#teeth gap filling cost

[cliniceximus01]

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[nie7027]

WAIT WHAT HOW DID WHISPERS FOUND OUT ABOUT WOLFGANG?? HE WAS THE ONE WHO HAD SHOWED THE LEAST TO HAVE SENSATE CONNECTIONS!!

will Riley and Nomi were obviously found out by the bpo and known to be connected (although I don't remember how whispers learnt about Nomi and Will being connected)

sun was probably the easiest to find out that was related to them since Nomi did a lot of hacking to help her which is something Sun couldn't have done on her own (and while the point of hacking is to leave not trace of you behind every person has its own style and no doubt the obp would be on the lockout for any hacking activity that smelled like something Nomi would do)

After that Capheus and Lito would be next in that order. Both showed out of the blue extraordinary capabilities that didn't make sense they knew and clearly marked them as sensates(just no way to know who they were connected to) just like the people visiting Capheus said. The only difference was that Capheus acts were widely known while Lito only had Dani and Joaquin as witness.

And finally Wolfgang mad Kala who showed it the less. In fact they didn't show it at all.

Kala with her perfect idyllic life never needed to make use of the others abilities (besides that one time will helped her defend herself at the temple).

And Wolfgang although did use the others abilities and pulled of amazing feats thanks to them all of those instances were stuff that would be credible he did on his own because they were in line with the type of person Wolfang is and what he's capable.

So yeah... HOW THE FUCK WAS HE FOUND OUT? While it made sense Lila would tell the obp about him she also said that the Cannibal was specifically looking for him!

So how???

Ugggh it really goes way too fastpaced in the last episodes and it doesn't make sense... the Wachowski sisters would never leave such a big pothole...

I know they had to skip a lot of explanations but...

Dammit netlix

[drlavanyadental]

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[unrealcity-if]

a cyberpunk interactive fiction

demo: prologue and ch1, 55k. play here.

Streets, empty - gnarled roots burying deep below the city. The gleam of teeth, an endless buzzing like flies. Dry, dead rock. There was water here once. Now toxic sludge seeps into the dirt, leeching life from the land. They staked metal, twisted it into the dead earth to block out the sky. They know that is too late, but they try to defy fate all the same.

Esurio is a city divided. You know this all too well. As a smuggler of black-market tech into the city from the outlands, you would like nothing better than to be free of Esurio once and for all. Yet the city seems to pull people in, and after a job gone wrong you find yourself entangled in a net of lies, inexplicably strange murders, and the one question that no-one knows the answer to -

What lies below Esurio?

[features]

pay off your debt through smuggling goods into the city

run from law enforcement

investigate strange murders, while trying not to end up the next victim

regret every life decision you have made

uncover what lies below the city?

meet (and optionally romance) 5 companions - 2 gender selectable

finally free yourself from Esurio?

[companions]

[ros]

Argo [nb] they/them, asexual :

If there's anyone in Esurio that you trust, it would be them. They've been by your side since you were young : first as friends and then (literal) partners in crime. When they were younger, they dreamt of changing the world. At some point they buried that dream. For now they keep to smuggling, hacking, and breaking every speed limit possible.

Appearance - shoulder-length coily dark brown hair, medium brown skin, dark brown eyes. prides themself on wearing the most colourful jacket they can find, and wouldn't know colour or outfit coordination if it hit them in the face.

Sora [f/m] she/her or he/him :

A private investigator with a moralistic streak. They attempt to fill in the gaps left by law-enforcement, dealing in all kinds of information, and know practically anything on anyone, while remaining a perpetually shadowy figure themselves. Motivated by curiousity and an alarming lack of self-preservation instincts, they're determined to uncover the truth about Esurio at all costs.

Appearance - straight, dark brown hair that flops over their brown eyes. olive skin. always wears a leather jacket and heavy boots: dresses practically. carries gadgets + a notepad in their bag: they are prepared for anything, especially a high speed pursuit across rooftops.

Brontë [f/m/nb] she/her, he/him, or he/they :

A failed musician with a trail of poor decisions behind them. They were going to make it big in the underground music scene, until, one day, they weren't. Cast-out and adrift, they're cynical and conflicted, a perfect example of a delicately poised balancing act. It's only a matter of time before they fall.

Appearance - wavy blond hair, dyed purple at the ends, reaching about chin length. pale, freckled skin and green eyes. wears light jackets, oversized tshirts, boots that are falling apart, and as many bracelets as possible.

Asha [f] she/they :

She ran with Argo, Jaya and you for several years, after her illustrious political family abruptly fell from grace and she had to look out for herself any way she could. A skilled mechanic, and never one to back down from a fight, she bounces from person to person, always living life at high speed. After Jaya's disappearance, she split from the group, and you haven't spoken to her since.

Appearance - straight, shoulder-length black hair. dark brown skin and dark brown eyes. wears work overalls most of the time, and is frequently covered in smudges of oil fromch her work as a mechanic. else, she dresses casually and comfortably - loose shirts, ripped jeans and a necklace.

Cas [m] he/him :

An artefact dealer in the outlands. You know his name, and not much else. He seems to float from place to place, avoiding strong attachments. Never talks about his past, his strange dreams, and pretty much anything personal. Knows what to do in a crisis, though, and is frequently the voice of reason.

Appearance - straight, short light brown hair, fair skin, eyepatch over his right eye - his left is brown. wears glasses. Always in a fashionable long dark coat and heavy boots: somehow manages to look constantly poised and well put together despite Esurio's characteristic humidity.

[other]

Acheron [nb] they/them :

They control much of what flows from the outlands into the city. After they rescued Argo and you from capture by law enforcement, you have been working for them in order to pay off your debt to them. They're level headed and ruthless, and you can't work out what makes them tick.

Jaya [f] she/her :

She was part of the underground smuggling group involving you, Argo and Asha, until she disappeared abruptly and everything went to shit. To this day, you've been unable to find out what happened to her. But thats in the past, right? [option to have been in a past relationship with her]

Valentine [nb] she/her and he/him :

Practically anyone in Esurio knows Valentine, or has at least heard of her. She's the person to go to for weird tech, fast cars and a way to vanish quietly. Despite her notoriety, and her fame as a guitarist, she always seems to be able to work just under the radar of the authorities.

[content warnings]

17+ (may be subject to change). violence, slight gore, horror aspects. implied sexual content.

[thesassypadawan]

Repent (Don X FemReader)

Summary: Your pastor takes notice of your new sinful tattoo and gives you but one option for repentance.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut. Pastor/Religion kink, hint of a breeding one, womb tattoo, implied age gap, and… Don’s big, girthy dick.

Notes: Notes: Happy Kinktober all you, lovelies! 🖤🧡

- “Please, stop by the sanctuary before the party starts.  I would like to speak with you…privately.”  The pastor’s calm, even voice rang throughout your mind; his request hanging heavy on it.

- You would be lying if you didn’t admit that you found the older gentleman handsome.  The way his blue eyes sparkle when he’s speaking passionately, how his smile lights up a room.  And his mustache; the very thought of it, all it could possibly do sends a small thrill run down your spine.  Causes a warmth rise into your cheeks, settle in your…

- Grazing your palm over your lower stomach, you quietly slip through the old oak doors.  Vision taking a moment to adjust to the dimly lit, candle filled space.  Before you silently and stealthily walk up the aisle, towards the alter…and him.

- Gaze sweeps, takes in the sight of your outfit.  “Don’t you make a lovely little angel,” he chuckles softly.  Resting his large hand gently on your arm, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.  “Like you dropped down straight from heaven.”  Lips curling slightly at the corners in amusement or perhaps…

- “Th-thank you, sir,” you reply meekly.  Trying to hide how flustered you were becoming.  How your heartbeat quickens when he trails his fingers, traces over and along where your womb resides.  “But I’m…I’m sure you d-didn’t ask me here to just talk about my cost-costume.”

- “Clever girl.”  Moving in closer, towering above you.  “I noticed something interesting earlier today; a very intricate, heart shape tattoo that you apparently have.”  Don presses his prominent bulge against your side, grinding subtly.  “The one right here…”

- Nails sink in as he squeezes, kneads your sensitive skin through the sheer fabric.  “It’s supposed to represent a ‘curse’, isn’t it?”  Before his hand descends further; digits ghosting, cupping your plump mound.  “One for extreme fertility.”

- “I…I…”  You stutter, stumble with your words.  Body trembling, humming from his taboo touch.  The fires of hell burning hot, bright in your blasphemous core.  “I…can explain…”

- Slouching slightly; warm breath fans, wiry hairs tickle.  “It’s a sin to dabble in the occult…”  Teeth graze, tongue licks your earlobe in a long stripe.  “Perhaps I can help you repent…”

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

- Desperate moan bubbles up from your throat as you wriggle, writhe.  Back arching, nails scratching lightly at the worn wood of the alter floor.  Pressure building, propelling you towards the edge once more.  “Please, I…I…”

- Weakly you clamp your plush thighs around Don's head, hips rolling forward.  Impaling yourself further, divine nectar spilling onto his skilled tongue.  “For-forgive me, my lor-lord…”

- Sticky digits grip, spread you open before him.  Flesh tender, an angry red; brushed, scrapped.  Stinging when the cool, faintly scented air kisses your burns…when he lets a fat glob of spit of drip, seep into the fresh cuts.  “He'll forgive you, my little imp…”

- Slick covered lips map their way up your vulnerable form.  Sucking, nipping…biting; leaving an array of dark purple splotches in their wake.  Groaning at the sound of your pathetic mewls and squeaks.  “Look past your rash decision…” 

- Hands tighten their hold; hitching, wrapping your stubby legs partially around his thick middle.  Bulbous tip prodding, smearing pre on your swollen folds.  Mixing and mingling with your juices, creating an unholy concoction.  “Absolve you of your follies…”

- Fingers trace over and along the inked lines.  “But not until you give yourself entirely to me…”  Squeeze, knead your soft paunch.  “Pledge that each child you bare from this perfect womb will be mine…”

- “Yes, I swear,” you whisper, vow.  Tears of pleasure, pain…of joy, sorrow streaming freely.  “My mind, soul, body.”  While you gaze up into the lifeless, stony eyes of the mother.  “Everything that I am is wholly yours.”

