#that is meant to be somewhere/something else

[maskedbyghost]

You and Simon aren’t together. Never have been. Never talked about it, never even thought about it.

You just click. You always have. It started as a mission thing—paired up for some op because Price figured you worked well together, and then it just… stuck. You got each other in ways that didn’t need explaining. You liked the same things, moved the same way, anticipated each other’s actions before they happened. You didn’t have to tell him what you needed in the field, and he never had to ask you to cover him. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of thing that felt natural before you even noticed it happening.

And then it bled into everything else. Eating together. Training together. Sitting next to each other on long flights, in debriefs, in the rare downtime you got between missions. It was never planned, never discussed. Just a thing that happened, like muscle memory. If you were in a room, Simon was there too, and if he wasn’t, he was on his way.

The others noticed, of course. Soap especially. He was the loudest about it, but even Gaz had taken to shooting you both pointed looks when you showed up somewhere at the same time, or when you answered Simon’s half-formed thoughts like you knew what he was going to say before he said it.

Which, honestly, you usually did.

It all comes to a head one evening, the lot of you gathered in one of the common rooms, half-done with the day but not quite ready to call it a night. You and Simon are on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, idly watching something on the TV while Soap, sitting across from you both, groans into his hands.

“You two make me sick.”

You blink at him. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

“That’s the problem!” Soap gestures wildly. “You do everything together. You finish each other’s bloody sentences. You know what the other is thinking. And you’re just—what? Friends?” He scoffs. “Aye, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Simon leans back, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t think you’ve got the legs for a crown, mate.”

Gaz snorts. Price, watching from his spot near the door, only shakes his head like he’s seen this conversation play out a hundred times before. (He has.)

Soap ignores them, pointing a finger between you and Simon like he’s solving some grand mystery. “There’s only one thing you haven’t done,” he declares. “You just need to kiss. That’s it. Only thing missing.”

Silence.

You turn your head. Simon is already looking at you.

There’s nothing in his expression that gives anything away—no smirk, no challenge, no humor in his eyes. He’s just watching you, waiting. And then, with a tiny shrug, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s short, unhurried. Just a press of his lips against yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he pulls back, his eyes are still on you, searching.

You don’t react. Not outwardly, anyway. You can feel Soap’s disbelief burning into the side of your face, hear the noise he makes—the strangled mix between a gasp and an outraged protest—but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you look back at Simon, forcing yourself to stay still even as your heart does something stupid in your chest.

Because, sure, maybe this was just to mess with Soap. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was a joke.

But it didn’t feel like one.

Simon smirks and leans back, turning his attention back to the TV like nothing happened. “Happy now?”

Soap looks like he’s reconsidering every life decision that led him to this moment. “What the fuck?”

—

Later, when Simon walks you back to your room, he’s quieter than usual. His hands are in his pockets, his head tilted down slightly like he’s working through something in his mind.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t mean—well, didn’t want you to think it was—”

He stops, exhales sharply through his nose. “Just don’t want you to be mad.”

You glance at him. “I’m not mad.”

He nods, but his mouth pulls into something uncertain, like he doesn’t believe you. “Good. That’s—good.”

You reach your door and turn to face him fully. He’s still looking at you, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. And it’s funny, really, how the thought of kissing you in front of everyone hadn’t made him hesitate, but now? Now, he’s hesitating. Now, he’s thinking too hard about it. About you.

So before he can say anything else, you push up onto your toes and kiss him.

It’s quick, barely a breath between you before you pull back, but the impact is immediate. Simon’s lips part slightly, his brows drawing together like he can’t quite process what just happened.

You step back, hand on your door handle, and give him a small nod. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Then you slip inside, shutting the door behind you, leaving him standing there in the hallway, staring at the empty space where you just were.

And for once, Simon doesn’t have a single thing to say.

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

@daydreamerwoah @ghostslollipop @kylies-love-letter

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢'𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it's time to return the second favor. and for that reason, spencer finds himself invited by you...on a date?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist!female reader, fake date at the bar, reader's ex makes an appearance, kinda inspired by blank space taylor swift

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.5 k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

[unknown number] wake up pretty boy

[unknown number] time to pay your debt

Spencer, sitting on his bed with a book resting on his lap, stared at the message for a moment, his brows slightly furrowed. Evening, the warm glow of his lamp making it easy to read. He had the next day off, no real plans, just a quiet night ahead. The sudden chime of his phone had caught him off guard.

For a split second, he was surprised—but he didn’t have to think too hard to guess who the sender was.

He typed out how did you get my number, then deleted it before hitting send. Something else was far more interesting. And a little concerning. That second message. Pay your debt. She remembered about that now, at this hour?

Before he could ask, another text came in.

[unknown number] taking you on a date

[unknown number] dress nice

For a moment, deeply confused, he just stared at his phone, already sensing somewhere deep inside that this was going to be a really weird night.

[spencer] What do you mean by ‘date’?

A minute or two passed. He didn’t put his phone down. Didn’t even look away from the screen.

[unknown number] the one who asks questions loses his way

His fingers moved automatically.

[spencer] That’s not how the saying goes

✓ Seen 10:12 pm

Reid sighed. He had absolutely no plans to go out that evening, and he wasn’t thrilled about the fact that he hadn’t been given any details about this so-called date. Unless she was joking? There was something off about this—some kind of trick, a twist he hadn’t figured out yet.

The only thing stopping him from ignoring her messages—something he very much wanted to do—was the simple fact that he did owe her. Technically, twice. Though he had managed to repay one of those debts in an easy way, requiring almost no effort on his part.

He had a feeling this second one wouldn’t be nearly as simple.

And now he found himself wondering what exactly she meant by dress nicely.

*

"Wait, one more time. We’re going there as her… what?"

"Mental support," she said, moving forward with that usual quick stride of hers, the sharp tapping of her heels almost aggressive. Whether unconsciously or fully aware but not caring, she got a few steps ahead of him, speaking without turning back. Her voice hung in the night, street air.

