonlight Oh she's very happy upon hearing you say that and she's more than happy to listen to you list out reasons why, even if it may not be directed at her and you're just ranting about it to a friend. She wants to know so much more about you, every detail. You may not technically be apart of the cosmos but you still interest her as if you were a newly found star in her world. So hearing you say she's your favourite makes her feel beyond happy.

She does get a bit jealous when other animals interrupt you playing but she won't say anything. Depending on how long it's taking or how long it SEEMS to be taking, she may take a quick nap and dream. She isn't going to grab your attention when it's already placed on something you like after all. Don't worry, she'll make sure to come back in time before you even notice!!

Seafairy Such kind words, she will remember them until the end of time. It's a shame she can't meet you in person. Reaching towards the other side of the screen is far harder then when she attempted to reach Moonlight Cookie and she still yearns to reach her more than you, knowing this. She knows it'll be an impossible feat to meet with you that way. But she'll be contempt like this, hearing you ramble on about why you love her, the stories relating to her. As if you too were also a cookie in their world, it brings a smile to her face.

She isn't exactly the jealous type in my opinion, I think she'd want to join in with the affections you're giving your animals, they seem rather cute and they grabbed your attention rather quick. She wonders if the dogs feel different to their cake hounds or if your bird is different to the cheese birds.

Black Pearl She's a bit surprised...she half expected your reasoning to stem from who she used to be, before she was Black Pearl but when you listed them and it was just...her...who she is right now...she's a bit confused. She has made cookies fear her, she isn't as kind and loving as she was before, she was sure you'd dislike it but...you just like her for her? Feel sympathy for her?...You're a very kind human you know. For a moment, some cookies might see her break out in a genuine, sweet smile. Unlike the one she had before as she inflicted fear on the other cookies.

She gets a bit jealous when a pet comes around, especially after a long period of time. She wouldn't do anything though, not that she doesn't want too and she isn't opposed to trying to get your attention. But she doesn't think there'll be a point, there's still a screen between the two of you and as well as that, you're not aware that they know. She'd rather keep it that way...at least for now.

[zephyrrr101]

Elizabeth Midford's Turmoil.

Okay, before I go on my rant, there are manga spoilers from the Arcs that are ahead of where Anime is, so you are being WARNED.

It kind of makes me sad that everyone hates Lizzy nowadays. Like idk what people expect from her. She is 14.

Freaking 14!

You know what we are doing at 14? Worrying and losing shit about our exams and not having good looks at 14.

Like, put yourself in her shoes. The girl lost not only her fiance but also two of her best friends, her uncle and aunt who would have dotted on her with how we know Vincent and Rachel were. She lost them all, and then after a month, one of her cousins came back saying he was her fiance, and this went on for three years.

I'm not saying Our Ciel is a bad guy here or anything. He had his own reasons. But think of it from Lizzy's side. This is supposed to be the boy who she sacrificed so much for. The boy for whom she exchanged beautiful heels for flats, appeared frail and girly because her supposed fiance had been scared of strong women since he was a child and she didn't want him to hate her or be scared of her, so she hid away her natural talents so he wouldn't think of her as the same way he thought of her mother. This is the girl who cried while trying to save the supposed fiance from walking corpses because she thought he'd hate her for being able to protect herself and him and not being girly.

Like has anyone thought about the fact there might have been things that Lizzy and Real Ciel might have discussed that Our Ciel wouldn't know about? Like for this instance here, from Chapter 66 when they are celebrating Easter.

This is seriously something to put into consideration that Lizzy is infact talking to him about something that she had told him before the fire at Phantomhive manor. And he doesn't knows it. And she is shocked. And she is shocked to the point that for the first time in what we have read the manga she asks that what happened to him in that ome month that changed him so much.

And then, all of sudden she is reunited with the guy who knows exactly what she and him talked about when they talking of their future. Mind you both Ciel were 10 and Lizzy was 11 at that time.

Do we even put it into thought that maybe Real Ciel might have given her a whole detailed version of what actually happened when he was killed, like how Our Ciel got the Phantomhive ring and all the gruesome details, and God knows would have told her what else?

And idk if you get it or not, but the fact that she's actually beating herself over is that she couldn't find any difference between Real Ciel and Our Ciel, which, again, if you put yourself in her shoes, will make sense that her reaction is right.

Source: Chapter 144

And even after that, her thoughts first go to how our Ciel might be mocking her or not then she tells Edward what she actually thought at the moment.

These two boys who she played with since they were kids, these two boys who were her best friends, and she couldn't find a difference between her fiance and his brother. It's not anything but traumatizing and something that anyone would feel tremendous guilt over. And even then she is feeling far more guilty over the fact that if she had known the truth, she could have ended up hating Ciel because he wasn't her fiance.

Reminds you guys of something?

Source: Chapter 11

She knows she would have turned bitter and we possibly would have seen the same reaction we did when Madam Red attempted to kill Our Ciel. Something which did happen when we saw her attacking Sebastian when he tried to retrieve her from the Sphere Music Hall. And if not that she feels guilty of playing part in what happened with Our Ciel and the Scotland Yard being set on his tail.

She feels hurt, guilty and confused all over not knowing what to do or who to side with because the guy who was okay with her being a strong woman was not her actual fiance but his younger twin.

Overall. Give the girl a break. She's 14, confused, and emotionally traumatized. Get that we love Our Ciel. I do too. But let's not get angry at a 14-year-old girl and allow her the liberty of having emotions like any real 14-year-old is allowed because let's accept it her situation ain't anything pretty.

[syntheticsymp]

Running from our Ghosts

Chapter One

Ghost x fém!reader

Ghost has always been running away from his past. That’s why he ran away from home, why he joined the military, why he became the thing he is today. But what happened to the boy he was before? What happened to Simon Riley? And what would happen if he finally managed to stop running?

Aka, the amnesia fic

Tw: angst, injuries, Simon Riley’s Past (from the comics), just general rehashing of trauma. Eventual sex/noncon with reader but not quite yet. Buckle in for the ride, it’s gonna be a longer one

Ghost's lungs ached as he forced himself to walk through the forest. The rotting green leaves dipped as the rain weighed them down. Pure water was tainted by the blood that didn't soak up into his tactical gear.

He had been in this position numerous times by now.

Stumbling through the middle of nowhere, bleeding from practically everywhere, his injuries nothing more than a mere nuisance. It didn't matter how much it hurt, he had to get through it, just like he had before.

It didn't matter if he was done with this world, because it wasn't yet done with him. And he couldn't die until it was. He learned that lesson far too many times over.

The sun shining through the clouds only seemed to mock him. His mask was becoming insufferable, the air somehow too warm and wet at the same time. Ghost was running like some coward, doing his best to simply survive after his squad was ambushed. They scattered, planned to meet up back at headquarters if they managed to evade their enemies. Yet the sun followed Ghost with more ease than those tracking him.

Crackling mud caked onto his black tennis shoes, dragging him deeper into the earth. It wanted to reclaim him, just as it had done when he was buried in that coffin, the sand unwilling to let him escape. If he could survive that, then surely he could make it back to base. He had been through worse. Surely, this wouldn’t be the end of the elusive Ghost.