- “Amen…”  Your new husband,  co-creator of your future forbiden fruits mutters reverently, solemnly.  Thrusting forward; tearing, ruining…molding you into his own resplendent  image, his own earthbound angel.

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @speaknow-sw, @mathesonlvr, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @ann4zw, @xhunnybeeex, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite, @t03soup

[d1gitvlpupz]

scary? my god, you’re divine..

“cr..oss..”

the bigger skeleton murmured, lifting his face up from cross’ chest with his red eyelight glowing and slowly dilating at the sight of the other, who was half-listening to the t.v. that played in the background. “what’s up, baby?” replied cross, rubbing the latter’s back as he turned his attention towards horror. “w..would ya- would ya..-“ “horror. slow down, it’s okay.” cross’ patience made him

nod slowly, the fracture in his skull that damaged his speech and his mental state had messed up the way he communicated with everyone permanently. often, his words would come out fast to the point where it was unrecognizable.

nightmare, was too busy or rather, didn’t care enough to try and help. killer would poke fun at him. and dust tried a little to help horror with communication. but he quickly got bored and annoyed at the realization how long it actually took to aid him. cross, a new addition to the team but was here before horror, was the only one with a kind enough soul to help him. cross stood by him, helping him with his writing, his vocabulary, and his spelling. he stood by horror for who knows how long, helping him improve everyday.

horror wasn’t dumb, by any means, oblivious maybe, but he wasn’t exactly stupid. but when you’re struck in the skull by a spear that leaves a huge gap, it obviously damages your daily life. to horror, cross was like an angel sent from the heaven gates. as exaggerated as it sounds, it was true. with just that simple act of kindness in this miserable life that was filled with nothing but anguish and misery all through his life, he finally found something worth keeping alive for ( bye this sentence is so corny ). “would.. ya like.. me more.. if i was.. normal..?” the question made cross tilt his head to the side.

“horror, baby, what are you asking? what does ‘normal’ mean?” cross asked gently, rubbing his hand up and down horror’s back. “like.. not like.. this..” horror mumbled, pointing towards the gaping fracture in his skull that was beyond repair. oh. *oh*. it took a few minutes for it to click, his hands immediately going up to cup the sides of horror’s skull, trying to think of the words that horror needed to hear. “horror.. why do you think you need to change for me to like you more? you’re perfect in my eyes and-“ “yer still scared of.. me..” that made cross pause for a moment.

thinking that he got over his fear of horror, he would still flinch a little whenever horror would call out his name in that husky and low, or when he would awkwardly shift side to side when he truly realized how much bigger horror is. though, it’s not easy to get over a fear so quickly, in general it’s not easy to not be afraid at all. he barely had time to adjust to his new life here under the orders of nightmare and just a month ago, horror joins the team. how could he *not* be a little scared?

“i’ll be honest with you, horror. yes, i am still scared of you.” that sentence alone made horror drop his head back into cross’ chest in defeat. “but not for the reasons you think..! you’re scary in ways that admirable, y’know? like your uh, strength for example. and your body too! it’s a little intimidating but it’s you, isn’t it? that’s why to me, you’re perfect.” although cross’ comforting skills were..not the greatest in the whole world, it made horror feel better. he may not got the brains like cross but he’ll use his brawn to protect cross. even if it costs him his soul. “th.. thank y.. you.” seeing horror a little happy made cross feel better as he leaned down to gently press his teeth against horror’s skull. “you’re welcome, bud. i love you.” “i love.. you.. more..”

[genderqueerdykes]

Ditch Etsy for Good: A Disabled Etsy Seller's Experience

i started my Etsy store in August of 2022. I was in desperate need of income at the time, as I am disabled, and waiting for my full disability payments to come through. I currently make $245/month off of a general assistance program that's meant to "help" while you're waiting for those payments.

I needed, at the time, $900/month for my studio apartment, because I was on a month-to-month lease, and could not re-new it, as I was the secondary renter, and my abusive ex whom I could not contact was the primary renter. They needed his signature to renew the lease, or else I was on month-to-month status, which meant they could increase my rent to whatever price they saw fit at any point.

I was struggling to stay alive. I had a bunch of kandi supplies I had gathered over the years, pony beads, string, all that kind of stuff. So i accrued some extra supplies to make other types of necklaces and chokers. Keep in mind my level of poverty, and the level of inflation in 2022. I was having to accrue supplies secondhand, from thrift stores. Everything I bought and sold was upcycled, save for the few times I could afford things to fill in the gaps from craft stores.

After I gathered supplies, I went to work. I spent countless hours making all types of jewelry. Not really sleeping. Just countless hours of stringing beads, if I woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream or stress about homelessness, I would go back to work. I've been homeless before. Several times. Never lived on the street or in a shelter, but I have lived in hotels, cars, crashed on couches and have run from getting kicked out for making little money endless times.

I drank a lot of coffee and ate very little. Eating consumed time, time that I didn't have. Once I was done making things, it was time to photograph every. single. item., then edit them, and upload them to Etsy. I had to create listings for each individual item, all of which cost $0.20 to create, and again to renew when it ran out in 3 months if not purchased. There was already a start-up cost.

Shipping made my life a nightmare. Etsy charged me for each and every single label. I tried free shipping at first, as it's a huge draw for customers, but labels were around $3.69 from my state to the mainland United States at the time, creeping ever closer to $4. For anywhere else it would easily come to $10 or more, international shipping was easily $20 - $40. Even if the customer paid for shipping I still had to go through the process of purchasing a label.

This didn't account for the fact that I had to purchase printer, ink and paper at some point to keep printing these labels. Ink is wildly expensive and your cartridges run out faster than they should. They are rigged to flag as empty when they're not. This also does not account for ink and paper lost when the printer does something in error, which is often. The office at my apartment complex was willing to print labels and packing slips for me for a while, but they cut me off after a few months.

The biggest kick in the teeth was the processing time for my payments. Because I shipped my first few orders without tracking labels. Etsy put a hold on my money for the next 3 months. They would take a random amount of time to process each payment. I could never figure out the schedule. My money would sometimes take days or weeks to arrive when I set Etsy to a "daily" payment schedule. It was torture. I was sweating over not having money constantly, and missing payment deadlines left and right.

I was getting orders at every hour of the day. I didn't "clock out" of this job. I had to change the notification sound of the Etsy Seller app on my phone because when I heard it, I would panic. I wasn't excited, I was filled with dread. It was never ending, and I was constantly stressed about getting orders out on time. I never had time to rest. I didn't get days off. I was on the job 24/7. Unless you completely uninstall the Etsy app and refuse to check it fora while, you can't really clock out of this job.

This isn't even touching the fact that Etsy also takes a cut out of every single sale you make, meaning you have to jack up your prices wildly either to make free shipping reasonable so you're not losing money on each sale, or you have to play a dance of figuring out what the best balance between shipping and item costs are, which is time consuming. It's a lot of math and comparing against your niche's market.

Etsy has an ads feature, which you must again pay for, where they will run ads for your products in random banner ads and whatnot. You are charged if one customer clicks the ad, not purchases something, meaning this is a complete fucking scam. The minimum is $1/day and you are forced to subscribe monthly. You can cancel at any point, but sometimes it takes a full day for this to cancellation to go through. The Etsy Ads feature sucks ass. I received exactly 2 orders through their service and kept it on for a few weeks here and there. It's horrid. You do not receive a significant enough boost in traffic to make the investment worth it. Also consider how many people use adblockers these days. This isn't hard to see.

The amount of time you have to spend promoting and boosting your own shop, buying supplies, creating and photographic products, uploading them to the website, and everything else in between is not worth the amount of money you make. You do not turn a profit unless you are selling very high end products like fine jewelry and antiques. Anyone else in the bottom rungs loses money through one avenue or another, Etsy finds ways to make the entire process draining and expensive for the seller.

The also will not provide you a 1099 document to file your taxes for your earned income unless you have made over $25,000 in one year on Etsy, which is literally impossible unless you make, as I said, fine jewelry. The average Etsy seller does not make this much in one year. We do not make a liveable wage, yet Etsy pretends like we do.

I didn't realize how draining it was to run this store until I put it in vacation mode. I'm shutting it down as soon as I'm able to. I could not handle the pressure of orders coming in in the middle of the night. I could not handle the pressure of not being able to remember which bracelets I could wear, and which ones were up on the store. Or which ones I could give to friends freely without having to issue someone a refund because I made a mistake. The worry of sending the wrong customer the wrong product was constantly on my mind. Every review that came in made me scared I had fucked up or provided an inferior product. I was distraught, broken and scared.

Now I'm much more free. The piddly jackshit amount of income I made was not worth it at all. I don't think I made back the cost of supplies and I definitely was never compensated for the sheer amount of labor I put into my products and orders. Etsy just kept kicking me while I was down and now that they have made it so that you are unable to file a class action lawsuit against them, they are only becoming more tyrannical.

Etsy does not care about their small sellers. They only care about the big cash cows who bring in big views and line Etsy's pockets with the Etsy Ads program. If you're too poor too keep up they'll chew you up and spit you out. Fuck Etsy. Fuck the lack of respect for their sellers. Fuck them for holding my money randomly for 3 months because I didn't know tracking labels were REQUIRED in their eyes. Fuck Etsy for never letting me know when I was getting paid, and for paying me on such an irregular schedule. Fuck Etsy for the fucked up fees and expensive shipping labels.