Spencer hated when she did that. It made him feel like a dog on a leash. He sped up to match her pace.

"Well, I heard you," he scoffed. "Doesn’t mean I get what you mean. And maybe you should clue me in if I’m supposed to be part of…whatever this is” 

She stopped with a sigh so heavy it was as if giving him any details about something he was supposed to be part of was beyond her patience and strength. Hands tucked into the pockets of his blazer, he gave her a questioning look as she finally turned to face him.

His gaze dropped—quick, casual. Or at least, that’s how he thought it looked. Even at night, under the less-than-ideal glow of the streetlights, he could register how her outfit hugged her figure, emphasizing every curve.

At work, she dressed more formally. With her looks, that face, and the unshakable confidence she carried, she could probably make a burlap sack look like a designer gown. But Spencer had noticed something about the way she dressed for nights like this. Or rather, the way she became something else entirely. Like she belonged to the night, completely in her element.

Quick, casual glance—yeah, right.

To make the situation even more embarrassing, she snapped her fingers in front of his face, demanding his attention.

"Alright, listen up," she started, shifting her weight onto one hip. "I’m explaining this one last time. My friend, Liv—you might know her from my team…"

"Olivia, you mean," He said her full name in confirmation, recognizing the woman he had indeed seen before.

"Do you really have to correct me on how I call my own friends? Anyway, fine. Olivia has a date tonight with some guy she met online. The thing is, Olivia is a hopeless romantic who’s waiting for the love of her life to magically show up at her door, but she’s also buried in work and can’t even remember the last time she went on a date. Plus, she’s a little worried about ending up with some psycho. You know what I mean."

"All too well," he nodded, recalling all the missing persons cases that had started exactly like this—an online match gone wrong.

“Exactly. So Olivia asked me to come along. You know, for physical backup if anything goes sideways. And mental backup. Just to make her feel safer."

Well, he didn’t want to praise her out loud, but it was…nice of her. Okay, nice wasn’t the perfect word—honestly, the fact that she even had to do something like this was a little bitter at its core—but it didn’t change the fact that she was being a good friend.

He watched her for a moment, not even realizing he had gone quiet. He realized he’d never actually seen her interact with her people, her team, but he had somehow assumed their dynamic was more… detached. Not that she genuinely considered them her friends and actually cared.

"Finally caught up, genius?" she asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Spencer snapped out of it. Okay, so maybe she cared about her friends—but she was still seriously unbearable.

"I get it. Except for one thing," he replied, matching her slightly rude tone, one that made him sound almost offended. She raised a brow, nodded as if giving him permission to continue, and started walking again—this time at a slower pace.

Actually, they were moving at almost the same rhythm now, nearly side by side.

"Why do you need me for this?"

Their eyes met, but this time, she didn’t look like she was about to mock him. In fact, the corners of her lips lifted slightly, as if she thought that was a very good question.

"Because tonight, pretty boy, I plan to stay completely on the sidelines," she explained. "Not interfering with my friend or her date in any way. Being completely invisible."

"Invisible?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

It wasn’t even just about what she was wearing. Drawing attention was simply an unavoidable part of her presence. She nodded in confirmation.

"Exactly. But I figured that to keep away all the desperate guys trying to get my number, all I need to do is bring one with me," she looked like she was trying not to laugh. "You’re gonna be my scarecrow."

Spencer's mouth fell slightly open, completely at a loss for words.

"You…you are just… just…"

"Amazing, smart, beautiful, wonderful…"

"Shameless. That’s the word"

For a moment, she didn’t respond, her expression filled with a strange kind of complacency.

"Love when you compliment me," she said in an overly sweet tone.

"That wasn’t—" he started, but then cut himself off, realizing there was probably no point in arguing with her. He sighed.

"You’re welcome."

*

Despite the late hour, the bar wasn’t overcrowded. Sure, there were plenty of people inside, but most were engaged in quiet conversations over their drinks. Spencer noticed quite a few couples. As if they were one of them, they found a secluded spot in the corner, right next to a small pool table made of dark wood with a striking green surface.

"That’s them," the woman discreetly motioned with her head toward the pair at the bar— a cascade of blonde curls and the man accompanying her. She fixed them with an assessing gaze, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Hm. He looks like his pictures. I’ll take that as the first good sign."

"She shows you pictures of her dates?"

"Every single time. We rate them on a scale from one to ten."

Spencer wasn’t surprised in the slightest. His gaze briefly shifted in their direction, though he made sure not to stare, not wanting to make them look weird. The pair seemed to be talking a little shyly—it was obvious this was their first meeting.

“So,” he started. “Is this what we’re going to do all night? Just stand here?”

“Basically, yeah. I mean, we don’t have to just stand around like a couple of creeps, staring at them. We can enjoy our date. Just because it’s fake doesn’t mean it can’t be fun,” she said, slowly circling the pool table until they were on opposite sides.

She slipped off her outer layer, and Spencer couldn’t help but notice that her outfit underneath did anything but help her stay invisible. Reaching for a pool cue, she nodded at him.

“What are you waiting for?”

“You want to play?”

“No, I want to duel you with the cues,” she scoffed. “I’m a professional, you know.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow slightly as he grabbed a cue of his own.

"Professional?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mhm. World championships and all that. But that was a while ago. Then came the injury, and I had to say goodbye to my career. After that, I had no idea what to do with myself, so I became a chemist," she said, with a casual shrug.

He chuckled at the made-up story, setting the pool balls up into a perfect triangle at the center of the table. Once they were ready, he gestured for her to go ahead.

She refused with an exaggerated, almost overly generous smile. "Oh, no. Amateurs go first."

He held back a roll of his eyes, leaning over the table. The balls scattered across the surface, and from that point on, he'd play with the cue ball. It was her turn now, and Spencer watched her movements closely.