Sweat beaded down his forehead, mixing with the rain and blood. It clung to his pretty blond eyelashes, unable to soak into his balaclava. The eyeblack he had applied two days earlier was finally smudging, running down his pale skin, making it impossible to see.

Any rational man would have simply taken off the patterned cloth. But Ghost was not exactly rational.

He was logical, precise to a fault, yet neither of those things were the same as having ration. Having ration assumed that Ghost's thoughts would somehow make sense, which they most certainly did not.

Taking off the balaclava meant he would no longer be Ghost. He would return to the sad little boy he killed off years ago in the desert. Simon Riley, who still rested in that crappy coffin. That boy wasn't ready to return to this world. He was long gone in the recesses of his own consciousness, becoming a shell of a person, a ghost haunting its own body.

It took three more steps for Ghost to slip and fall in the mud. Such a pathetic thing for an operative to do.

That little boy inside him couldn't keep running. He needed rest.

So, Ghost pushed himself against an old tree, the greenery giving him cover as he closed his eyes. Just a few minutes. He would rest, wake up, then repeat the cycle just as he always had. It was far easier to keep running than it was to break free.

———

It was Simon Riley who woke up in your bed a week later.

That was all he remembered. A name. The rough outlines of his face. Maybe a fleeting memory or two of his childhood. Not much else.

He tried to call out to the owner of wherever he was, only to make rough, gagging sounds with his dry throat. He tried to stand, but his feet were too sore. His knees couldn’t support his weight. Instead, he tried to sit up, only to end up back where he started as stitches he couldn't remember getting threatened to pop open. So, he stayed where he was, looking around frantically.

Someone had to live here. His mind ran through every possible scenario. Though, all he knew, was that they were going to hurt them. Simon was already beaten and bruised, he wouldn’t be able to withstand anything more. Fear followed each little noise around the house, and he fought the urge to flinch. There wasn’t a single person he wanted to see. It would probably be safer for him to hide, try to launch a sneak attack, then try to find an exit. If there was one, hazy thing he remembered from his childhood, it was the games of hide and seek. He was the best at those.

But, he doubted he could make it far. So all he could do was hold his breath and clench his fists on instinct.

Sure enough, you appeared not long after he woke. A sweet little thing who placed water on his nightstand, not yet noticing that the man she had let into her home was very much awake.

Simon just stared. Did he know you? He didn't think so. But, then again, even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to remember.

When you finally noticed his annoying blue gaze following you, you let out a squeak that could only be described as delicious. God, Simon hoped that he knew you. You were far too good to pass up. Even in his panicked state, he noticed that much.

You rushed to his side. "Oh, you're awake! Thank God."

He scoffed at the term, but for the life of him, he had no idea why. The concept of God seemed like a concept so foreign that he couldn't touch it directly. He was the reason that he was awake, not some deity in the sky.

You picked the glass of water back up and sat down on the bed beside him, so close to the edge you looked like you were about to fall off. The space was a welcome reprieve.

“Are you alright?”

Simon didn’t answer. He couldn’t, his throat hurt too bad. You seemed to pick up on this.

"You need to drink," you said softly. The tone you used was meant to be forceful, but didn't compare at all to the people he was used to bossing him around.

Though, he couldn't remember the face of the man who barked orders like a second nature. Any of them. They just kept morphing, twisting, before disappearing into smoke.

Under any other circumstances, Simon would have argued. But right now, his throat was drier than he could ever remember it being.

The cold rim of the glass pressed against his lips and he dutifully swallowed. Everything inside him lit back up, his organs suddenly deciding to work again, his world exploding into color. Simon took the glass from you, the sweat of the glass dripping down his hand, not so much as caring to wipe it off.

It felt like he hadn't had anything to drink in days.

And, as far as he knew, he hadn't.

You just stayed where you were, staring at him with the same intensity that he had stared at you.

"Wha'?" he muttered, setting down the empty glass back down on the nightstand. His accent was heavy, heavier than it had been in years.

You shook your head, looking away like a child caught.

“Nothing. It's just that you're actually awake,

For a while there I was kinda worried..."

He could fill in the gaps for you. "That I'd die?"

"Well, yeah."

It was a fair assumption, he supposed. The last thing he remembered was the desert, walking around, searching for something, though he had no clue what.

"Do you want some more water?" You asked, standing back up. "It might help a little."

Just as you reached out for the glass, he grabbed your wrist. It was pure instinct, nothing more. The bone felt so brittle in his grip.

Break it. Don't let her get away.

He let go just as quickly as he had grabbed you.

Hearing voices combined with the horrified look on your face was enough to get him to shove his hand under the pillow, as if it was something evil. His sheepish smile was hard to distinguish with all his scars.

“Sorry." He cleared his throat and continued, "I'd love some more water."

You nodded, not needing any more prompting before running off. The angry red marks where his fingers had grabbed your wrists were enough to put some speed in your step.

You had no idea how dangerous the man you let in your home was. And he didn't, either.

Simon forced himself to his feet as soon as you left, not caring how much it hurt. He had to have supplies on him when you found him. He could use that to get home to...

Home. Right, where was that again?

Before he could think too deeply into that question, he found a pile of his things stacked neatly on a dresser. His thick fingers thumbed through the items, most freshly laundered, judging by the soft lavender scent that wafted from them. Though, he was still wearing the same undershirt and pants he had been wearing before. You must have been too nervous to change him completely.

Next, he went through the little trinkets on top of the pile. He picked up one after the other, holding it up to the light, trying to see if it sparked anything. Even the simplest memory would do.

It didn't help that most of his 'belongings' were just knives. Cold metal with no sentimental attachment.

None of these things were truly his own.

He was about to give up and patiently wait for you to return with another glass of water when something jumped out at him, the pattern scaring the shit out of him.

It was a mask. Or, a balaclava, to be more specific.

The black and white pattern seemed familiar somehow. It seemed like Tommy’s, but it wasn’t quite right. Simon ran his fingers over the material, the soft ridges of woven fabric drawing him back in.

Explaining it would be impossible, so he settled for the phrase, 'it was him’. Something about that mask held a piece of him, that he couldn't ignore. So, he slipped it over his face, his features becoming obscured as he looked in the mirror.

Simon had to fight the urge to laugh when he made eye contact with the person staring back. They looked like a skeleton or some crappy ghost. Surely, Simon hadn't been wearing that. If the cute girl who saved him saw him in that, he'd have to die of embarrassment.

Laughter bubbled up and spilled through his lips, painfully stabbing at his lungs as he pulled the mask off with practiced ease.

It was only once it was off that he realized what was amiss.

The mirror- it was wrong.

That had to be what was going on. The mirror was wrong. The person staring back at him wasn't him, it couldn't be. No, because Simon knew what he looked like. And he wasn't that...

Hideous.

His rough fingers went to touch the scars along his face. Everything about it was just wrong. If something happened to make him look like that, he would have remembered. He wouldn't have forgotten. Scars practically littered every part of his skin to the point most of it was scars alone, whatever pristine skin he used to have being torched away. The most prominent was the one on the left of his lower lip. It was split open, an old wound.

Jaw clicking as he opened it, he inspected his mouth next. His teeth were sharp, far too sharp for a human.

And two of his teeth were replaced with ones that were clearly fake. Not gold, but something of far lower quality. Its plasticky white color stood out viscerally against his coffee and tobacco-stained teeth. Since when had he started smoking?