Fuck Etsy for everything. Let them go. Cut the cord. Navigate to Ko-Fi or somewhere else. Let this horrid site fucking die.

[slimeranch7]

It's you! Despite everything, it's still you.

(Kujou Sara x reader)

No warnings, just a tad bit of hurt/comfort.

Summary: What does it cost to carry the weight of the Shogun's will? For Kujou Sara, it was damn near everything.

Kujou Sara remembers it like this: Your hair flows with the wind, barely obscuring the rays of sunlight that peaks from behind your figure. Sakura petals build a picture perfect frame around you. A vibrant gemstone sits on your waist, adorned with a few decals that mirrored Sara’s own. Your smile was ethereal, genuine. It was you. You were beautiful. And it will sit with her for eternity. For as long as she breathes.

And then she would cherish it from beyond the grave when time came.

“Do you… Do you remember…? When…” She stops, stutters, for God's sake, unable to stand the notion that a single misstep would send you into a frenzied spiral of unhealed trauma of her own making.

Looking back, your grandmother was upset and miserable enough on your behalf. The poor old lady busying herself between steeping fresh tea for a visiting officer, and ensuring your triggers stay out of sight and out of mind. It took another round of convincing to let her take a short walk with you in the outskirts of the village.

The blank look she receives from you is all she needs to know. Hands clasped politely together, head slightly bowed, gaze cautiously matching hers. You were nothing but a stranger possessing the body of her lover.

“Gramma told me that we were close before I got into the accident,” You carefully fill the gap, trying to gauge her reaction. “Is it true? What were we like?”

Accident? Is that what they were calling it, now?

It was deliberate and forceful, carrying through her authority. There was nothing accidental behind the strength she bound your wrists behind you with. Nothing unintentional behind the screaming, pleading, begging that brutally scraped her ears as she tore the very gemstone built from your ambitions away for the Goddess that she pledged herself to.

Distantly there were other voices ranging from desperate to oppressive. Dirt kicked up from the struggle, clouding her eyes but all she saw was red. She saw nothing except red, raw, and angry, and so helpless and frustrated that she took the rest of the day off with nothing more than the motion of tossing her prized bow across the range as her only explanation for her leave of absence.

No, Sara holds no contempt for the duty she was forced to uphold. It is, after all, her responsibility as a high standing general of the Tenryou Commission. The Shogun's will is her own. She takes a deep breath.

What a fickle thing that memory can be. Delicate. Transient.

“We were beautiful.” She whispered, barely audible amidst the warm wind passing through the bridge. She turns to you, desperation clear in her eyes. “You and I, we… I'm sorry.” Then she repeats it, again and again. Each loop one hesitant step forward, and then two steps back. Longing for reconciliation yet afraid to hurt you again.

“What for?” You were mercifully cautious with your prodding. Ever the perceptive one, you’ve always read Sara like an open book even as she struggled to see herself in the light. Yes, she'll remember that about you, among many other things. The color of your laughter, the shape of your brilliant smile, the feeling of your warm skin against hers.

“General?”

Ah, that hurt. To be demoted to a mere general of an army. She could be more. She should be less.

You snapped her out of her stupor. She averts her gaze, embarrassed and ashamed to have dated to lock eyes with you, who she has wronged on all levels.

“It was my fault,” She finally utters. “I'm apologizing for my transgressions against-”

Your hand smooths over hers. Between her teeth, she sucks in a deep breath to avoid gasping out loud like a fish out of water. The electric sensation travels through the thick hide of her gloves. It is utterly euphoric, and she would never forget that, either.

Your eyes chase hers, searching for the glistening amber in the sunset. She feels a soft tug at the straps around her gloves. “Can I…?”

She doesn't make a move to stop you, and it's all you need to unfasten it like you've done it a million times before, to trace your soft fingers over her tender knuckles (still healing from the wooden beam she had beaten it with in the training hall).

You've stopped searching, stopped mapping out her hands, as though you've found it all. What did you find? She looks at you quizzically, deeply afraid of your answer.

You return a soft, contemplative hum, one that has her nearly choking on her own breath, hoping, praying that you'd be gentle with her heart, even if she wasn't with yours.

“General Kujou Sara…” You murmur. Her heart stutters to a near stop. “Kujou Sara. Sara. Sara. It rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?” You beam so brightly at her. In a very roundabout way, this was a rather cruel penalty.

That's enough. She retrieves her throbbing hand from you, along with her gloves. Her body aches all over. Her mind is numb. She has endured enough punishment. The purpose of her visit is over. You don't remember, and she will for eternity, the crushing memory ingrained into her existence like a repulsive brand.

“Wait.” You call, this time, your grasping at the plate on her shoulder, fingers stubbornly threaded with the ropes binding her armor together. “They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.”

Her first mistake was to let your words hinder her timely exit. She lets you off the hook for a lot of things, including how your hands sneak it's way up to her face, cupping it like you would to a lover at the end of a long day. “Then what do you say visions are the windows to?”

Archons help her.

No, not even the Almighty Shogun would be here to rescue her.

Despite all the memories you've forgotten, you certainly haven't lost your innate perceptiveness. Your touch is electrifying for all the wrong reasons, now. She is left stunned, locked in place and unable to tear her wary gaze from yours.

For all the battles she has led, no arrow has pierced through her armor so effectively. Is this what they meant when poets quoted, ‘love is war'?

“We really were close, weren't we? Otherwise I wouldn't have caught the way you keep looking at my obi like it's some foreign lifeform.” You had the audacity to giggle, all while Sara was frozen in terror. “My mind has forgotten, but I think my body and instincts remember every little tell that you have. Sara, hold my hand.”

As though in a trance, she obediently grasps yours, and doesn't stop you when you insistently interlace your fingers. Her heart stutters when they fit like a finished jigsaw piece. “Yeah, this feels right. What about you?”

Like explosions, she's sure, war and hailing arrows and the thunder from beyond. Gods above it felt like she was struck by lightning. Maybe she's ascending. There's really no telling.

“Good,” She manages, eyes impossibly wide. “It feels good.”

And, again, you beam, ethereal and genuine. Your hair flows in the wind, the sunset kissing your skin, fallen leaves swirling away, painting a beautiful, glowing backdrop. Did it matter that your vision was missing?

No, you made it clear that it didn't.

“I think they're the windows to the heart.” You noted after a brief, euphoric silence.

Sara eyes you carefully. “The heart? What makes you say that?”

You press some weight against her side, comfortably slotting between her arm as though that space had been tailored perfectly for you. “I haven't felt like myself since the accident, whatever it may be. Tried a lot of things- didn't help.” You confessed, gaze turning forlorn and distant. “And you come along, and it's like- like, fireworks. I can't explain it well, but I know it's you.”

Now she regards you with some semblance of pity. “Well, we were close before… Maybe I just triggered some old instincts.” She offers nervously.

“That's what I mean. It was empty and bleak, and Gramma’s hiding something from me for my sake. It was until you… visited me. And I realized, now, that it was a vision that I lost, and I must have lost you on that day, too.”

Sara takes a moment to contemplate her next course of action.

Actually, no, there's no need. She should follow her heart, as you did with yours.

“Petal?” A term of endearment that you had pestered her to use after a wonderful date under a sakura tree, now strategically deployed to further promote your journey of memory recovery.

“I don't care what happened to my vision.” You say, smile widening. She notes the tears brimming your eyes, and swipes her thumb to wipe it away. A fruitless endeavor, seeing as you've decided to stop trying to hold it in. “I don't care what happened before. But this feeling, I don't need a vision to- to know that I loved you.”

You choked on wet sobs for another good minute. Sara selfishly pulls you into a hug, wondering if you'd still love her if you remembered the pain and betrayal evident in your voice weeks ago. If you'd still love her if you remembered the way she had ruthlessly pinned you to the dirt, ripping away the very gift that defined your heart.

“I'll still love you, y'know?” You had finally dissolved into short stutters and heaves. “Your eyes are sincere, and your heart… well now I can see you'd follow it for me. Despite everything, I'll still love you.”

Sara closes her eyes as she leans into your embrace, relishing in the way her head spins from overwhelming euphoria. That's right, you're just as stubborn as she remembered. It's exactly why she can trust you to still love her despite everything when she inevitably unravels the truth in your hands. She understands that you'll stay, no matter what.

“For eternity,” She whispers. “I will love you, too.”

[loquaciousquark]

3. “Hey, it’s me, just me,” from @marigoldfaucet, @liliactrees, @servantofclio; 8. “Don’t look/look at me” from @gerundsandcoffee. 2600 words.

—

Something was very wrong with her shoulder. Even as dazed as she was, her head ringing like a gong, her vision doubling every time she opened her eyes, Tav could feel that something in her left shoulder was dangerously, frighteningly wrong. Someone was speaking very quickly above her—a woman’s voice, a man’s—and someone else at a slight remove—

Fuck. Fists. 

Imperative to get up. Imperative to get away as quickly as possible. She could nurse her wounds in the den, whatever ended up being wrong with her. Anything would be better than another bitter knockabout in Heapside. She must have pressed her luck again, lifted some trinket from someone a little too wealthy, a little too persistent. Not the first time. But gods, she thought she’d been so careful—

The man above her spoke again, the words slurred and hard to understand. Metzen, maybe. Maybe Sawyer. It didn’t matter—they all hit the same anyway. Tav clenched her teeth. God on the Rack, this was going to hurt.

“What is she—hey! Soldier, wait!”