"I didn't know your story before the FBI job was so fascinating," he remarked, trying to throw her off a little.

They hadn't made any bet, but there was a subtle competitiveness in him now.

She shrugged.

"I don't think it's fascinating. More tragic. Lost dreams."

"Right, sorry for my disregard. What kind of injury was it?"

She paused for a moment, focusing on her next shot. One of the balls sank smoothly into a pocket, and a small smile played on her lips.

"Shoulder," she replied casually. "Sometimes it still acts up. I have to go for regular massages."

"Poor thing," he said, his tone teasing.

Her gaze briefly scanned the entire bar, landing once again on her friend. Nothing seemed to bother her, so she returned to the game.

"We're playing just for fun? Don't you think that's a bit boring?"

"Sorry, I don’t want to bet with you again. Paying off debts with you is never easy."

"Come on. You’re having fun with me” 

"You think so?"

“No. I know it."

She potted another ball, gaining the upper hand. Spencer puffed his lips, deciding to focus more on the game. They both did, though it didn't stop them from continuously exchanging similar comments, remarks, and jabs. And despite the countless huffs and eye rolls, he had to admit, he was really having fun. With her.

And even more fun when he realized he was close to winning.

With a certain satisfaction, he noticed she was watching his moves with more attention, her eyes slightly narrowed with cool competition. As he leaned over the table again, she moved toward him lightly, almost as if tiptoeing. She passed by almost unnoticed. In fact, he only realized how close she was when her breath softly grazed the inside of his ear as she spoke in the voice of a social commentator.

"Ladies and gentlemen, to the surprise of the entire audience, amateur Spencer Reid has managed to take the lead," her whisper was laced with feigned suspense. Of course, he refrained from moving, making sure not to make a mistake from distraction. "Will he manage to win today's tournament?"

He straightened up with a sigh, which made her step back slightly. He gave her a look full of mock pity, and she responded by slowly blinking her eyes, imitating the gaze of an innocent angel.

"I'm pretty sure this counts as sabotage," he remarked.

She raised both hands in the air, as if defending herself against the accusation.

"Hey, I'm not doing anything," she denied, a subtle spark in her eye. She gave a quick nod toward the table. "Come on, finish it."

Spencer, uncertain and sensing she was up to something, tried to refocus. When he found the perfect angle and was about to hit the white ball, something nudged his elbow, causing it to roll in the completely wrong direction.

He directed a look at her, mouth open in indignation.

"This is... this is cheating, pure cheating..."

"No idea what you're talking about!" she shot back. She pretended to be serious, though in an incredibly clumsy way. Her lips kept trembling, trying to form a smile, and she struggled to suppress it. "I didn't do anything. Your hand must have slipped..."

At the sight of the expression on his face, she couldn't hold back anymore and burst into laughter. It mixed with the sound of his incessantly muttered, mildly irritated comments under his breath, which absolutely didn't reach her conscience. In fact, it seemed to only make her feel more smug. Spencer finally gave in, letting out a sigh.

"I demand a fair rematch."

With her arms crossed over her chest, she raised an eyebrow.

"Go ahead, then," she said, grabbing the cue stick again.

Her friend and her date were still deep in conversation, sitting much closer than before, with small smiles on their faces. They didn't seem like they were in any hurry to end the evening. A few new people had arrived at the bar, making it louder, but Spencer didn't even notice. He was completely focused on this small, occupied space between them where they were slowly giving in to the growing rivalry, even though nothing had been wagered. It was probably just about pride.

His opponent was doing everything in her power to make his game harder. He'd abandoned all pretenses of fairness and stood right beside her whenever she leaned over the pool table. He didn't even intend to nudge her—but when he was close, she assumed he would and became incredibly cautious, often elbowing him in the ribs to make space for herself to focus. Despite all of this, they were laughing. He even forgot for a moment that he had planned to spend the evening entirely differently.

They played a few more rounds, each of them winning the same number of games. He announced the next one, but before starting, he briefly disappeared into the bathroom. Simply because, well, he needed to use it.

As he washed his hands, he could hear the hum of conversations, laughter, and music, all muffled by the door. It felt a bit warm, despite the fact that he'd taken off his jacket a while ago. For some reason, he suddenly became self-conscious about how he looked, though he hadn't thought about it at all before. After all, it wasn’t like he was on a date with some woman he was trying to impress. Still, driven by some inner impulse, he fixed his hair and smoothed the fabric of his shirt with his hands, rolling up the sleeves so they wouldn’t get wet while washing. He hesitated for a moment before lowering them again, surprised to sense someone's gaze on him.

The tall man with black hair, a rather sturdy build, and narrow glasses on his nose didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring at him. Spencer wasn’t sure if he should just walk away, but something made him raise an eyebrow skeptically. He had no idea what was going on.

“Do we know each other?” he asked, genuinely considering the possibility.

He couldn’t recall this man from anywhere, which, given his memory, pretty much ruled out the idea.

“No,” the man replied briefly but confidently, still not breaking eye contact. After a moment, he added, “But I know your friend. I know her well.”

Reid stood still for a moment, embarrassingly slow to realize which friend the man was referring to. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that it struck him—this guy had likely been watching their game for a while and was talking about her. Before Spencer could say anything, the man continued.

“Actually, I used to date her. And listen, I’ve got some advice for you. Just give up on her.”

Spencer blinked, trying to process if he’d misheard.

“Beg your pardon...”

“I’m serious, man. Not because I’m jealous or anything like that,” he quickly clarified, raising both hands as if to declare his sincerity. “It’s just simple, you know, guy solidarity. Don’t waste your time.”

He was struck by a strange feeling that his conversation partner had some mistaken idea about their relationship. Besides, even though the man had clarified that he wasn’t jealous, he sure sounded like a jealous ex. Spencer knew he should just laugh it off and walk away. After all, he wasn’t dating her, didn’t intend to, and whatever the guy had to say about her shouldn’t matter. Yet, his legs refused to simply walk away.