The tips of his fingers found their way to the bottom of his undershirt. A tank top, a standard thing. He remembered his father calling it a 'wife beater' when he wore one. The title had fit for him. For Simon, however, it just made him nauseous. The browning blood caked into the white thread didn't help with the feeling. Every time he glanced over his skin, did so much as blink, another scar seemed to appear.

Another imperfection.

Things may have changed, but he did hold one truth evident. This wasn't his face. This wasn't his body.

There was only one way to tell if it was truly his. The birthmark on his hip. The one thing that couldn't be taken away from him.

He pulled his shirt up desperately, searching, half-hoping that he wouldn't find it. That it was wiped away. Proof that he wasn't crazy, that this wasn't him. But, sure enough, the dark brown streak was right where he remembered it.

Simon couldn't stop himself. He sunk to his knees, fat, ugly tears rolling down his face. This didn't make sense. None of it made sense. He didn't know where he was- he didn't know who he was. Some fundamental part of him had been ripped away, and he couldn't even remember what it was.

It felt like a violation, like it had been stolen from him.

He wanted those memories back. It didn't matter if they caused scars, if they made him relive that pain.

Those memories were his.

You came back not long after, holding a fresh cup of ice water. But poor Simon was too miserable to even look up at you. He couldn't let you see him, not in this condition. Crying was pathetic. His brother— Tommy, he thought it was— had taught him that lesson one too many times.

Still, you put down the glass and sat down a respectable distance beside him. You seemed just as lost as he was.

After a moment, you extended your hand to him. He didn't acknowledge it for a long time. Until finally, like a child seeking comfort, he took your hand in his. He still couldn't look you in the eye, but it was a touch he needed.

Having emotions was hard. And it was even harder when he was clueless about how to use them. It felt like drowning for an eternity, so now that he was finally on land, he couldn't remember how to walk.

So, after years of keeping everything bottled, Simon Riley finally cried. He cried for what felt like hours, so hard that at one point you forced him to drink water so he wouldn't dehydrate. By the end of it, his eyes were red and puffy. He had fallen asleep in your lap, trapping you in the uncomfortable position.

Only one word wormed through his mind as he slept.

It writhed and hissed like a living thing, whispering its name.

Ghost.

[halfdeadhalfpaniced]

Monkie kid is wasted on the 10 minute toy commercial for children it’s stuck as. I don’t have the energy or skill to write a full rewrite or au right now so here’s some loose ideas for stuff I would add or change:

LBD deserves a full on cult her motivation and villain speech already reminded me a bit of a cult leader and mayors already there so why not just give her a few more goons in the form of some other minor demons and even humans she’s manipulating. It could be difficult for the gang to properly beat these people up because they’ve been brainwashed so they feel a bit bad doing so.

More Mei stuff! She has such an interesting back story being the descendent of Ao Lie why not show how that affects her life more? Show the pressure she’s under and the guilt her family has pushed on her for wanting to be herself! Maybe she has some kind of double life and they don’t even know she’s sneaking out to do things like motorcycle races and extreme sports with a good Mei centric episode showing them finding out somehow and her proving herself to be capable talented and an important part of the team. They don’t completely understand approve or stop working about her but learn she’s an adult who has her own life and as long as she’s still doing some of the important family traditions they can’t really stop her. They still worry but there’s also a deep pride they won’t admit since she’s helping so many people.

Give Macaque AND Wukong more clear fuck ups and motivations for them! I already mentioned giving LBD cult leader charisma and manipulation skills that could be affecting Macaque but make it clear Wukong still holds a grudge too and acts even more irrational and impulsive when Macaque is involved. Show in subtle ways they both deep down still care for each other show the way they’re prior healthy relationship affects them struggling subconsciously to cause proper damage to the other! Show them trying to reason with each other from skewed perspectives and memories of their issues both full of bias and things the other forgot or dismissed as unimportant have them both be unintentionally unreliable narrators of their own lives forced to get a neutral mediator and tons of individual and couples therapy to figure out what actually happened.

Show more demon culture especially in parallel to human culture! Something like how for generations many demons have abandoned or never even engaged in the brutality they as a species are known for just trying to live their life’s without causing problems and distancing themselves from those that do. Many humans still show fear and discrimination towards them but that’s one of the things that makes Pigsys special because it’s owner a pig demon is in a healthy relationship with a human who’s always there so they treat every customer the same and give every paying customer the best possible food they can provide at affordable prices.

Show demons not fully trusting MK because of his ties to Wukong someone who was previously considered a hero for them and a rebel to heavens tyranny but in their eyes ended up turning against them to slaughter their family’s and friends for a monk basically becoming “heavens pet” to them and “cheap entertainment for humanity abandoning those who supported him from the start” or “a sell out who forgot where he came from and wishes you did too” many of which Macaque echos back to him during fights just fueling his perception of Wukong being a heartless traitor.

More of the major demons that actually are problems fully adapting to modern society and using that as a weapon. Opening business running smear campaigns starting gossip ect. Not just physical fights but mind games and playing the game to inconvenience the gang even selling products that cause problems for the city or being celebrity’s or influencers of sorts manipulating the people that way. Stuff like the new mayor diverting funds or canceling a Monkey king festival to use the money for other things like soup kitchens affordable housing or park maintenance because while the gang knows this was done out of spite you can’t really argue about it much because yea those things really did need the money and they are really good things for the community so what’s a few less booths and rides at a festival?

On the mayor make him a genuinely amazing mayor who even loves and is actually great at his job. He’s solving problems charismatic happy and the best the city has had in years. So when the gang does realize he’s an evil demon working for a complete psycho cult leader ( willingly or unwillingly) anything they say just sounds like a crack pot conspiracy theory badmouthing the beloved mayor out of spite or because he decided a monkey king festivities funds could go to helping a community because of course the biggest monkey king fan boy from a loving safe background wouldn’t understand that there are more important things in life!

Connected to a few previous comments but have people who don’t fully support or trust the gang especially MK. Bad newspaper article’s gossip side eye in the streets slanderous social media posts conspiracy theories about him and the gang ect. Just some good old fashion background conflict and drama! Obviously also show all the fans and supporters too like people giving them free stuff or extra business for pigsys but that’s a little bit less fun

I’ll probably post more stuff for this eventually or I’ll answer any questions faster depends what happens first ig

Also Ik I might have torn into Wukong a little bit more after saying they both fucked up but it is so much easier and makes more in the universes content to come up with ideas for him in this since it seems like nobody knows who macaque even is in this world and the centuries of opinions and feelings towards wukong just built more naturally

[flowercrownsandherondales]

Against the Odd Pt. 19

I was going to wait to post this, but I'm bored at work (literally where I wrote this whole chapter, I really just be sitting here all day) and decided fuck it we ball. This one is mostly a gap builder for the start of the trilogy. We all needed a break from constant pain. Enjoy!

XIX: It’s Tactless, It’s a Test

It took me a year to really understand and forgive what happened with Burdock. 

I never really blamed Haymitch, if I was being honest. I mostly blamed myself. Put in my husband’s shoes, I would have done the same thing. 

Besides, it was my body that betrayed me. My womb couldn't carry a child. If things were different, if I wasn’t so broken, maybe in some way Burdock would still be alive. 