“Mystra’s grace, did someone grease her when I wasn’t looking—Tav, my friend, it’s us!”

Oh, gods; oh, Tymora—let fortune find her now above all. Her head pounded white agony; the road swam and swept up to meet her, then dipped away again without warning. Somewhere in the Lower City. She didn’t know where. She lurched past a stack of crates, missed the grab for their steadying edges, and nearly fell. 

Shouts, calls. Someone among them knew her name—shit and shit and hells. She was running precious dear on favors, but her left arm hung limp as gallows rope and the alley had forked into four unsteady paths. She’d have to go to Lady Ague and take the cost full on the chin. How had she gotten so far from the den? She couldn’t remember—

Something crashed to the street beside her foot. A clay shingle, shattered in the fall. Someone was on the roof above her—she could sense them now, though the twilight haze filled her eyes when she tried to look up. A light, quick step. As light as her own, at least when she wasn’t—when she wasn’t—

Her foot came down, but the dirty street failed to meet it where it should. She stumbled, hand outstretched, but before she could plummet nose-first to the cobblestones an arm wrapped around her waist from behind. 

Instinct grappled with vertigo and won. He had a knife at his belt; she snared it and twisted free in the same motion, backing herself against the alley wall. She pressed her shoulders against the cool stone, trying for a modicum of steadiness; he drifted into two images and then one and then two again. 

White, curly hair. Hands empty, outstretched. An arrogant brow. Familiar, though she couldn’t put a name to him. Upper City gentry, surely. Too clean by half.

He was talking to her, though his eyes were trained on the wavering blade. She blinked rapidly, as if that might dampen the ringing in her ears, but she saw his mouth shape her name.

“—trail of blood a mile wide, darling. You should be grateful I’m the only one hunting you tonight, hmm?”

Hunting. The words were a threat, though the voice was coaxing. She sidled a step to her left, towards where she thought the nearest gap between dilapidated homes might be. 

“Now, now, let’s not do anything rash—”

She bolted. Three steps in, both knees turned suddenly to water, and Tav crashed to the ground. Lightning agony cascaded through her left arm; she couldn’t stop the groans. 

“Serves you right,” the man said above her, though he sounded shaken. Cold fingers plucked the knife from her unresisting grip; a careful hand rolled her off her left side onto her back. “There. Be still for me, darling—don’t hit me, be still!”

She went for his eyes again, but he caught her wrist easily and pinned it to her stomach. The world spun crazily behind him, the ramshackle roofs even more lopsided than usual. Her gut churned—

“Fuck,” Tav said, and turned her head just in time to be violently sick. The man said nothing—she felt like he ought to be disgusted—and when she was through he eased her to her back again, a little away from the mess. 

“Are we quite finished then?” he drawled, but the hand he laid on her forehead was blessedly cool. “Not that this hasn’t been charming in its own way, of course, but it turns out I rather prefer you lucid.”

Tav clenched her eyes shut, then opened them again. She tried to force his face into focus; he was bent over her, his white curls familiar, the red eyes familiar, his familiar mouth creased in a worried frown.

“That’s right, darling,” he said, and his voice was coaxing again. “It’s only me. No one at all to worry about, no Fists or Guild or patriars with old grudges. No one’s chasing you but me, love, and you gave me rather express permission to do so. Come now. Fetch the memory out of that worm-riddled brain of yours.” 

A name surfaced, foggy as the docks at dawn. Her tongue was so thick she could barely shape the word. “Astarion.”

“Very good,” he said, and even like this she could see the relief plain in his face. 

Astarion. Lover. Friend. Other names, other images dredged themselves up like the fishing boats she saw sometimes in the river, nets creaking and straining with the haul. 

Fireworks. Felogyr’s shop, and the ambush waiting on the top floor. Fire everywhere. A mage, finger outstretched towards her. A sickly green blast, a jolt of raw agony, and then the plummet backwards into open air. Sky—sunset—sky—brick pavers hurtling up towards her—

“I fell,” she gasped, and groaned again as the movement jolted her arm. 

“Like an exceedingly lovely stone.” She tried to turn her head to look at her shoulder, but Astarion caught her cheek and gently turned her to face him again. “Ah, ah, darling. You’d better not. This is a sight for Shadowheart alone, I think.”

The back of her throat burned with bile. “Hurts.”

”Shattering every bone in your arm does that, I’m afraid.” 

“Head, too.”

“Well, that’s because you’ve cracked your skull on top of everything else.” He said it lightly, but when he showed her his hand, his fingers were tipped with blood, and the lines of his mouth were tight. “You’ll simply have to wait here with me until Shadowheart comes.”

The twilight sky began spinning again behind his head, and she shut her eyes. “Shadowheart.”

“Yes, dear. Silver hair, a tacky fascination with black and purple, deific allegiances which are erratic at best. Heals like a mallet.”

She wasn’t really following the words, but his voice was soothing, musical, and every instinct she had told her to relax back into its wash. There was safety there. Affection. Not the same as the den, which was safe more for only having a defensible entrance and a single exit, but because the voice seemed to genuinely care about her. He didn’t want her hurt. 

Not a Fist. Not a guard. Just someone who would keep her safe or die trying. She was as sure of that as she was that she would never have a left arm again.

“Wake up, darling.”

A sharper tone now. She forced her eyes open—hadn’t realized they’d closed—and Astarion’s face rippled into something like focus. She couldn’t resolve him into one, though, and after a few attempts she gave up and looked towards the Astarion on the right. “What?”

“Eyes on me. Not a request.”

“Mm.”

“Tavish. Look at me.”

Gods, it was hard. His cool hands were on her face again, turning her towards him. The pain in her head had become a throbbing nail at the base of her skull. “Astarion…”

“A little longer. Shadowheart should be nearly here.” His eyes were very red in the twilight, almost glowing with their own light. Or perhaps that was her own infatuation. His brow creased. “What? What is it?”

“I like…hm.” She dragged in a breath and tried again. “I like looking at you.”

His voice gentled. “And I like looking at you, darling. I like it even better when your eyes point the same direction.”

She closed them obligingly, and a moment later cool fingertips began tracing circles on her temples. She wanted to say something, to thank him, but the pain in her arm was becoming a mighty ocean, and she was losing the battle to keep ashore. The fingertips ran down her cheeks, along her throat, back up again to press gently on her forehead. She hummed at that, though the sound was broken.

“Good girl.”

She hummed again from a greater distance. Faintly she heard a precise magical pop at the end of the alley, then more voices. A man’s voice. A woman’s. Two. She could name these, even through the fog: Gale, Shadowheart, Karlach. Also friends. Also safety. She relaxed back into the street.

Someone laid hands on her shoulders, her arm. That hurt—her groan of protest sparked something very rapid and angry from Astarion, and the hands let go—and then Shadowheart’s glowing blue palm covered her eyes.

“Go to sleep,” Shadowheart said, in the curt, direct way she always used when she was worried, and Tav let the tide rise and carry her out to sea.

—

“Wake up, my dear.”

The voice was imperious, demanding. It cut through even the sluggish black water in which Tav comfortably floated. She liked the sound of it very much—wanted to move towards it—but gods, she was so comfortable, so quiet, so still. She thought she could sleep forever if only the voice would leave her alone. And yet—the thought of abandoning it seemed somehow awful. Tragic beyond measure.

“Come on, darling. Time to rise and smell the city’s rank masses.”

Tav let the voice float over her, simply enjoying its pitch and rhythm. There was a brief pause, and a moment later cool fingers pinched her cheek hard enough to sting. The voice snapped, “Wake up!”

“Hells,” Tav gasped, and her eyes shot open.

Two blurry Astarions floated above her, both with the same worried expression that faded behind poorly concealed relief. “It’s abominably rude to keep everyone waiting,” he said instead, and when she blinked he at last deigned to collapse into a single bent figure.

There were walls behind him, she realized. Elfsong walls, with their pleasant tapestries and dark-stained wood paneling. The sky beyond the window was black with night. No alley, no street, no swirling twilight sky. Her left arm ached like a bulette had gotten hold of it, but her head was remarkably clear. “Astarion,” she said, and the rest of the memories abruptly crashed over her like toppling bricks. “Oh, gods. The fireworks shop.”

“Thoroughly destroyed,” Astarion said with satisfaction, but he was forced to curtail any lurid explanations as Shadowheart arrived to unceremoniously displace him. She sat on Tav’s bedside and examined her eyes and ears, the motion of her fingers and toes—sans the left hand, which was splinted shoulder to wrist—and even had her recite a handful of ridiculous phrases which Shadowheart listed off with ironic gravity. Finally, however, she pronounced Tav unlikely to die in the next handful of minutes, and when Wyll called her away to examine some gash on Karlach’s shoulder, Astarion settled back into the chair he’d pulled beside the bed.

“Well!” he said, with affected disinterest. “Here we are at last, alone and reasonably right-headed. Tell me: how prepared are you to bolt from the room this instant?”

“Considering my legs feel like twin jellies, I think it would be a very bad idea indeed.” She scraped a hand over her face, trying to reorganize the disjointed flashes of memory into something coherent. “Astarion…were you running on the roof?”

“You took flight like Zariel herself was after you, my dear. It could hardly be helped, even if you were weaving worse than a brothel-goer on payday.”

“You could have let me run. I wouldn’t have gotten far.”

Astarion gave her a withering look. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“It was only a thought,” Tav said, and she settled back into the pillows. Something warm was glowing in her heart, warming her pleasantly from the inside out, and when Astarion took her good hand she linked her fingers through his immediately. “Why doesn’t my arm hurt anymore?”

“You’re drugged to the gills.”