Some curiosity, one he couldn’t shake off, took hold of him.

“What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly.

A slight smirk appeared on the man’s face as he noticed he had Spencer’s attention.

“I get that you might see something in her. She’s pretty, you have to give her that. At first, even...kind of charming in her arrogance. But once you get to know her...it’s a strong word, but you need to know, she’s fucking insane.”

The language seemed to twist strangely in his mouth.

“That doesn’t tell me much,” he replied dryly. “I mean, anyone could mean something different by saying fucking insane.”

The man scoffed with a bit of contempt. Spencer was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable with the whole conversation.

“Okay, you’re probably going to deny it and defend her because you like her, I’ve been there, I get it.”

Because I like her? He almost denied it but stopped himself, letting the man continue.

“She’s just insufferable in the long run. She acts like she knows everything, gives orders, always has to have the last damn word. And you know, at first, you think she’s just playing that part. And then she’ll start acting, well, you know…”

Spencer felt the urge to laugh.

“Submissive?” he suggested, the missing word that seemed to want to spill from the man’s mouth.

“Normally. Just normally.”

Something started to smell between them. A distinctive scent. Wounded male ego.

That alone was enough for Spencer to know not to take this conversation seriously. That alone was enough for him to know he could end this conversation whenever he wanted. But before he could take a single step away, he thought about the entire evening he'd spent with her. Everything, from the first message he’d received while still at his apartment.

He counted how many times during their meeting he’d just laughed, having more fun than he’d had in a while. In some unclear way, he felt he owed her that.

“Let me sum this up,” Spencer began, gesturing with his hand and never breaking eye contact with the man. “Because this, in its way, is strange to me. Funny, even, when you think about it.”

The man furrowed his brow, listening. Spencer remained unfazed as he continued.

“First, you met a commanding, confident, and, okay, a little cheeky woman. That didn’t scare you off, though, and you decided you wanted to start a relationship with her. And when it happened, you were surprised she was commanding and cheeky? You know, she doesn’t pretend she’s not like that. You knew what you were getting into.”

"Fine, you know what, this doesn’t make sense," the man sighed. "Do whatever you want. Just remember, I warned you. One day, you’ll be grateful for this."

"Maybe you're right," Spencer admitted, nodding slowly. "It doesn’t make sense."

The man gave him one last look before scoffing and walking away. Reid was left in the bathroom alone, actually reflecting for a moment on the entire conversation. He didn’t think he should have been a part of it at all. The guy must’ve assumed he was interested, or that they were dating. He didn’t have any insight into what their relationship really looked like. In any case, Spencer imagined what it would be like if another guy were in his place. Her actual date. I wonder if a conversation like that would make him turn away, push him away entirely.

After a moment, he concluded that no, it probably wouldn't have. Assuming, of course, that the other guy wasn’t a complete idiot, blindly believing the words of a hurt, maybe even a little jealous ex.

Though, maybe he couldn’t really judge from his position. The position of someone who wasn’t planning on dating her, and who wasn’t interested in her in that way.

He thought for a moment about whether he should tell her about the conversation. He decided against it, not wanting to spoil or ruin the good mood of their evening. Instead, he straightened his hair and, completely unfazed by what he'd just heard, returned to the pool table where she was leaning, clearly growing impatient with his prolonged absence.

"Finally," she hissed at the sight of him. She almost shoved the cue stick into his hand, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "I thought you were trying to escape me. The thought of another loss scared you, huh?"

He paused for a moment, staring at her face—the slightly parted lips, the warm bar light reflecting in her eyes, and the familiar, confident gleam. For a brief moment, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—what did she even see in that guy?

But almost immediately, he dismissed it, considering it none of his business, and took the cue stick from her, ready to start the next game.

[neontiger]

shelter

♡ jason todd x reader

♡ fluffy angst. Jason Todd questions his ability to love and be loved.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

There was a time when you could sleep through the night sounds without stirring - every siren, every shout from the sidewalk, every blaring alarm rolled off your body without so much as a toe twitch.

Nothing was the same anymore. Not since Jason had entered, since you discovered what he did at night, who he was. Now you heard the mice in the walls and the wind on the glass. Always hanging off some precipice, always wondering, asking. Tonight?

Was it worth it? Mostly.

So it's a restless sleep you're pulled from when your phone rings. It jerks you into a sitting position and has your heart punching bruises against your rib cage, your hand reaching to the nightstand to answer before it stops.

One deep breath, to calm your heart, though it doesn't have the desired effect. Your voice still trembles. "Hello?"

"Hey. Did I wake you up?"

Jason sounds the same. His voice is always rougher behind the mask, but the image of him in your head has him without it. Somewhere alone in the darkness of Gotham. You imagine an alley; you don't really know where he goes on these nighttime patrols.

"No," you lie. Your eyes dart to the television, asking if you're still watching? "I was a watching a movie. Where are you?"

He grunts, a noncommittal noise meant to be the answer you're looking for. "I didn't mean to. Sorry."

"It's fine anyway, Jay. I don't mind you waking me." You settle back against the pillows. Habit keeps the spot on the side of the window open for him. "Are you coming over tonight?"

"I don't know."

His words, their tone, wash over you like ice water. Fixing the blanket over your shoulders does nothing. But you don't ask, don't overstep the boundaries he keeps around himself. Don't know how yet.

You're not imagining him right.

Not an alley. He's in an apartment. It's trashed, holes in the fabric of the couch, mold on the walls, trash scattered across the floor. Aside from him, there are two others, a woman and a child. He doesn't know them, but he hurts for them: she's blissed out on some new drug, and the kid's asleep without a care or the knowledge of where the night had taken Jason, or why that even matters to a kid like him. He doesn't know the mistakes that have been made. Not until the sun rises.