Haymitch drank more after his passing, and I spent more time trying my best to make sure Katniss and Prim didn’t struggle too much. I owed them more, the fear that one day the girls might find out the cause of the mining accident kept me up more nights that I’d like to admit. Burdock's death took a heavy toll on Astrid, breaking something quintessential inside of her. She went comatose, refusing to do anything but sit in bed and stare. The small amount the Everdeen’s got from his death was hardly enough to sustain the kids for a few months, let alone a full year. With barely any income, Katniss resorted to using the skills her father gave her to hunt game, selling and trading at the Hob. 

Every week when food was dropped off in Victor’s Village, I took half and put it aside, cooking meals for the girls. Katniss could hunt like her father, but she wasn’t the best at putting it all together into a meal. She’d gotten especially good after meeting Hazelle’s son, Gale, who taught her more about setting traps and checking them. 

It took about 6 months for someone in the Capitol to notice that we were going through our food faster than usual. After that we got less and less, enough for two people and no more or less. 

I would go to the Hob with her when she traded, picking up liquor for Haymitch and shooting daggers when people would try and pull a fast one on Katniss. Eventually it came time for her to take out tesserae, which would have made her father turn in his grave. 

I walked her to her first reaping, holding her and Prim close to my side while Astrid followed behind, head down and face blank. I left a kiss on Katniss’s head, reassuring her as best I could before leading her mother and sister to the viewers section. I held Prim tight to me and gripped Astrid’s hand as they called out the tributes, heaving a sigh of relief that Katniss wasn’t chosen. 

Haymitch chose to distance himself completely from the Everdeen’s, refusing to ask about them when I returned from my daily check in’s. I would just sigh, handing him another glass of alcohol and collapsing into his side, letting him pull my legs over his lap while he took long sips. I held the girls closer than ever, arguing that if they were as near to me as possible, it would be harder for Snow to get them alone and hurt them. 

We didn’t make much small talk anymore, letting silence overtake us. It wasn’t uncomfortable, and there wasn’t animosity behind it, we just didn’t have much to say. The constant fear and deaths had taken their toll, leaving both of us numb and flayed open. We still found each other in gentle touches, sweet kisses and featherlight hands. 

More times than not, when the pain got too much, we’d find ourselves tumbling into bed, soft touches breathing enough life in the both of us to stabilize the loss we’d endured. 

I still loved Haymitch, that would never change. He was my world, along with the girls. If I didn’t love him as fiercely as I did, I would have joined the others to their graves years ago. I knew if I was gone, he would completely go off the deep end, and I would never let that happen. 

It took the arrival and subsequent winner of the 70th games to throw Snow onto our tracks again. 

Annie Cresta, a wide eyed girl from District 4, would be the beginning of the end for us. 

We had received the letter a few months after she won. Haymitch had been given a fair warning from Mags the last time we were in the Capitol for her Victory Tour party. Annie had gone off the deep end, madness setting in and twisting her mind. She wasn’t satisfying Capitol citizens, none of them wanting a girl five seconds away from combusting in their bed. Finnick had tried everything to pick up her slack, but they had grown slightly tired of him, needing something new to look at. The winners before between Annie and Finnick had all been careers, which while beautiful to look at, gave the same depth everytime. The people wanted someone with an edge, someone different from the usual overly primed tributes. 

So the next best choice was us. 

We were already required to do annual check in’s with Cesar, the Capitol fawning over our great love story, ignoring the hurt that was permanently etched into our eyes. Finally, with extreme protest from Haymitch that I attempted to quell, the train came for me. He thrashed against peacekeepers, screaming my name until his throat went horse as Effie guided me to my room, promising my husband that she would not let me leave her sight while I was there. 

Effie was a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. She stood beside me as they wheeled me into the surgical room, and she was there when I woke up, calling nurses for morphling and making sure ice chips were at the ready. 

“They said it wasn’t as bad as they expected, especially for someone that was so young, and without access to proper medical procedures. There was some scar tissue they cleared out, among other things, but they are confident you will be healthy enough to have more children.” Effie explained, grinning and petting my head. I tried to hold back tears, a few escaping and slipping down my face silently. She must have thought they were from joy, rather than the absolute dread that hit my stomach. 

I was hauled back to Haymitch within the day, keeled over in pain as he met us at the train station. Within seconds of seeing me, he was wrapping an arm around my back and under my knee, carrying me back to our home without another word to Effie. 

He had set me in the bed as gently as possible, running his hands through his hair as he paced back and forth like a mother hen. Every groan from me had him running downstairs, fetching tea, crackers, soup and morphling. 

A few days after, still in a haze of drugs, he’d leaned in and shed a few tears. 

“My brave girl, what have they done to you?” He’d whispered, sobs barely contained. I could barely answer him, instead squeezing his hand to try and bring him comfort. 

“You don’t deserve this life, caring for a drunk and two broken kids who lost their father. You should never have had to deal with this absolute shit hand you were dealt. I sure as hell don’t deserve you– and I’m so fucking selfish for loving you like I do… needing you like I do. I’ve failed you, brought you straight into my fucked up world and asked you to stay. Any apology I give you will never be enough.” My chest tightened as I listened to him, his voice so broken, so full of grief it threatened to turn him inside out. 

I had just squeezed harder, attempting to speak. 

“I– I lo— I love you.” Was all I managed to get out, which seemed to soothe his cries, if only for a second. 

Things became settled between us after that. Haymitch managed to put the drink down for an hour longer than usual, choosing to use that time instead to make love to me. A baby announcement was expected, and by winter of that year, it had arrived. 

Haymitch and I were hauled to live in our apartment at the Capitol the moment a positive pregnancy test reached President Snow’s desk. It was January, which meant that for the first time I would be in the Capitol with my husband for the reaping and games. 

Haymitch, of course, did not let me leave our apartment unless he was glued to my side. 

The pinpad was locked to everyone but us, leaving me with hours of watching shitty movies while he met with the tributes, attended events, and sat in the common room with the rest of the mentors while the cannons went off. 

District 12 was out of the running within minutes, and Haymitch was right back up to coddle me. 

He was a doting husband, which seemed to leave a pang in my chest for all I had missed out on when pregnant with Wiley. He made sure to get whatever I was craving, rubbed my back and feet three times a day, took me on walks, and held me close whenever my emotions got the better of me, intently listening to all my fears. 

“What if they are reaped? 

“What if I almost bleed out again?” 

“How can I be a good mother if I couldn’t even protect my first child? How could Wiley ever forgive me for having another?” 

He shushed me through it all, validating my fears while also reminding me he was here to bear them with me. 

“If they’re reaped, I will do everything I can to bring them back. I’ll bribe a gamemaker, offer my head on a silver platter to sponsors. They’ll make it out.” 

“We are in the Capitol, the epicenter of medical advancements. No one will let you bleed out. They’ll give you good drugs, and when you wake up you’ll be perfectly fine, and I’ll be right beside you holding your hand.”

“You are the best mother, not only were you the greatest mother to Wiley, but look how well you care for Katniss and Prim. Wiley was young, but he was smarter than we give him credit for. He knew you did the best with what you could, Y/N, and he adored you for it. He’s watching over his sibling, and he’s going to make sure they’re okay.”