“That would do it,” Tav agreed, and that glowing warmth spiraled out with comfortable lassitude through every limb. Blinking suddenly seemed a tremendous effort. “Thank you for trying, anyway. For coming after me. I didn’t know who you were the whole time, but I knew you were safe.” She drew his hand up to her cheek and closed her eyes. “Eventually.” 

“Hm,” he said, but his voice was very gentle. “If that was how you made all your escapes, it’s no wonder the Fist had you in Heapside every other week.”

“No,” she sighed, pressing more fully against his cool hand. “I’m very deft. Very slippery…tenth finger, nearly. Every cork and rathole east of Wyrm’s Rock—I know them all. Any other time…any other time, I’d have been hangman’s mercy.”

“You’re talking nonsense again,” he said without much conviction, and she felt fingers trace into her hair at her temple, then slide down to the base of her skull and linger there. “My, my, what a lovely goose egg. Try again, darling. Aim for civilized conversation this time.”

“Nonce.” 

Astarion laughed and let her hair go, though she kept his other hand pillowed beneath her cheek. A few minutes passed quietly, and then through the drifting haze she heard footsteps approach. In a deafening whisper, Karlach asked, “Well, Fangs? How’s she doing? Got three words in a line yet?”

Tav felt Astarion’s fingers twitch in her grip, then deliberately relax again. She knew he was still unpracticed—uneasy—with this sort of open affection, but she couldn’t come down enough from the golden cloud to care, and anyhow, he’d stayed put of his own volition. That it was exactly her preference as well seemed incidental.

“Very nearly,” he drawled from somewhere above her. “Save a profound and unintelligible lapse into cant. I gather her mind has returned. Whatever the worm’s left of it, that is.”

“Good.” The bed shifted mightily as Karlach sat on the edge, and Tav let herself roll an inch or two towards the comforting heat. “Hey, soldier. You awake?”

“Mmph.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Karlach said, and laughed. It was a warm, wonderful laugh, and a moment later Gale’s cheerful baritone danced over her as well. There were words in there, probably, but the effort required to parse them had become suddenly impossible, and Tav was content to recline back into the sound like a feather bed. 

Someone spoke, low and steady. Karlach’s voice, warm as embers. Astarion said something in answer—familiar, aggrieved—and Karlach and Gale laughed again. A good sound. A perfect sound, if she were honest, so beautiful she could drown in the luxury.

She was safe. Of course she was. Gale had a smile in his voice; Karlach was still laughing. Astarion’s thumb stroked against her temple, hidden beneath her hair. They’d never let her fall again.

The gold grew thick around her. Like a ship drawn in at last from the storms, moored safely in the harbor’s shelter, Tav drifted off to sleep.

—

end.

[princelylove]

To be honest with you Your Highness, I have always felt afraid of Bruno for some reasons. When I rewatched part 5 with my best friend, they kept commenting how hot he was and all, I tried to imagine him but he scares me. I feel like he hides so much that sometimes it slips away, I would be totally afraid of staying near him even if he was smiling

Your fear is warranted, but displeases him greatly. It stresses him out, I should say. He's never displeased with his darling amore, but he'd much rather have you welcome him with loving arms than freeze when he so much as breathes in your presence.

The foundation of Bruno- of Bruno Bucciarati- is the fact that he is a good man. End of sentence, end of thought.

He's just trying to help. He loves you, he's just trying to take care of you. The rest of the team loves Bruno- he's great! They wouldn't be here if it weren't for him- he's not the type to do some crazy shit randomly, you're probably just mixing reality and whatever nightmares you're having from joining the mafia.

You like Bruno, the husband, but dislike Bucciarati, the mafioso, surely. Bruno's true self- the mix of both, Bruno Bucciarati- is not something easy to figure out at a distance, because he doesn't like the idea of his darling, or anyone else for that matter, looking into him beyond how he presents himself.

You're not really encouraged to look into mafiosi in general. Especially not a capo. Don't snoop, for your own safety's sake.

Despite strongly disliking liars, Bucciarati can lie through his teeth and sleep soundly at night. Bruno, however, feels a sort of discomfort in lying to those he holds in high regards- it's sort of cruel. The least he can do is be honest.

Most of the time, he is. Bruno is not a quick thinker, nor is he innately creative, making him a just-alright type of liar. His lies have to be thought of in advance- he wishes conversation was more like combat. Combat is easy, you survive and you protect, at all costs. Conversation is a mental battle he never trained for- he's a sociable man, but he's been surviving off of letting other people fill in the gaps for him. There's also the fact that the people Bruno finds himself interested in aren't to be lied to.

Bruno has a type, actually. I think most yanderes that fall into Bruno's niche (Jotaro, Risotto) would want someone that needs them. Someone smaller, someone weaker, someone that isn't capable of living without someone else. Of course you don't have to hit every box for Bruno to take interest, he could fall for someone taller, but he can't help but think the size difference with a smaller darling is oh-so-adorable. He has this habit of getting as close as possible and looking down at the both of your shoes, which, he could always just be checking his footing, but it's apparent he's gauging your size difference when he's only doing it with you.

Bruno prefers someone that is only pretending to be independent, or is just openly dependent. Bruno can only survive if he feels needed. Being loved is debatable, you'll always love the hand that feeds you, in a way. You can fall in love down the line once you get over these fears, Bruno's willing to prove that he's the safest man you'll ever meet.

Of course, if this isn't mutual, it's creepy as hell. The real reason that Bruno frightens you, besides from everything else I've described as off about him, is the fact that he does not, and will never, respect your boundaries. He's constantly pushing, whether you want it yet or not.

Bruno is not a man that will ever bend or break. There's nothing that can deter him once he has his mind on doing something- he shares such logic with plenty of other yanderes, but Bruno is a special case, because of his willpower.

Bruno lost his willpower before canon takes place. He has no motive to move elsewhere within the famiglia, his main motivation to get out of bed in the morning is caring for his little family- his famigliola, as he's tried to tell you- and honestly, majority of them are independent types and too old to be coddled. And even then, they're kind of odd, his youngest acts like the oldest and his oldest acts like the youngest, he has no idea how to handle them sometimes. Fathers are only good for spoiling and disciplining, not really any of the actual raising part. You do fun things with daddy, he doesn't make sure you're eating actual good dinners- that's where his darling comes in!

To Bruno, fighting meeting Giorno was like getting a second wind. He was in a massive rut emotionally, and was losing the sense of justice he clung to. Meeting his darling, after that. . . it was like breathing air for the first time. Regaining his soul.

So he can't just fold. It isn't over until it's over, and it's only over when he goes back to dust.

Bruno doesn't really understand what he's doing wrong. He has everything he needs to be appealing. He takes care of himself, he knows how to speak to people, he can provide both financially and emotionally, really, what is it?

When Bruno finds himself starting to feel agitated instead of hopeful you're coming around, then you may be afraid. Perhaps a little fear is good for you, long-term.

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

Let’s Start With The Basics

Part one, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six , Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Warning: 18+ Only MDNI SMUT. Language, BDSM, Dom Aaron, emotionally detached reader, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive father figure, age gap (reader 25 Aaron 40) doesn’t line up with a specific time line, use of Y/n because story is set in 3rd person for the first half then switches POV, last name for reader is Smith,

Specific chapter warnings: blood, Reader eating, (probably incorrect) child psych evaluation, BDSM dynamic discussion, clothes shopping with the one and only Hotchner, mentioned rules and punishments, Rossi is in this chapter, mentions of Jake but not shown, a little sugar daddy Hotch?? Let me know if I’ve missed anything 💜

*~*~*~*~*~*

11 years ago

“I’m-I’m so sorry, daddy.” She cries, his grip on her wrist only tightening as she’s dragged across the hardwood floor. Her chipped nails dig into his meaty hand, trying to pry herself free the closer they get to the bathroom.

“Useless, useless fucking girl. Can’t do a damn thing right.” The smoke alarm screams behind them, smoke filling the room from the burning pan on the stove. He staggers on his feet, tugging her forward and her socks sliding across the floor. “Can’t even make my fucking dinner!” He barks, his glossy eyes staring down at her as they reach the door.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to.” A nasty sneer pulls at his chapped lips, showing yellow teeth behind a greying beard. “I can fix it, please I can.” She begs louder her eyes never leaving the door, the darkness beyond beckoning her into its grasp.

He pushes the door open, the hinges squealing as light floods the dilapidated room. Sections of the drywall are missing, revealing the pink insulation. The once white tiles are now brown, stained with years of dust and dirty, jagged and broken in many places.

“You’ll never be like your mother.” His voice is thick with grief, he’s looking at his daughter but not seeing her, instead he sees the hole his wife had left behind. “Never even wanted a daughter. Shoulda been a boy.” He propels her forward, flinging her into the room and she lands on the floor with a scream. A piece of tile coming loose, slicing deep into her thigh, blood pooling on the floor underneath her.

“Ah!” She cries, scrambling to sit up her hands slipping in the red mess underneath her. She grips at her leg, pieces of the tile sticking out of her pale flesh. “Daddy… I… ah it hurts!” She glances up at her father, his form silhouetted against the light. Her hands, sticky and covered in crimson, shake harshly as tears begin to slip along her cheeks. “Please help me.”

The door closes solidly, trapping her once more in her own hell.

Present Day

You sit rubbing at your thigh absentmindedly, the scars throbbing dully, and you wonder if it’s just all in your head. A knock at your door sets you into motion, pulling your thoughts together with a firm shake of your head. Aaron greets you with a soft smile, and your eyebrows raise in surprise. He’s dressed in a simple white long sleeve, and dark blue jeans, the most casual you’ve ever seen him.

“I didn’t know you owned anything other than a suit.” You step past him, pulling the door shut and pocketing the keycard.