He wants to believe it's everything that's happened to him, that's why he's so angry, why he sometimes feels like a million pieces of broken glass trying to fit together again. Why control feels like such a far-off thing, always out of reach. His hands react before the rest of him catch up, and he wants to act like it's everything else - his mother, his father, dying and coming back, Bruce - to blame.

Because if it's on him, then that means he has to be the one to admit it. He has to be the one to fix it.

"Jason." Your voice is soft, like a pillow against his ear. He's woken you up, he knows, and he hates himself for that. He shouldn't have called. Didn't want to talk anyway, but hearing you is fixing something inside him.

"Go back to bed," he says. "I have to take care of some things. You have work tomorrow?"

A little noise, hmm, from your pursed lips. He knows it, makes him smile. The woman nearby moans softly. "Maybe," you say. "Feeling like I might be getting sick, though. Maybe I should skip, just in case."

He's ruining you. Upending your life and throwing it off course, and how undeserving he was of that privilege. This needed an end. It would only get worse from here, and you would end up hating him, or dead.

That thought cuts like a light through the fog. Blinding. Consumes him, swirls in his skull. He looks up at the woman again, and how deserving he is of this scene - of this particular mess he's made, not even considering the kid in the other room who no longer has a father, soon won't have a family at all. Another life destroyed.

Can't destroy yours. This has to end and it has to be now. Better to be hated than speaking at your funeral.

Jason swallows. "I...we need to talk."

"Then come over," you say. "I miss you. I'm worried. You don't sound good."

The words don't come. He's not sure what to say.

"If something happened, you can tell me. Or not, if you're not feeling up to it. I'm not going to act like I understand or I know, like, the shit you do, but you need a space to talk, I'd like to be that space."

Again, he can't answer. He listens not just to your voice but to the sounds you make on the line: the bed complaining as you shift, the rustle of the blanket. And he decides, maybe not yet. Maybe a little longer.

Cruel, that. You deserve more. He can't give it.

"How much longer will you be?" You ask, as if this is the most normal thing.

"Might be morning before I get to you," Jason says. "Don't wait up."

You laugh, and he can't help but smile. "You're not the boss of me. Besides, I don't think I can fall back to sleep. Your fault. I'm not complaining though."

Just a little longer, then he'd figure out a clean break. "Alright. I'll try to be quick."

"Careful over quick, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure." His fingers tighten on his phone. There's words he wants to say but he knows he shouldn't, if only because it will make things worse in the end. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll be waiting. Be careful, Jay. I want you home."

Home. Was that you?

"I will. Go back to sleep," he says, again, for no reason. Bids you goodbye and hangs up finally to deal with the situation in front of him. More lives he's about to ruin.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The sun is shaking sleep from her eyes by the time Jason makes it to you, appearing on your fire escape with a soft thud. The sound pulls you from your show, and you watch his grand entrance: prying open your window and slipping inside, still in uniform, mask and hood concealing his face. You leave the warmth of the bed to help him undress wordlessly, and retrieve from your closet clothes he's left here.

"Sorry I'm late." He tugs on a pair of sweatpants while you catefully arrange his uniform on the armchair by the window.

"Better late than never." You close the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his waist before standing on tiptoes to kiss him. "Tired?"

He nods. "Long night."

That's all he'll tell you, and for now you have no option but to accept it. It's fine.

You wonder what he thinks, as he slips into bed with your, pulls the covers up and you into his arms. What goes through his head. Tonight, he smells like iron and gunpowder, like he does so many nights. Maybe that's part of it; there's things he's done he doesn't want forgiveness for. How do you deal with a man like that? One who sees himself in the most undeserving light?

It's confusing, and there were times to give it up, but those have long passed. Now his future is mapped on yours.

You brush your fingers lightly over the scar that cuts down the center of his abdomen. "I love you, Jason," you whisper, words light kisses to his neck.

He hugs you tighter. He won't say it, and that, too, is fine for now. There is always tomorrow, and there always will be.

In time, sleep will come for you both: you first, then Jason. But for now he lays awake, holding you as your lips part and eyes close, your body relaxing into exhaustion again. He thinks about too many things. Can't calm his thoughts.

But maybe there is tomorrow. Maybe for now, you can be his home.

[esmeefreckles]

May i request a g!p aitana x reader

Where reader has been in life with aitana for a long time constantly flirted with aitana but aitana is oblivious and has not made a move on reader but reader gets g!p aitana's attention by whispering dirty things to aitana during a game it works cause they end up having very hot passionate sex at the end g!p aitana ask reader to be her girlfriend the next day they walk in to the training to teasing from mapi , alexia and patri

Ps reader is a striker for barca

Also hope this is ok I have a few positions that I'd like to have in the sex part of the fic

Reverse cowgirl

Doggystyle

Hope this is ok sorry I just thought I'd help by being a bit specific

Yours | Aitana Bonmati G!P x reader

+18 SMUT MINORS DNI

DOGGY STYLE. COWGIRL POSITION. BLOW JOBS. VAGINAL FINGERING. CUNNILINGUS. CREAMPIE. G!P.

A/N: A huge thank you to @softidiotsposts for being the beta reader and helping me so much with this fic.

You weren’t sure when exactly it had started. The lingering glances, the teasing remarks and the way your touches lasted a second too long. Maybe it had always been this way with Aitana but somewhere along the way, your harmless flirting had turned into something more.

And yet, Aitana never took the hint.

It had become a running joke within the team, how you shamelessly flirted with Aitana, and how she either ignored it or remained blissfully unaware. Patri once told you that Aitana was either the most oblivious person on earth or she was purposefully ignoring it. You didn’t know which one was worse.

But today, you were done waiting.

From the moment the whistle blew, you played with purpose. Not just to win the match, but for something else entirely. Every time you passed Aitana, you brushed against her just enough to make her notice. A hand on the small of her back, fingertips grazing her arm longer than necessary, subtle but deliberate.

Then you took it a step further.

“You look good today,” you murmured as you jogged past her after a quick combination play.