Our girl was born in the fall, our sweet Twyla. 

She resembled Haymitch the most, facial features a mirror to his. The only thing she shared with me was my hair color, soft tufts already coming in, taking on the shape of her father’s waves. They’d cut her out of me, not willing to risk another hemorrhaging situation. I begged for Haymitch to be present, which was allowed, though not without protest from the nurses. In 12, the fathers were often not able to be present due to work, but if by some chance they were home, it was expected that they stay firmly seated next to their wives, offering as much support as possible. 

It seems that was not the case in the Capitol. 

Haymitch had chosen her name while I slept, something I told him I’d prefer. Twyla was gentle, like the lull of our cigarettes under the stars. It was kind and sweet, sparkling in the darkness of the night. It was completely our little girl. 

I woke up from surgery to find him rocking her in his arms, unable to tear his eyes away from her sleeping face. For a man who’d never wanted children, he was completely wrapped around her finger from the moment she took her first cry. 

We headed back three nights later, coming home to an elaborate crib carved in the shape of a swan, bright pink walls with confetti and balloons. Effie Trinket and her prep team had put things together while we were gone, brimming with excitement to show us the horror of our daughter’s bedroom. 

The moment she left, I looked at Haymitch, Twyla sleeping in my arms. 

“Go to the hob and do whatever you can to find purple paint.” 

He laughed, something I felt like I hadn’t heard in years, before whisking away and spending most of the day bartering through can after can until he found the perfect shade of violet. 

We repainted, even going so far as to add white stars in certain places, making the bedroom into a night sky, the swan rocking our girl to sleep. 

Twyla grew with the cameras in her face as minimally as possible. She was the darling child of the Capitol, but she was still kept as private as we could possibly keep her. They would never know the true date she took her first step, what foods she liked or didn’t like, her favorite stuffed animal or the time of night she woke screaming for someone to hold her. 

She turned 3 the year Katniss turned 16, the year Prim turned 12. 

Both girls had met Twyla, played with her in my old house while I patched up their clothes. Haymitch wanted her to have minimal time with other people, begging me not to bring her to the hob when I went. 

“Haymitch, we can’t just keep her captive here all her life. She needs to experience life, other people.” 

He shook his head, arms across his chest, peering down into the crib. 

“She meets enough people when Cesar shoves that goddamn camera in her face.” He grumbled. I placed a hand on his shoulder, soothing circles traced with my finger. 

“Baby, normal people. People like you and I.” He rolled his eyes, giving me a pointed stare. 

“Ain’t no one like us, sweetpea. What we’ve been through, no one else has had the pleasure.” It was my turn to grumble at him, rolling my own eyes back. 

If there was one thing we couldn’t argue about, it was Twyla’s attendance at the reaping. 

I’d made a stack cake for Haymitch the night before, putting it in the fridge to take out that morning. Twyla had cooed and giggled, swiping the frosting and stealing a lick with her grubby toddler hands. She was bolder than Wiley had been, which made my heart clench so tight it knocked the wind out of me. 

I missed my boy everyday of my life, but especially while watching my girl grow up. 

Haymitch sleepily entered the kitchen, a grin breaking out on his face at Twyla’s greeting. 

“Papa! Papa look!” her smile was mostly gums, pointing rapidly at the cake. He scooped her up, holding her close and bouncing her in his arms. 

“That for me, baby doll?” he grinned at her, tickling her tummy and causing a fit of squeals. 

I brought the cake to the table, setting it down and pulling Haymitch and Twyla to my side, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then hers. 

“Happy birthday, baby.” 

We’d gotten better about celebrating it over the last two years, Haymitch wanting to connote reaping day to happier memories while he still could.  She was emotionally intune, sensitive to when either of her parents were feeling particularly broken. She’d make grabby hands at us when we stared too long away from her, caught in a web of memories. Our baby had made it a habit to plant her hands on our cheeks, peering into our eyes before flopping her head straight into our chests, nuzzling in with soft breaths against our skin. 

We all ate a slice of cake before getting ready to head to the square. Haymitch would have to go onstage, and I would take Twyla with me to pick up Prim, Katniss and Astrid. We parted ways, a chaste but sweet kiss shared between us, a promise that we would say goodbyes before he left for the Capitol later. 

I met the Everdeen’s at their house, Prim fiddling with her dress while Katniss chased her, trying to get her to “tuck in that tail, little duck.” 

Astrid lit up at the sight of Twyla, reaching out for her. She’d been gradually doing better, but still was nowhere near where she was before Burdock had passed. My girl giggled at her, playing with a strand of blonde hair. 

I took Prim and Katniss’s hand, squeezing tight and giving them a tight smile. Katniss and I had talked Prim through what to expect on reaping day, preparing her for what it was like to be in the pool of prospective tributes. 

“Let’s get this over with, shall we? Afterwards, we can sneak some of Haymitch’s cake for dinner.” I said, watching my girls sneak a smile to each other, Katniss’s eyes grateful as we headed to the dreaded square. 

[dadsbongos]

sorry no posts here's a jimmy blurb i did to keep the fingers flexible

722 words. unedited.