“There’s a lot you’ll learn about me.” His voice holds a hint of mischief as he places a warm hand on your lower back, walking you towards the elevators a few doors down. “Come, Rossi already has our table.”

You pull up short, making him stop beside you. “Rossi? I-I thought you said we were… um… discussing what we had agreed to last night.”

“And we will, once David has left. He won’t be staying long.” Aaron starts walking again, pulling you along with him. He presses the button on the small panel and the elevator dings, metal doors sliding open. You take a deep breath before stepping in.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The steam from the eggs curl into the air as you sit down next to the older Italian man. He smiles warmly, and some of your tension starts to melt away. That is until Aaron joins you.

“That’s not all you are eating?” He sets down his plate, giving you his best ‘unit chief’ stare, his frown so deep the lines in his forehead stand out more prominently. Out of the corner of your eye Rossi smirks into his coffee but stays silent otherwise.

“It’s all I want.” You say dismissively, picking up your fork, going to stab a chunk of eggs when suddenly the plate is pulled off the table. “Hey!” But Aaron is already walking towards the breakfast buffet, huffing you slouch in your seat, knowing you look like a scolded child.

“Off to a rocky start, huh?” Your head snaps up in David’s direction, but he’s focused on the newspaper on the table. It’s opened to the daily crossword puzzle and he’s only filled in half of the blocks, his pen tapping against the table top.

“What do you mean by that?”

His honey brown eyes slide to yours, a dark eyebrow raised suggestively. You flush, heat rising to your cheeks so fast you think you might combust. He knows, and if Rossi knows, who else might be privy to your secret? Anger is suddenly building in the bottom of your stomach when a warm hand wraps around your own. “He didn’t tell me, but it wasn’t hard for an old pro to figure it out. Aaron’s only doing this to help you, there’s no shame in accepting it.”

Aaron suddenly sits across from you, setting down a plate filled with fruits and vegetables, a steaming bowl of oatmeal as the centerpiece. The aroma is heavenly as it wafts into the air, making your stomach grumble and your mouth water. “How do you know I like oatmeal?”

“Who do you think keeps the instant stuff stocked in the bullpen��s kitchen?” He smirks, watching your eyebrows furrow, before you give in, stabbing the gooey food. He digs into his own plate asking Rossi what he will be doing until it’s time to go home.”

I have an old buddy that lives just a town over, I figured now is as good a time as any to pay him a visit.” He finishes off his coffee with a sigh, scribbling in a few more letters.

“What time do we leave?” You chip in, looking to Aaron expectantly.

“Friday morning.” Hesitation drops on your shoulders like a ton of bricks, realizing that you will be alone with Aaron for three days, trying to make sense of your new dynamic. At the look of alarm on your face David asks if you’re okay.

“Y-yes I’m fine. I need to call my boarder though. See if they can watch my dog for that much longer.”

This time it’s the men who look surprised. “A dog?”

“Bruce, my six year old boxer.” You had found him wandering the trail you jogged one morning, just a scrawny little pup covered in fleas and dirt. He had walked right up to you, tail wagging so hard you thought he might fall over. Bruce had climbed up right into your arms and you knew from that day on you two would be inseparable.

“Huh.” Rossi nods, “I always pinned you for a cat girl.”

“I guess the profilers aren’t always right.” You jab with humor, smiling at him.

He laughs, shaking his head as he gathers his newspapers. “Correct you are, my dear. I’ve got to head out, you two don’t kill each other while I’m gone.” He gives you a pointed look and you shrug, feigning innocence. He bids Aaron goodbye and as he walks past he leans down, a hand on your shoulder. “Just follow the rules, kiddo.” You watch him leave, and you feel most of your ease go with him. When you turn back to the table Aaron is watching you intently.

“What?”

“I always thought you would of had something a little more exotic.”

You shrug your shoulder, leaning back in your seat. “I guess there’s a lot you’ll learn about me as well.” You throw his words back at him but he catches them well.

“Are you ready to begin?”

You set your fork down, and despite the apprehension filling your stomach you pull your shoulders back with a nod. Aaron pulls out the papers, setting them in the middle of the table. “Were you able to read any of this last night?”

You shake your head, gesturing to the paragraphs before you. “Not any of this, no… but i did skim over the rules.”

Picking the papers up you start reading as Aaron speaks. “It’s simply a legal statement protecting both of us. It states you have given your consent to the relationship, and that I will only ever do anything set within your boundaries. You will follow our established rules, which most likely won’t be what’s listed, these are just guide lines. Also that I won’t use my authority to abuse you or harm you in anyway.”

“And… this is supposed to help me, how? Just follow the rules and I’ll be right as rain?”

He frowns at your sarcasm but you hold his stair, jaw set. “When someone joins the military, they have everything provided for them. Housing, food, clothes, tools to which get the job done. These are all things that they no longer need to worry about, taking the stress off of their plates and letting them focus on their jobs and other aspects of their lives.”

You begin to understand where he is going with this, your eyes dropping away before looking back. “This is essentially what I will be doing for you. I will provide you with what you need, so that you can live your life a little easier, better yourself in both your personal life and your professional.”

“What do you mean by provide?” Your eyebrow rises, flipping to the ‘Rules’. “I thought this was staying strictly to our time outside of the office?” The thought of being found out fills you with dread, the shame and ridicule you would experience would ruin your career with the BAU.

“The relationship we develop will stay strictly after hours, as long as we are both discreet there is no reason for anyone to suspect anything. With that being said though I expect you to follow the rules to the best of your ability.”

You lean forward, your voice staying quiet despite the dining room being practically empty, the other occupants to engrossed in their own conversation to notice yours. “You keep saying relationship…” Aaron leans in as well, large hands resting just in front of your own.

“You’re a smart girl, Y/n. You must be aware of my feelings towards you.” You cheeks flush despite yourself, your lips pressing into a thin line. Aaron, though, smiles at your reaction. You never put much stock into how Aaron acted around you, or if he treated you differently than anyone else. Looking back on it all though, you can see it, how he always lingered close, his gaze always locking with yours when you would look up. Small little things that could add up to all of this.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t thought of Aaron in… that way. There is no denying how handsome he is, even with the lack of expression. He is a damn good agent, and cares for every member of his team, and the rare glimpses you’ve seen of him with his son would make any sane woman weak in the knees. But you would never let your thoughts stay too far, afraid of what they could become.

You clear your throat, leaning back and fidgeting with your silverware, the metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights as you turn your fork back and forth. “So… I’m your girlfriend then?” You’ve kicked yourself all night for not asking more questions before agreeing to this, now you’re in a legal binding relationship it seems. With none other than your drill sergeant boss.

“If that’s the easiest way for you to put this, then yes; but I need you to realize our relationship goes well beyond those things.”

“If I decide I don’t want that? That I don’t want to be under your thumb? Then what?” Your voice is sharp though you refuse to meet his gaze, your shame filling you till you’re ready to burst like an overinflated balloon.

“Then we shred this up and forget it was offered. You’ll go to therapy like we agreed last night.” You flench at the thought, sighing and titling your head back.

“Okay… but I have to ask, what do you get out of this? Aren’t you already swamped with work most of the time? And you’re a father on top of that. Isn’t ‘looking after me’ just going to add to the stress of it all?”

“I find peace with taking care of someone, it helps me as much as it will help you. It can be hard to explain everything you’ll feel but I can assure you, it’s worth the try.”

Nodding you take a deep breath. “Alright… I will still agree to the month. But don’t expect me to go falling head over heels for you Hotchner.” He laughs and it’s a warm sound, one that turns a few heads of other females in the room.

“Baby, that’s the last position you need to worry about. Now eat, we are meeting Jenny and her mother in an hour.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

The car ride to the police station is at best uncomfortable. The first ten minutes spent in utter silence until Aaron speaks. “Tell me something about yourself.” Your eyebrows raise but you don’t turn towards him, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead as he turns the corner.

“I thought you knew everything there is to know?” You can practically feel the glare he’s giving you.

“Y/n.” His voice is a deep warning.

Sighing you tap your fingers against your leg. “I like rock music… I’m very allergic to bees and I have a weird phobia of maggots.”

“Maggots?” This time he chuckles.

“Yes… I read something about a man’s leg getting infected and when he finally went to the doctor there were… maggots living in his wound.” You shudder at the thought, squeezing your eyes shut to rid yourself of the mental imagine.

Aaron grimaces beside you, “Yeah that would do it.”

“What about you, Agent Hotchner? Any weird fears or the such?”

He takes a moment to think, and you wonder what he’s choosing that won’t give to much about himself away. “I have a scar down my back from when I tried climbing the water tower in my home town as a teenager. Fell off the ladder halfway up and into a tree.” You laugh genuinely, the thought of a young Aaron explaining that to his parents comical. “Good to see someone else can laugh at my pain.”

You roll your eyes, seeing his smile out of the corner of your vision. “Uh-huh.”

Soon enough you’re pulling into the parking lot, black and white cars surrounding the SUV as you both step out. You grab your dark green bag, hoisting it over your shoulder. Doing this job for so long you’ve perfected your methods of therapy for the children you work with. Playing and keeping their minds partially distracted as you pick out information for their evaluations has been your biggest helper. Now you carry around a bag stuffed with whatever a child may like.

Waiting in the lobby is Jenny and her mother, she’s finally had a bath, her blond hair shinny and straightened, her clothes clean. She spots you as you approach and she gives you the most tentative smile. “Mrs. Campell?” Aaron greets, holding his hand out to the mother. Carl.

Her daughter is the spitting image of her, down to the shape of their noses and the light dusting of freckles that cover their faces. “Please, just Carl.” She stands, taking Aaron’s hand. “Thank you, again so very much for finding my daughter.”