Aitana barely reacted, only raising a brow as she focused on the game.  Fine. You could push further.

The next time you were close, you leaned in. “Bet you’d look even better underneath me.”

That did it.

Aitana faltered for a second, her first touch off, and you smirked, “Focus, bonita.”

You could feel her eyes on you after that. Her gaze lingered a shift in the air between you both but Aitana was stubborn. If you knew her as well as you thought, she wasn’t going to let you win that easily.

And you were right.

The next time she passed by, she leaned in, her breath warm against your neck, “You talk a lot for someone who hasn’t done anything about it. Also, you will be the one getting under me.”

It was your turn to freeze.

Aitana smirked and darted away, back in position before you could retaliate.

A challenge.

The second you were both alone, everything snapped into place, like it was meant to be.

You barely had time to turn around before Aitana was on you, backing you into the nearest wall, her fingers gripping the front of your jersey. Your breath came out in a sharp exhale, but you didn’t move away. 

“Took you long enough,” you murmured, your voice lower than usual.

That was all Aitana needed.

Aitana’s lips crashed onto yours, not bothering with anything soft or slow. It was desperate, years of pent-up tension spilling over at once. You responded immediately, your hands tangling in Aitana’s jersey as you pulled you impossibly closer.

Aitana groaned against your mouth, pressing you further into the wall, her fingers sliding down to grip your waist. You gasped into the kiss, and Aitana took advantage, deepening it and biting at your bottom lip just to hear the soft sound you made in response to her actions.

You weren't passive, though. You tugged at Aitana’s jersey, nails scratching lightly against her skin, making Aitana shiver. Then, in a move Aitana wasn't expecting, you flipped her, pressing her back against the wall instead.

Aitana’s breath hitched as you leaned in, your lips just barely brushing hers.

“What was it you said earlier?” you teased, “Something about having me underneath you?”

Aitana let out a low laugh, fingers gripping the back of your neck as she pulled you closer. 

“Don’t worry, bonita,” Aitana whispered, lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make good on that promise.”

And with that, she flipped the control back, pressing you into the wall once again, this time with no intention of stopping but reality hit quicker than you’d like it to. You both weren’t exactly in the best place for what you had in mind.

Breathless, Aitana pulled back slightly, searching your eyes, “Come home with me,” she murmured, her thumb brushing against your swollen lips.

You didn’t hesitate, “Drive fast.”

You both barely made it out of the facility without losing control again. The walk to Aitana’s car was filled with stolen touches and hurried kisses and Aitana briefly pushing you against the vehicle just for one more taste. Your hands were all over each other, bodies pressed together as if you couldn’t stand the space between.

Aitana fumbled with the keys, cursing when she struggled to unlock the door and you only laughed, nipping at her jaw before slipping into the passenger seat.

The second Aitana got in and started the car, you leaned over, your hand sliding dangerously high up her thigh, sliding over her soft skin with eager touches.

 “Hope you can focus,” you mused, voice dripping with amusement.

Aitana shot you a glare whilst she shifted gears. 

“I’ll show you focus,” she muttered, gripping the wheel tighter as she sped off toward her place.

The moment the doors to the house were closed behind the two of you, Aitana was on you. Her lips, a hungry bloom of desire, crashed against yours with a ferocity that stole the breath from your lungs. Aitana’s hands, instinctively possessive, found their way to your ass, squeezing and kneading the firm flesh beneath the fabric of your pants. 

The kiss deepened, becoming desperate and clothes were shed with a frantic urgency, leaving you standing before Aitana in nothing but your panties. Aitana sprawled across the sofa and watched you with a predatory gleam in her eyes, her gaze tracing the curves of your body with an intensity that made you shiver.

 You took a slow, deliberate step towards Aitana, tilting your head with an air of innocent curiosity as you leaned in close, your breath ghosting over her ear. Practically the picture of sweet, unadulterated temptation as you crawled on your hands and knees towards her. 

"Mmmmm, I wonder what you've got hiding?" you purred, your fingers tracing the burgeoning bulge in Aitana's pants. Her breath hitched, a small, involuntary sound that fueled your desire.With a swift motion, you unzipped Aitana’s trousers and you grinned, your eyes darkened with lust, as you licked your lips, savoring the anticipation. 

You grasped her erection, teasing the sensitive tip with your tongue, circling it slowly, deliberately, before taking the entire length into your mouth. You bobbed your head, savoring the taste, sweet, intoxicating, a flavor that was uniquely Aitana. She moaned, her hands tangling in your hair, urging you on. Her body aching with need, her hips bucking instinctively into your mouth.

"Bonita... that feels... mmmm..." Aitana groaned, her voice thick with pleasure, her eyes half-lidded with desire.

You paused, pulling back just as Aitana was about to cum, leaving her breathless and wanting, body trembling with unfulfilled desire.

 "Not yet," you smirked, "I want you to come three times before I'm satisfied."

You crawl further up the sofa to present your ass to Aitana in a silent offering. Her eyes widened, and she couldn't resist stroking herself as her fingers tracing the curve of your hip, her touch sending shivers down your spine.

"I love that ass," Aitana breathed, her voice husky with desire as her gaze lingering on the curve of your spine.

"I want you to pound me really hard, please," you requested.

Aitana didn't hesitate. She plunged into you, filling you completely, stretching you to your limits with her cock. hot, throbbing presence inside you. A gasp escaped your lips, a mixture of pain and pleasure, and your moans echoed through the room.

"You're so fucking tight!" Aitana exclaimed through a moan, her hands gripping your hips hard. 

You were sure that there would be purple finger marks on you later. Not that you cared. 

"Aitana.. fuck," you moaned, arching your back as Aitana found your sweet spot with her  thrusts. Hitting that perfect, sensitive point that sends waves of pleasure through your body.