@jimmyscanongf ❤️ i hope it's tasty 2 you specifically

~~~

You must be sick. 

Worse than your neighbor's kid with influenza. Worse than your dad's weekend hangovers. Worse than Anya every morning. 

Because the way Jimmy looks at you is starting to feel real good: hot butter sizzling in a pan, startlingly loud pops when meat slops out of tight seal grocery store packaging. Or the sun on some Sunday morning in April right before the monsoons hit. Soft beach sand wiggling between each toe and curling deeper.

So strange -you think while recounting how badly the shared bathroom stank after Swansea- the way Jimmy looks at you.

“I had to hold my breath,” you wheeze and the scarred corner of his lips raises higher than the other, “Seriously, I'd ask what the guy eats but it's the same cheap shit we're fed too!”

He doesn't respond for awhile, gaze flickering from your right eye to the left before he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and shrugs, “Could be all the fucking coffee backed up in his gut. You know he's the one that sucked the tap dry?”

“Ew!” you swat his firm arm, it doesn't budge even a centimeter, and sneer, “I don't wanna think about his coffee guts.”

Jimmy snorts, lips still barely parted, “But you'll talk about his shit?”

“What his shit smells like,” you correct.

His lids flutter slowly as if paranoid you will be gone once they're open again. Lashes batting against scruffy cheeks before resetting on your face. His pupils are blown out: two ink wells in one ring of some murkier color. Brown maybe. Potentially possibly you spot a smidgen of green, darker than swamp water. Hard to tell with all that black eating at the edges, nibbling and swelling until you can see your entire face in one little eye.

Jimmy watches you like he studies you -- photographer to hunting lion style, each twinge of muscle commands attention. He'll settle on one eye, then your other, then the dimple in your forehead and your cupid's bow and your chin acne. Only a few burgeoning red bumps surrounded by pinprick sebaceous filaments, but he traces each inflated pore with the care of fine porcelain. So intent with his staring you think he may be trying to peek right through your skin.

To a degree it's unsettling, that animal instinct mewling inside you for mercy. To another it's flattering, ego cawing for preening and pets. And a third suggests you only like what remains unsaid. 

Jimmy scratches beneath his chin, stretching out that thick neck peppered with bristly hair. Stubbornly, though, his head is angled your way with both eyes in one searing spot. A wider grin spreads over his face,

“I bet it's old age. Gutty works are already gone sour.”

“That's terrible!” you cry, shuffling closer on the lounge couch. Both shoulders cramped around your chest, one arm flush against his. 

Two very good coworkers with an on par professional relationship. No more, and certainly no less.

“Am I wrong though?” he prods, unblinking. 

You can see the red spindles webbed around the rims of his sockets, disbelieving his face is relaxed with how wide each eye sticks. That thought vanishes as soon as he chuckles at his own awful jab. Jimmy the stickler has never been more easygoing.

“You shouldn't say it out loud,” is all you can mumble when the doors gasp over your shoulder.

Wheezing apart, old maid Tulpar unveils the disheveled nurse. Dark hair tangled around her neck and gloomy eyes bordering yellow. Contrasted with the violently violet skin sagging beneath her droopy bottom lashes. Cracked lips twist unpleasantly at the sight of you both before a soft,

“Good morning.”

Jimmy grunts and breaks his focus from you to spotlight the daytime window screen. 

“Morning, Anya,” you drone.

As she scurries out quicker than she wandered in, you consider chasing the nurse back to her office. You must be sick after all to so crave the crazed eyes of Jimmy. Every second he goes without looking at you is just another reason to end it all. 

You may as well crash the ship- be rid of Swansea’s rank guts, Anya’s mysterious stomach bug that came with an adorable pink plus sign, and worst of all: your crush on this virus with the worst eye contact you've ever seen.

[faejilly]

@sarasa-cat replied to your [post]:

Ever since I played SDV for the first time just a little over a year ago (why it took me that long, i do not know), I have been itching to write fanfic for farmer/Sebastian. All I have right now is a lot of scattered headcanon and maybe a few scenes here and there because I don't know what time is anymore. Where did 2024 go?

Sebastian finding comfort and quiet joy sitting by the window in the farmer's house is just <3 <3 <3. What are your thoughts on the whole mess in his family and the reasons why he feels ignored? (as for me, my mind tends to go for the darkest ideas b/c DRAMA)

The other thing I really like about Sebastian being very quietly happier is that he doesn't change either, like, he's still got insomnia, he still needs days away from people (even you), but he explicitly tells you when he's got days like that so you know that's why he's not there, or whatever.

IT'S JUST SO GOOD

But anyways. Rambling!

The first fic thing with Sebastian is obviously you're meeting him when he's feeling exactly like you did at your terrible corporate job (and he also hates terrible corporate jobs, go us) in that he doesn't know where he wants to go but he needs to not be here

so there's this connection in that you get it, but then also this immediate disconnection, because how can you get involved with someone and make it harder for him to get out when he so desperately needs it?

As to why he needs out?

There are a lot of possibles there. I find it interesting that it's pretty clear no one (even his friends) respect his boundaries: everyone feels free to just walk into his room, they interrupt him when he's actually working, which means it's gotta be even worse when he just needs solitude to help balance himself (no wonder he hides away so often, he's just trying to carve out any space at all)

There's a recurring theme with the LI characters who grew up in Pelican Town regarding still living at home with their parents, and respect that may or may not be owed in both directions in that situation, but it's also really clear that, in this specific time and place, none of them have anywhere else to go, and I'm not sure any of their parents take that at all seriously.

Sebastian is the only one of that group who seems to be trying to work and save up enough to change that! And yet his mother doesn't treat him any more like an adult than any of the rest of them get.

Also, for all that the game is very hand-wavey in regards time and ages and etc. it's clear he's not supposed to be all that much older than Maru, which means he and Demetrius have known each other for most of his life.

And yet, Demetrius never once mentions Sebastian in dialogue but talks about Maru quite a bit. (There's even a note on the wiki to that effect in his trivia section.) They clearly have no connection, which is unfortunate enough as adults and pretty close to tragic for whatever age Sebastian was when Robin and Demetrius got married.

As part and parcel of the same thing, he and Maru never hang out together in any of either of their schedules, and only stand near each other at holidays when it's clearly a family holiday, and they're with Robin & Demetrius too. They both have a line or two referencing each other, and they do specify half-sister/half-brother, which as someone with only half siblings that is uh, not how that normally works for most of us.

Maru's got a line about wishing they were closer and that she wanted to have a brother but Sebastian never acted like one.

If you get married, Sebastian's got a line where he assumes she's happy he's gone, and if you have kids he's got one hoping they get along better than he and Maru did.

They have very different views of their relationship, is what I'm saying here.

And for all Sebastian is willing to assume he was the difficult one, they were both children, it's not up to them to treat each other equally, it's up to their parents to treat them equally, and it seems really obvious they didn't.

(Was there something there with Sebastian's father, beyond just a simple previous relationship that didn't work out? Tragic or abusive or just low-grade general shittiness? Because it seems like everyone swung too hard in the other direction, avoiding thinking about or mentioning him For Reasons™️ that are now completely opaque and just help Sebastian clearly be othered.)

Which gets me to my next question, which is: how long has he lived in the basement without windows which he clearly hates? Why didn't his carpenter mother just build another room above ground? She expands your house in ludicrous directions, and even if we ignore that as video game mechanics, she's clearly capable of full sized construction not just furniture or repair or whatever.

And yet.

He's still in the basement without windows while Demetrius gets a lab (does a lab really need to be above ground with windows more than a bedroom? do you know legally most places you can't list a basement room as a spare bedroom unless it has windows?)