“We’re happy we could help, this is agent Smith, she is actually the one who found Jenny.” The mother turns to you with fresh tears in her eyes, and before you can extend your hand she is engulfing you in a tight hug. Awkwardly you hug her back, patting her shoulder gently.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

She pulls back with a big smile, finally releasing you. Jenny stands from the bench, coming to lean against her mothers leg. “Mrs. Smith will be conducting your daughters evaluation today, and I will be finishing up some of the paper work to finalize booking process.”

You squat down to Jenny’s level, smiling sweetly. “Hi, Jenny. Do you remember me?” She nods slowly, her small fingers picking at a loose thread on her mother’s blue jeans. You take note of the unicorn on her shirt, pulling your bag to your side. “Ya know, I think I have something in here for you.” Her blue eyes dart to your bag as you rummage through it, the excess of toys making noise as the knock together catching her interest. “Ah! Here we go.” You pull out a pink and white unicorn, her face lighting up, her mouth dropping open in surprise and awe. You hand the toy over and she takes it excitedly.

“Mommy look!”

Carl smiles, passing her hand over Jenny’s hair. “Wow, what do we say, baby?”

“Thank you.” She’s missing a front tooth, the gasp giving her a little bit of a speech impediment, drawing out the ‘th’ sound.

“You are very welcome. Now, would you like to go play while your mom and Mr. Hotchner talk? We all can go into that big room right there.” You point over her shoulder to the empty meeting room, not wanting to cause any distress that may occur from being separated from her mother. Jenny nods again, her smile never faltering.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“In my professional opinion Jenny is coping very well with everything that has happened to her. That being said, either being so young she might not fully understand everything that has happened. Don’t be surprised if she’s a little more dependent on you, wanting to be near you more, sleep with you at night, and so on. She could have nightmares and if you feel like she needs therapy I can find you a list of the best in town. But you have a strong daughter, Miss. Carl.”

Carl sighs in relief, leaning back in her chair as she turns to watch her daughter. Jenny is sitting crisscross on the floor, Aaron mirroring her as she tells him all about unicorns and fairies, his attention never straying. “Thank you, I never thought this would be a fear of mine. I couldn’t eat, sleep, think straight even when she went missing. My entire world is her, and the thought of losing her was just…”

You reach out, giving her hand a firm squeeze. “Soon this will all be a distant memory.”

She mouths a last thank you as Jenny suddenly runs up to her, Aaron placing the toys back into your bag. “Mommy when is lunch?”

You all bid your goodbyes and once you are buckled into the passenger seat you let your body sag, closing your eyes. “Are you okay?” You don’t answer for a minute as Aaron starts the car, pulling away from the station.

“It’s hard sometimes.” You start, fidgeting with your fingers, “Knowing what a child has been through, then I have to judge them on their ability to cope. Kids can be so resilient, so strong, yet they are supposed to be the one thing we protect the most.”

Aaron nods, glancing at you time and again as he drives back towards the hotel. “These are the worst types of cases, and truly no one really wins in the end. The damage is done, it’s just a matter of what degree.”

You hum in agreement, finally opening your eyes to stare out the window. The sky’s are filling with grey clouds, the November air chilly and your thankful for the heat in the car. People bundled up in large coats and scarves hurry along the side walks desperately trying to get from one place to another.

“I understand it can be hard to talk about these things… but I hope in time you can come to trust me.” You finally look his way, his attention fixed on the road ahead, but one of his large hands rests on the center console, like he is thinking about reaching for you but not quiet yet.

“So um… You never showed me the last page.” You flip script easily, pushing away his sympathy.

Aaron presses his lips into a thin line before answering. “Punishments.” You laugh involuntarily, that had to be the most absurd thing you had heard since this whole thing began. But the stern look Aaron gives you when his eyes slide your way has the humor lodging itself in your throat.

“You aren’t serious?”

“How else are you supposed to learn not to break the rules?”

“Um I don’t know, tell me I broke them and I’ll do better?” You ask incredulously, lip curled up as you turn in your seat to face him. Aaron doesn’t answer you, his focus on the road ahead. “What kind of punishments? Are you gonna throw me over your knee if I miss a meal?”

“If that’s what it takes then yes, but that’s not usually the first resort. We will cross that bridge when we get there.” You roll your eyes leaning your head back against the headrest, finally noticing that he has driven right by the hotel.

“Where are we going?”

“You have gone through your clothes, we are going shopping.” He’s reading the street signs as he drives, completely unaware of the slack jawed look you are giving him.

“What? No we aren’t.” You protest.

The car slows down a busy street, pulling off into a curbside parking space. The walkways are lined with y’all buildings, department stores, restaurants, businesses, all with their warm glowing signs and bright interior lights. Aaron turns to you fully, the same stern expression he always wears in place. “You’ve run through your clothes, you wore that shirt two days ago with a different pair of bottoms. In fact, I’ve only ever seen you wear the same four pairs of slacks, one grey pencil skirt that you constantly fight with, and six blouse.”

“So? I like to keep it simple, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You need new clothes, and it’s either I take you to get them, so you can pick them out and try them on, or you can give me your sizes and I will do the shopping for you.” You press your lips into a thin line, glaring at him. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“I don’t have the money to go shopping, Hotch.” You finally relent, realizing he isn’t going to give up, so you have to give him a reason to.

Aaron’s frown softens, and he’s reaching out, taking your chin in between his fingers. You hold your breath, reliving last nights feelings all over again as he leans in. The space in the SUV suddenly seems so small, so compact with the both of you this close. “Baby, I didn’t ask you if you had money. I told you I would help take care of you and that includes clothing. Do you understand?”

“But-.” You begin, only to have his grip tighten, tilting your face down slightly so your forced to look up to keep eye contact.

“No more arguing. Grab your jacket it’s cold outside.”

[cliniceximus01]

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[http-drabbles]

soulmate, soulmate where are you? 2

1.3k words of absolute crushing angst, it's 7am and i woke up to write. shall i be evil and let this be the final part? mayhaps.

warnings: s/h and making jungkook sad (:W)

fuck fuck fuck.

skimming every question and typing out my answer feels a lot like betrayal. name, age, country of residence, when my soulmate mark appeared, contact details, translator needed, agreeing to a declaration that if my soulmate mark was found to be fraudulent i could face a fine or jail time. i tick the box by his name, attach a photo of my mark and send the form off. the confirmation email is too cheery it makes my jaw ache at how i grind my teeth.

i don't want to talk about the circumstances that lead me to fill out that form, to apply for a loan that covers travel cost and a hotel for this. the woman who helped me fill out the form was again all too cheery, wishing me a good luck and all i could do was smile so fucking limply back at her while noticing lipstick smudged against her teeth.

a month passes and i'm gleeful, maybe it's a network error and my form never submitted. i'm free and can tell the loan company to cancel my plan, i don't go on social media to see what jungkook is up to and in those weeks the nightmare is over and i embrace my loneliness.

the email arrives at 16:21. heathrow to seoul, a contact at hybe will meet me at the airport. id needed. date of when i'm expected to actually meet jungkook, with a disclaimer that it may change due to fluctuating schedule. the tiger lily tingles, and i almost see the petals opening ready to accept him.

"don't get your hopes up, i can always email them back to get out of this."

i don't. of course i don't because i'm standing in a Costa in London Fucking Heathrow next to the hybe contact who is analysing their croissants like it's the key to end all misery. i wished i could look at croissants with that much intensity.

she asked once to see my soulmate mark, gave it a one second glance over and then typed something down in her phone, i wondered how many people she's flown with to Korea. more than ten i would bet. i don't ask, i'm not conversational but when we're waiting in the queue holding out boarding passes i blurt to her.

"i haven't flown before. i've got a fear of it i think."

she passes me a sleeping tablet and i bump her number from ten to a solid fifteen.

korea is pretty, face practically smushed against the taxi window i take in every single detail i can. there's an over-abundance of signs, low hanging wires and roads so tiny it's a miracle a car can pass through them. i don't take photos, i rely on my brain to remember and then forget.

hybe is anything but pretty, more like a grey lump of concrete and glass. i sign two more documents and the translator informs me that in two days time i will be meeting jungkook, but not officially meeting. more like my arm will be stuck through a gap and our soulmate marks will touch, i will have to wear a mitt because some people had become a little too excited and scratchy. my mark is thoroughly inspected this time, deemed official and not a tattoo i'm driven over to my hotel.

i don't unpack, staring at the forms in my hand which are a mix of korean and english i almost laugh. traitor. stupid traitor.

over the next two days i come to two big conclusions, one kimchi is too sour but the rice cakes should be considered a universal delicacy and two, is it too late to back out?

is it too late to back out? i'm in the taxi, i consider clawing the windows for escape but i decide that digging my fingers into my belly helps ease my nerves. can i back out? hybe is cold, the ac is too strong and there's other girls in the room i'm lead into. shy smiles as i plop myself in the back. we are called alphabetically. is it possible to back out? there's four of us left now, i didn't bother counting us as a whole. i can't stop digging my nails into my stomach.

i can't back out. my name is called and somehow my body removes the hand from my belly and i walk myself over to the room. there's a row of grey screen partitions that divide the room, a small slither in the middle presumably where my arm will go. it hits me jungkook is on the other side and i bite my bottom lip hard to avoid laughing. tugging my sleeve up a staff member puts the mitt on securely, another verbal warning to not do anything harmful to the artist.

artist and not his name.

i sit down on the chair, staring into that small space to catch a sight of him but there's nothing. i don't mind a fine, or jail time. i hope it's not real. deliberately slowly i raise my arm, putting it through the gap with my tiger lily facing upwards. the air shifts around my arm and i feel him. warm as his tiger lily presses against mine.

at first nothing, and i almost let out the loudest sigh of relief and then it is everything. in the mitt my fingers jerk, i pull away like i've been electrocuted clutching my arm but it's energy, pure energy. thrum. drum. drum.

he's tearing the partitions apart and i stagger back, nearly falling over the chair to get away from him. frantic korean, something more reassuring from a staff member and then he pokes his head through. beaming smile, he's so happy to see me and i guess i'm somewhere between absolutely mortified and in complete shock. his sleeve is rolled up and i notice his tiger lily has fully blossomed, a quick glance down at mine and i realise mine is the same.

he speaks again, approaching me like he wants to hug me but seeing that i'm backing away like a rabid animal he slows, contains himself and glances at the translator and back at me.