Aitana kept pounding into you with a relentless rhythm that you wanted, her thrusts deep and powerful. You moaned and screamed with pleasure, your body writhing beneath her and your cries echoing through the room. Aitana's hands slapped and squeezed your ass cheeks, driving you wild and pushing you ever so closer and closer to the edge every second that passed.

"Your ass is hot as hell. I don't want to ever stop!" Aitana groaned, her voice thick with lust.

"Keep fucking me until you can't anymore," you urged your voice a desperate plea.

Aitana increased her pace, pounding into you like a jackhammer, her thrusts becoming faster and harder even more desperate than before. You were both close to the edge, you could feel it. The tension coiling and snapping.

"S-shit! Bonita... I can't hold it much longer!" Aitana cried out, her voice strained with the effort, her body trembling with the force of her thrusts.

"Pull out and spread it all over my ass!" you instructed, your voice clear.

Aitana complied, pulling out just in time, her cock slick with your wetness. Aitana stroked herself rapidly, while you rubbed your clit, both of you reaching your peak nearly at the same time, filling the room with both your moans and cries.

"Oh! Fuck! Here it comes!" Aitana exploded, covering your ass and back with her cum, her seed a thick, sticky blanket. A mark of her possession over you. You came soon after that, your own orgasm, leaving you breathless and weak.

"Do you want more?" Aitana asked, her voice laced with a seductive purr, her eyes dark with desire, her gaze lingering on your flushed skin.

"Please, Aitana, more," you begged with a needy voice.

Aitana flopped onto her back. Then spread her legs, her body open and inviting, a silent offering for you to do as you please. 

WIth a smirk you sat on her lap and positioned her cock at your entrance, the anticipation building with each passing second. Then, with a shared hungry kiss, you slid down onto her. Taking her deeper than before, filling yourself with her cock. 

The pace was hard and fast, and you rubbed your clit furiously with loud moans, seeking that extra edge of pleasure to push yourself closer to the edge.

"Aitana I’m going to cum!" you cried, as you squirted over her cock, your fluids mingling with hers making a sticky mess all over the sofa and the two of you.

Aitana's thrusts became even more intense and then she pulled out before licking her lips.  Savoring the taste of your tongue on her own and you watched as her eyes darkened with hunger. 

"Why did you...." you started but Aitana cut you off, diving between your legs. Her tongue is hot against your clit, the wet touch sending jolts down your spine.

You screamed, your body arching, your hips bucking into her face and your cries echoing through the room.

"Aitana, fuck, that feels so fucking good!"

Aitana then added two fingers to the mix, pumping them in and out while her tongue worked its magic. She was teasing and tormenting you until you came undone, your fluids spraying across her face and mouth making her face a mess. 

After a little breather for the both of you to recover, Aitana smirked, "Ready?" 

Then she slide back inside you, her cock stretched you wide, filling you completely. You shifted, turning to straddle her, giving her your back.

You sat up, your spine straight and began to ride her, your movements fluid, graceful and you controlled the pace and the depth of each thrust. Letting you feel the slick heat of her cock sliding in and out of you. 

You leaned slightly forward, placing your hands on your own thighs for balance, feeling the rhythmic bounce. You ground your hips back onto her, feeling Aitana’s cock push deeper. Then you lift yourself up to feel the stretch and search for more friction. 

You could feel Aitana’s hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. Her moans echoing through the room, filling it completely. Your movements are fluid, your hips rotating in wide as you lean back slightly, arching your back to feel the full stretch. Then leaning forward, grinding down on Aitana to feel the deep, satisfying pressure of her cock inside you with the addition of satisfying friction.  

“Please," Aitana whispered, her voice barely audible because your moans mixed with her own filled the room, “Look at me, so I can see your face when you cum."

You shifted and turned around on her cock to face Aitana. The scent of her sweet perfume and sweat filling your senses and with a slow movement looked Aitana straight into her eyes. The lust and pleasure apparent in your eyes as you hold her gaze.

"You're so fucking hot," Aitana groaned, her eyes locked on yours, her voice thick with lust.

You leaned down to kiss her deeply, your movements becoming more frantic. Even more desperate, more demanding, making it clear that you were both on the edge.

"I'm gonna cum!" Aitana cried out, her voice strained with the effort, her body trembling with the force of her orgasm.

With one final powerful thrust, Aitana came, filling you with her cum and pleasure washed over you both. You followed soon after, your own orgasm leaving you completely drained and breathless but utterly satisfied.

"Oh fuck. That's so hot!" Aitana smirked, watching as her cum dripped from your pussy, making an even bigger mess on the couch. 

After a little aftercare and make-out session, you both decided to clean up. The cool water was a welcome contrast to the heat of your bodies as you washed off the damages. Then, after a relaxing shower, you moved to bed to cuddle again, letting the silence be filled with unspoken words and lingering touches.

"You're pretty good," Aitana murmured, her voice soft and content, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"You're not so bad yourself," you replied.

"Hey... so- umm..." Aitana began a nervous edge to her voice, her fingers hesitating on your skin and her gaze searching yours.

"What is it?" you asked, turning to face her, your eyes filled with warmth.

"Will you go out with me?" Aitana asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was a clear vulnerability in her eyes.

 "I mean, you don't have to or anything- But I really like you… and I would like to have a chance to get to know you better. Unless you don't want to! That's totally cool too..." She rambled, a nervous energy filling the space between you before you cut her off with a soft kiss.

Pulling back, you smiled softly, "Aitana, please breathe," 

You chuckle softly, your fingers tracing the line of her jaw. "I like you too… and I would love to go out with you."

Aitana's face lit up, her eyes sparkling with joy, and she leaned in for another kiss. Somewhere along the way, the kiss deepened and became more passionate, more meaningful. You shifted closer, your bodies pressed together. The warmth of Aitana’s skin against your own comforting presence. 

Your fingers traced the lines of her body, exploring the curves and hollows,memorizing the feel of her beneath your touch While Aitana’s own fingers mirrored yours. Taking liberty in exploring your body and making her touches send shivers down your spine with soft smirks and smiles.