And Maru gets a room with its own little yard for her experiments so she's got both more fresh air and potential privacy than anyone else in the family.

And all I can really come to as a conclusion there is that Demetrius has never seen Sebastian as his step-son, and that influenced how he and Maru grew up, and Robin didn't do anything about it; whether she ever tried or not, she's not even trying anymore by the time we meet them.

So Sebastian legit needed to get out of there, and I feel bad when I'm playing different farmers that I don't get to help him do that, more so than I do with the rest of them when they're not romanced. (Probably why I keep coming back to his? Also the frogs and general fondness for odd little critters is SO ADORABLE I am eternally smitten.)

[sonic-takeover]

Hello once more! :3

(Quick message to the mod: once again, your blog is amazing! Checking in and seeing all of the characters new adventures never fails to cheer me up. Thank you for all you do!)

Now for the characters ^ ^

Team Chaotix! It’s good to see you all! Good luck on your mission! (And good luck on your mission, Espio ;) )

Sonic! :D

I’m glad the werehog situation went well (though that was a long time ago😅) and I’m really sorry about what happened with Jet. I hope things are going well for you now :DD

Shadow, I’m glad you talked about what was bothering you with Sonic. Even if it seems hard, it’s always good to get that weight off your shoulders.

One last request, could I get a hug from Sonic, Shadow, Blaze, and possibly Metal? (Only if they’re comfortable ofc) It’s my birthday today and I was hoping for one :D (Again, only if they’re alright w/ it)

Anyways, I wish all characters good luck on their endeavors 🫡

-🎆

Thank you. .... For both. Luck is a thing of mystery, and yet I cannot deny its power. I'm grateful for your manifestation of luck for my... Endeavors. Let us see if it influences my fate. Also... Happy birthday.

Happy birthdaaaaayyyyyyyyyy and thank youuuuu!! I dunno why we're here but it's fun!! Here, you can have this for your birthday!! Yay yay yayyy!!! *He hands you a little Lego figurine he made of a rocketship.. it's not very accurate, but it's the thought that counts*

Thanks, kiddo! Bein' a dad and husband ain't the same as bachelor life, but I wouldn't trade it for the world. Though I would trade my hours in for something a little less.. grueling ... At least it pays well, ha! Happy b-day, kid!

Oh yeahh, wow.. the werehog thing feels so benign now, hah! I'm.. I'm really glad Shads is so supportive... And that we're both weird in our own ways! Gaia, I love him.. Oh, but with Jet, uh.. sorry you had to see that. It wasn't any of our best moments, hah.. but I'm glad it worked out the way it did. I'm still kinda awkward about Jet being in town, but maybe I'll get used to it. And who knows.. maybe I'll be able to call him a friend again eventually. Also, hell yeah! Birthday hugs! Bring it in, buddy! *He hugs you tight, grinning* Happy birthdaaayyyyy to you!

I'm glad for it too. It is not an easy thing to bring up the past... Especially when it hurts so deeply. When it feels as violating as that chapter of my life felt. I felt as though I had no identity back then.. I was just a battery. A medicine. But now.. now I have a family. A life. A partner. I never thought I would be able say this, but I'm happy. And I'm grateful for Sonic's companionship. He's incredibly understanding and supportive. I'm extremely lucky to have him. I hope your birthday was enjoyable. You deserve happiness. *He gently hugs you, closing his eyes and breathing slowly*

Oh, a birthday anon. Hello! I hope your celebration was spectacular. Here, a gift for you. *She hands you a perfume oil of your favorite smell* It's from Sol. These are rare, so take good care of it. Happy birthday, 🎆. *She hugs you. For someone so socially distant, she's a good hugger*

What is a birthday? *He pauses as Sage whispers the definition to him* .... I see. I hope that the anniversary of your spawning into this plane of existence was joyous. *Sage whispers again* ... Apologies. Happy birthday! Your wish is a hug, so I will grant your wish. *He hugs you. His chassis is cold and sharp, but he's very gentle when he hugs you. The sweetness of the gesture makes the hug feel warm anyway*

((Happy birthday, 🎆!! Sorry I got to this late! I hope you had an incredible day! I'm so glad this blog can bring you some happiness and cheer you up on hard days!! Thank you so much for being here and for your encouraging words! I hope your birthday wish comes true! :) -Mod))

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Spoilers for The Heart of the World ahead! You've been warned

I just finished reading your book! I definitely enjoyed it but I'm not sure if my opinion is influenced by the original fic. Ilyn was probably my favorite character besides Frank, I can kind of see what characters you referenced for who but I think you did a really good job with him, the whole thing he has going on with 'Lily's mother' is especially intriguing because it's not something that happened in the fic.

I'll hussle my book nerd friend into reading it when she's back in town so I can see what someone with a fresh pair of eyes thinks.

That being said I do kind of miss some of the plot points you cut (like the whole Therapy plot and terrorizing her adoptive family) but I can see why you'd cut that for the sake of the pacing. Honestly I never realized how long the original fic was but I blew through the book in the three days I've had it. I definitely want to see how it goes from here, what things will remain the same and how far from the original plot we'll deviate.

Lily herself is... Lily, I've always liked the way she's written. I feel like she's more humanized in this story, or at least a bit more sympathetic to others. I'm not sure if that's what you intended or if she just comes across as a bit more normal because we didn't get that long introduction that establishes her as a borderline lunatic (can't think of a more accurate word rn) She's still otherworldly, but maybe a bit more grounded in this story? Then again it's been a few years since I last read the fic so my memories might be exaggerating some things.

I think my favourite moment was when Lenin said "that's not me" when Lily met the younger version of him but I think that the fact that I can predict or remember certain plot twists spoiled the story for me. I still liked it, I'll be buying the next one and I think I'll enjoy it too but I kind of wish I could erase my memories of the fic, just so I can experience the book the way it's meant to be read as an original story. This way, I'm just drawing comparisons between the two and not looking at it as a standalone story but I can't really help it.

Overall I think you did a really good job with this, at certain parts of the plot (like when Lily first enters the magical world, or when rabbit is introduced) I wished there was more time spent discussing the world or what's happening but I'm assuming you had to condense a lot of it. For the most part I don't think it affects the overall experience of the story too much, except for Rabbit. If the years between Lily being 5-12 weren't cut I think it could have been established better what exactly Rabbit is, or I guess his role as a cosmic horror. From eating the bridge club to eating two tasks is a very large jump and I kind of missed that buildup, and the horror of people and things that were important to the story disappearing gradually. It's entirely possible that I'm getting ahead of myself though and this is all the stuff that will happen later on in the next books, or you simply intended to take a different route this time.

I'm kind of rambling and this ask is getting longer and longer, Anyway, good book, I'll be recommending and lending it to my friends to see what they think since they didn't read the fic. Sorry if I came off as if I was complaining at any point, I really did enjoy reading it

The Heart of the World by me (@janedoewrites)

Glad you enjoyed it overall!

There are things I miss from the original as well, but they didn't fit a) the pacing b) the new world or c) the story in general.

As an example, Lily is definitely more humanized in the book, and part of this is to be a bit more sympathetic but a lot of it has to do with the lack of growing up with the Dursleys who are over the top abusive. The Tylors, in the book, are simply indifferent and absent--and that has a bit of a different effect on Lily as a person compared to the fic.

This also resulted in the lack of the therapy arc as, well, the Tylors aren't even around enough for it to make sense/aren't what Lily saw as thoughtless obtuse abusive obstacles who must be made to do her bidding.

And so on.

Personally, I think the book is better for it, but the bottom line is that I would say the two are different. There's a lot in common, enough so I took the original down to publish, but I think there's more different than a lot of people realize. It's not just copy/replace with names.

Still very interesting to see people point of the differences, and yes, we're still very much in the beginning here with a lot still to go. So, things not covered in book 1 may be coming up in further books.