"hello. i'm jungkook. it's nice to meet you finally." oh god. too much. he's too kind and his cologne has infiltrated my nostrils and i'm so glad the mitt is still on because i'd be clawing at my nose to stop smelling it.

"s-sorry.. can't." i give the staff member who brought me in here the universal look of, 'get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here-now.' i am ignored.

"sorry?" he tilts his head in pure confusion, he looks worried. i hate him for it. "don't be sorry. it's okay. i'm happy."

i glance around the room and notice i'm being recorded, i don't know what sets me off more. he's too close, the camera, him, why is he so close? he touches my shoulder to comfort me and i jerk away, i can't stop looking at the camera and the other staff members who are beaming at us.

"i'm sorry," my eyes lock with his, "i don't want you." he doesn't understand and i glance at the translator.

she looks sad and very softly tells him what i've said, he doesn't seem to believe her because he presses his fingers against the tiger lily and shakes his head.

"us. this is us." he's struggling to speak himself and i can see him remembering. he's really looking at my arm now, clearer. the burns, the cuts. all the times i've tried to prune that cancerous flower from my arm. almost physically wounded he takes a step back.

"i'm sorry, i don't want this." the translator repeats my words and all he does is nod.

he nods and i leave.

[drlavanyadental]

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[noa-de-cajou]

Day 20 : A heated argument

Kaspar belongs to @corneille-but-not-the-author

_____

“For the last time, free trade is not a sustainable system on the long term!”

“Neither is pressing for social reforms or market regulations at all costs. Change takes time.”

“It takes time because it benefits the most powerful! It’s only going to deepen the gap between the richest and the poorest. Market regulation is a necessity.”

“It’s counterproductive, you mean. If you let money flow freely, it’s going to trickle down to the bottom eventually.”

“And when, pray tell?! When is it going to trickle down? The economic tendency says otherwise, Schutz. So tell me, if you're so smart-”

“Alright, that's enough, both of you.”

The student who spoke up, a third year member of the student administrative council, glares at the two first years debating with each other. One is long-haired, dressed smartly, shirt and tie and suit jacket, the other looks younger despite being the same age, face riddled with acnea, a large t-shirt thrown over his fishnet top.

“We've let you debate for a while, but you keep going off topic every time we allow you to speak. Next time, please keep it relevant. Understood?”

Kaspar Schutz exhales slowly, clearly holding back an acerb remark towards Bazyli Zielinska, who only lets out a small groan of frustration.

“I’m sorry. We got carried away,” the former simply says before sitting back down.

Bazyli, for one, doesn’t utter a single apology and falls back into his seat with a dissatisfied huff. Next to him, Milosz pouts.

“I told you to let it go…”

“Well I can't just let him spout bullshit every time he comes here!”

“He barely does anyway,” Simowiet sighs. “Can’t you just have mercy on the poor guy?”

“Mercy? It's not like he’s defenseless,” Bronya sneers. “I think it’s hilarious to watch, personally.”

Bazyli glances at Kaspar who’s whispering to his friend, not paying attention to them. They only started uni a month ago, and he can say it loudly and surtout fear, he cannot stand this man. His archaic opinions, his little air of superiority every time Bazyli raises his voice during their debates, like he just enjoys riling him up, all of it infuriates him. Sure, his arguments are often well-documented and he can hold his own, but again so can Bazyli.

“Baz, come on, breathe. It’s not that important,” Milosz attempts.

It is. It is important. If the world were only filled with people like Kaspar, it’d be done in. And being angry at him is a good distraction from everything else.

That way he can't be distracted by the way his hands move when he speaks. By the determination in his eyes. The movement of his hair. The line of his jaw. The mouth he got on him, that goddamned mouth, the way his teeth show when he starts to get annoyed. The inflections in his voice. God, how he hates all of that and how distracting Kaspar Schutz is, how attractive he looks until he opens his mouth.

The anger is good. The anger makes Bazyli stops wondering about how those hands would feel on his waist and his eyes looking up to him and maybe his mouth on his and his teeth into his skin and his voice whispering in his ear or-

Kaspar notices him staring. He smirks. Bazyli’s eyes darken and he looks away.

Yeah. He can't stand Kaspar. He hates him.

A waste of a pretty face, that's all he is.

[mabelstone]

ENCHANTED BY TAYLOR SWIFT, YOU CAN PICK IF ITS MATT OR TREY AND YOU CAN PICK IF ITS SMUT OR FLUFF!!

nothing has gotten me sooo excited to write in forever, thank you thank you

was going through a breakup when i started this page so consider this a love letter to myself.. heres a soft one

Until I See You Again

matt stone x f!reader

You plastered the hundredth fake smile onto your lips that night, the muscles in your face fatigued from the forced gesture. You were surrounded by a bunch of snobs blabbing on about things you couldn't care less about, dressed in clothes that cost more than your rent, and coercing fake laughs from the depths of your being.

You felt out of place, a tall flute of expensive champagne that tasted like cat piss warming in your hand, a tight emerald dress essentially suffocating you, and blistered feet your friends heels were responsible for. Life hadn't been too kind to you lately and you desperately needed some positive change in your life.

So here you were, putting your acting skills to the test as you tried your best to fit the façade that would hopefully land you this editing job. Your friend promised you she had connections, they just happened to be twenty years old of you and were fed from the shiniest silver spoons known to man.

You tried your best to seem interested in what ever the hell they were going on about, not that you understood a lick of it. You heard a loud laugh from behind you, out of place, yet oh so intriguing. You turned to find the source; a tall man with auburn curls, small oval-rimmed glasses, and the most inviting, genuine smile you'd seen in a long time. He was laughing beside another brunette, punching him in the shoulder before lifting his glasses to wipe a tear from his eye.

You excused yourself from the group once you'd finished your repulsive drink, opting for another because you were going to need at least six more to bear the rest of the night. You helped yourself in the kitchen, grabbing a pre-filled flute from the kitchen bench.

A voice arose from behind you, not startling, but soft and familiar, as if you'd heard it a million times before.

"Have we met before?" The voice was the equivalent to a warm hug that swathed your aching heart, every atom in your body seemingly magnetised to him. It was him. His aura was incredible, pale shades of purple and blue dancing around him, invisible to the naked eye, but god, could you feel it.

"You know, it's strange. I was honestly thinking the same thing," You started, offered him a shy smile as you leant against the counter. "I couldn't have, I just moved here two days ago." You weren't lying, there was something about him.

"Maybe in a past life," he joked, extending a hand to you. "Well, I'm Matt, and you are?"

"Y/N," you replied meekly, taking the warm hand he extended to you in your own. He had a little gap in his teeth and he smelt faintly of smoke, but nice regardless. He was quite a bit taller than you, his eyes glittered in the light and everything about him was enchanting. First impressions were very important to you, and he sure did exceed everyone in the room.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you. What are you doing hanging with a bunch of middle aged snobs?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you retorted quizzically, both of you exchanging tipsy smiles, a sudden lightness filling the space between you.

"My father owns the magazine every one of these jerk off's here work for," he scrunched his nose in distaste, pulling a soft giggle from you. "Your turn."

"Well, I'm hoping to become one of those jerk off's," you shrugged a shoulder, peering at him through a teasing smirk as you raised the flute to your lips.

"Shit- sorry," his cheeks flushed the most beautiful shade of pink, bringing a hand up to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. He quickly retracted his hand with a wide smile, a chance to redeem himself, "at least I'll get to see more of you! Unless I just lost all chance..."

"Not even close," you offered an earnest smile just as wide.

You talked all night, discovering you had so much in common, down to the same likes and dislikes in foods, minus the fact that you love olives, and he couldn't think of anything more unpleasant. You scrapped all your plans of sucking up to the boss, instead finding a better change in this new city.

It was incredibly late at this point, time dissolving into nothingness while in his presence.

"There you are!" Your friend announced loudly, giving Matt a small smile that slipped off her face just as fast. "Ubers here, let's go."

You opened your mouth to say an apology, a goodbye, anything to him before you were being dragged away, but he beat you to it.

"I'll put in a good word for you," he smiled, as you reached your hand out to him, your fingertips just brushing as you were pulled out of the room.

The whole ride home, you couldn't stop smiling.

"Do you, uh, know Matt?" You finally spoke up, pulling yourself out of your thoughts and interrupting the splitting silence in the car.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, the bosses son." She mumbled, half asleep. "He's a sweetie. Just be careful, he just got out of a relationship... It apparently got prettyyy messyyyy," she slurred, the obvious inebriation dragging down her heavy tongue.

You'd just gotten out of a relationship too, but you hadn't even thought about your ex all night thanks to the beautiful boy you just met. You thought about what he said, 'maybe in another life.' The potential foreshadowing sending a sharp pain through your heart.

You hoped it would be your first interaction of many, but couldn't build your hopes up just to have them ripped from under you again.

Please don't be in love with someone else. The painful mantra you repeated to yourself the whole way home.

Spoiler alert: you bagged the job and your bosses son.

this was a bit lame i forgot how to write, apologies

didn't proof read either, i did 6 night shifts in a row i am dead