But glad you liked it! Interested to hear what your friends think.

[shallowseeker]

In the Bible, angels are messengers of immense power, molded by Heaven's will. Yet again and again, it is humanity that carries wisdom. Humanity holds empathy.

Empathy is the engine of the soul.

This wisdom is not handed down; it is earned—through struggle, pain, growth, and making choice. Scripture—especially in books like Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes—portrays wisdom as something lived through, not simply bestowed.

So here it is: A son of Heaven has the juice, but the daughter of Earth—Kaia, "Gaea"—has the eyes.

Jack: I left to try to get a grip on my powers. I wanted to prove to you that I'm good, to do one good thing. So I did the thing you wanted the most. I experimented opening doors to other worlds. I could almost do it. I could get right to the edge. But I couldn't see. I could only feel around in the dark. I needed eyes. A seer. 13x09

///

Makes me think a bit of this too:

SAM: Why? CHUCK: I couldn't see you. I needed eyes and ears on the inside. Well, eyes, anyway. EILEEN: Screw you. CHUCK: Yeah. 15x09

Maybe the whole experiment here is that Chuck, in Season 15, is the one eating the apple—knowing both good and evil more fully because he's feeling it now. (After all, gods don’t learn the fullness of wisdom by staying above it all; they fall into it.) When Sam’s soul pierced him, Sam gets Chuck’s drafts, but Chuck gets infected with Sam’s HOPE and heroism. Chuck wasn’t a god or a serpent—he became a metaphorical Eve—but he doesn’t like falling. He doesn't like being essentially blinded. He doesn't like FEELING (would rather "feel" vicariously).

So Chuck works hard to stamp it out, because—much like Lucifer in 13x13 "Devil’s Bargain"—Chuck can’t bear the possibility of real change.

Chuck doesn't want HOPE. Because HOPE means... he can be DISAPPOINTED. And that's SCARY.

True hope and true faith is a naked, vulnerable state. It's putting yourself out there when you can't see the outcome... There's no surefire guarantee that your efforts will lead to success.

That's why "hope is the whole point." But Chuck will stamp out the hope in Sam, and he'll stamp it out in Amara too. He wants BOTH of them to hurt so much that THEY become hopeless and orient in the direction that HE wants instead.

//////////

BONUS #1: Lucifer's brush with humanity is also too much for him to handle. Unlike characters like Castiel or Metatron, Lucifer, like Chuck, doesn't respect or appreciate his humanity.

Lucifer does feel things... but when he feels things, he realizes he really doesn't want to.

(SEE Dean's: "Sometimes I wish I couldn't feel a thing.")

LUCIFER: No. No I always wanted to fit in, please a father I couldn’t please. And now I’m gonna be a father. Probably screw it up like he did. SISTER JO: Lucifer, the great and terrible. LUCIFER: I don’t know why I said that. Stupid. I mean it’s like pretty soon I’m not going to feel anything. I mean the more I do this, the stronger I get, the more “me” I become. Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, King of Lies. I’m back, baby. 13x13

It's the folly of these sometimes-too-backward-looking characters, who might just be afraid of change...

13x13, 15x08, and 15x11 all carry the thread of using, respectively, the (1) Lack of Feeling, (2) God's Missions, and (3) the Hunting Cause to feel big and strong.

"I'm back, baby!"

&

AMARA: And me? I'm done, Chuck. I've changed. I've adapted. I've... I've become the better me. And you? You are still the same... petulant, narcissistic. So... I'm leaving you here. Once, long ago, you sealed me away. Now, in a way... I'm doing the same to you. You're trapped, diminished, abandoned. So I guess you got what you've always wanted. You're on your own. 15x02

BONUS #2: There’s something haunting in Dean’s early season 15 fatalism too—this idea of losing himself in hunting after the crushing losses of Mary and Jack, and ofc the existential crisis surrounding Cas.

Historically, in a bit of an off-key echo of Chuck, Dean doesn’t handle disappointment very well, sometimes defaulting to always-and-never thinking and searching for absolute figures and rules/codes that don’t truly exist.

DEAN: What? I look exactly the same. [SAM glares at DEAN.] DEAN: Like nothing has changed. [SAM looks at DEAN again.] DEAN: Nothing’s changed. 15x04

//

BONUS #3: There’s something creepy, too, that unites Jack, Lucifer, and Chuck—it's in those lines about "being me again."

Despair is what predominantly drives people to the idea of God, after all, and it is this hopelessness and lack of feeling that can feel like a false strength:

JACK (robotically): Michael—He's dead. CAS: Jack, a-are you, uh— JACK: I'm me again. (Jack suddenly had light all around him as his wings spread out as a shadow behind him. then we see his face and eyes glowing) 14x14

///

But I will say that while Lucifer and God want to "feel nothing" to ESCAPE their own discomfort, characters like Jack and the Winchesters mostly aren't doing that.

They're casting off their humanity, as Dumah says, "in acts of goodness," to save other people.

///

Anyway, there’s something about gods needing human eyes here, and the classic angel kill being eyes burning out. Jack NEEDS his humanity and he needs his connections to others' humanity. Without it, his strength is blind.

In a healthy state, angels team up with humans for enhanced wayfinding, for a mutual sharing that allows for better navigation and a deeper understanding of the universe.

But notably, characters like Chuck and Lucifer want to see in order to control, not to see in order to emotionally understand or feel.

(It’s safer for themselves that way.)

///

It’s funny, really... especially contrasted against characters like Dean, who are practically begging to be seen.

At the end of season 12, Dean is pleading with Mary to see him, and in 15x18, it’s being seen by Cas that, as Amara puts it, "puts Dean's fire out." (What Dean needs is to be seen... for his love, but also to be seen honestly, and with love.)

Chuck has no interest in seeing Dean as an individual beyond the facade—he's actively trying to mold Dean into the facade.

Because Chuck wants Dean to fit the idealized image he already has of him. That’s why he keeps manipulating him, believing that if he just solves the puzzle with more skill that Dean will finally become who he’s "meant" to be. Escalating Dean's anger is Chuck's "proof" that Dean is who Chuck thinks he is.

(NOTE: Which, by the way, this mirrors where the audience finds themselves in SPNwin / The Winchesters—trying to see John as the twisted man he’s destined to become. We eat up every scrap of negativity as proof that John is, without fail, only the cruel scapegoat we know from SPN prime.)

MARS NETO: There is centuries of violence and rage in your blood, John. Become what you were born to be!

Worryingly, Jack shows Kaia wondrous things to get her more on their side... calling back Kelly's and Castiel's visions of paradise.

Jack's metaphorical connections to drugs in this episode are not accidental.

He is euphoria-inducing.

And when he does his? His eyes are a bit less gold and a bit more orange-tinged. It's unsettling.

The lighting is interesting, too.

His eyes are a HALO of light around a dark pupil, like a dark body blocking out the light.

But Kaia's pupils are lit, giving the impression of being lit from within.

She's moved by the experience. The tough, prickly girl we've been seeing all episode has thawed completely.

///

From here on, Kaia is solidly Team Jack.

She's keyed into his emotions. Converted by their shared visions. (Like Kelly? Like Cas?) A more charitable view may be that she saw the goodness of him, and she realized they have shared values.

But it's interesting to me how protective she seems. When he despairs, SHE MOVES TO PROTECT HIM:

"No, they won't (take you)."

///

She trusts him to tap into her powers, facing her deepest fears (The Bad Place).

(You can see Jack's fiery wings manifested here—first upright/folded, and then unfolding as the power intensifies.) Jack is a create of flight tapping into a navigation system.

It goes badly for Kaia:

///

In the next scene, Jack's face is then lighted in the same style that Azazel and John's are, perhaps even calling to mind the old movie-monster spotlight:

[fortune-maiden]

Based on Bridon Ep 4, I’m starting to wonder more about how Lu Guang’s powers work

He took a photo of CXS and was apparently able to keep an eye on him through that

But doesn’t that raise some questions about the “12 hours into the future” that LG can see? He took the photo so wouldn’t it make more sense that he could see 12 hours into the photographer’s future? It would explain why he followed CXS to the pub rather than watch from the hotel room, but somehow it also looked like he was able to know exactly what CXS was doing in the pub so he knew the exact moment to call and summon him back

Is he just able to zoom in on the particulars as long as he’s physically present in/within some short radius of the location?