The weight of the world seemed to fade away in that moment, as if it had never existent. Leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of your bodies. As the night deepened, you drifted off to sleep, your bodies entwined, your breaths mingling, the scent of your shared passion lingering in the air. 

The city lights twinkled outside the window, casting a soft glow across the room, and illuminating the peaceful expressions on your faces as you slept intertwined together. You were safe, you were together and for a moment, nothing else mattered. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The crisp morning air nipped at your cheeks as you walked alongside Aitana, the familiar centre looming ahead. 

Training. 

Just another day, right? Except, it wasn't. 

Not with the way Aitana's hand occasionally grazed yours. Not with the quiet shared smiles that she’d shoot you and that you’d reciprocate. It felt like walking on a tightrope, exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

"Ready?" you whispered, squeezing Aitana’s hand gently.

Aitana gave a nervous laugh, "As ready as I'll ever be. They're going to have a field day."

And she was right.

The moment you crossed the doors of the training grounds, Mapi's voice rang out, amplified by the echoing space. Making cut through the quiet of the morning,

"Buenos días, lovebirds!".

Alexia was leaning against a goal post, smirking with a knowing expression,

"So, should we start placing bets on how long it took for Aitana to finally catch on? Or was it a blindside attack?"

Patri draped an arm around Aitana's shoulders, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "Or better yet, how many times did she have to explain to Aitana that she liked her too. I'm picturing a dramatic, knee-on-the-ground, floral-bouquet-in-hand situation."

Aitana groaned, burying her face in her hands, "Please, just… stop."

You chuckled, wrapping an arm around Aitana's waist and pulling her closer to your side,

"Jealous, are we? I'd say the begging was mutual, but who cares?"

Patri gasped, feigning offense, "Por favor, as if any of us could handle Aitana's newfound confidence. She used to blush if someone looked at her funny!"

Mapi grinned then wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at the two of you,

 "You both do look… very well-rested. Did someone get a good night's sleep?"

Aitana mumbled something unintelligible under her breath then her cheeks flushed crimson,

"Shut up, Mapi."

"Oh, come on, Aitana," Alexia said, pushing herself off the goal and walking over. 

"We're just happy for you two. Though, I did have my money on you making the first move."

"She was too busy pretending to be oblivious," you retorted, playfully nudging Aitana.

"Hey!" Aitana protested, swatting your arm, but a smile played on her lips, "I wasn't pretending!"

"Sure, you weren't," you teased, your heart swelling with affection, "You were just… strategically slow."

The banter continued as training did. The teasing lighthearted and warm as the laughter echoed around the training grounds, only one thought resonated clearly. Finally, Aitana was yours, and you were hers and everyone knew it.

[yamysunmoon]

We shouldn't

Pairing: Jenna x fem!reader

Summary: You run a very successful company, all eyes are on you. No one could imagine such a focused woman could be so easily distracted by her beautiful secretary.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: semi-public sex, sub!jenna, dom!reader, strap-on!reader, begging, some hair pulling.

MASTERLIST

Running a successful company is as fulfilling as time-consuming. You've had a couple of extremely busy months, going from meeting to meeting, to events abroad, to some more meetings; and although you can finally see all the hard work paying off, you're starting to feel burnt out.

It's a crucial moment for your corporation, you know you have to keep it together and go through this tough time.

That's why you hate that your body has other plans.

She is the most beautiful criature you have ever seen. She is graceful, elegant, captivating... She is a distraction, she is trouble.

You shake your head trying to dissmiss these alluring thoughts. You close your laptop with a dry thud.

Propping yourself on your elbow of your desk's office as you rest your chin on your hand, you look through the large window mindlessly.

It all started half a year ago, before the business started to go this well. You were less busy back then, and maybe not this earnest.

She was always so enciting, so ready to take you.

She never took in the power gap, and after some months working for you, she started to dress up to go to work, swagging her hips everytime she came into your office to remind you of some meeting, hand over important documents, or any excuse she could come up with to show off.

She was always so sure of herself, confident enough to tempt you even when you weren't obvious about your intentions. Later on, after numerous encounters, she teased you stating you were more blatant than you thought.

She was probably right. Now, staring at the sky, you can conjure up the mental picture of her exposed legs each time she walked into your office with a cute little dress; how smooth her hands would feel when they grazed yours briefly as she handed over some important file; how your gaze would linger on her body longer than the appropiate amount of time—

You sigh as you recall how she'd smirk at you each time she catched you, a knowing smile tugging at her plump lips glazed in some reddish lipgloss you'd smudge later.

You stand up, walking towards the window as memories flash in your head.

Her in all fours, you tossing her hair to a side so that you could admire her beautiful back arched for you.

Her looking at you over her shoulder, a smug smirk on her lips, you fucking her bratty attitude out of her.

Her fingers scrambling for something to hold onto and loud wails coming out of her throat as you rammed her.

Her sinking onto her knees, peeking up at you with those doe, pleading eyes, yearn gleaming in them.

She would beg for your domineering touch, for you to pound into her. She would stare at you and ask for the nastiest things with that pretty little mouth of her. Such beautiful lips confessing such obscene wishes.

She knew she shouldn't,

that's why she wanted it so much.

At the end of the day, you knew she was all bark and no bite. She loved to provoke you, to test your limits; the limits of your relationship too.

She wanted to dare you, all the time. Her eyes would sparkle with mischief everytime a new dirty idea popped up in her mind. She would stand there, one hand splayed out on the desk, the other on her hip; she'd cross her legs in that sultry way she knew drove you insane.

You look over your shoulder, glancing at your desk, picturing her.

She would stare at you. Oh, that stare meant trouble. She would arch one eyebrow, her deep brown eyes giving you her undivided attention, you could almost see yourself in them. She would look at you through her eyelashes, batting them like a beautiful bird seducing a mate. And damn were you down for it.

She couldn't care less if somewhere else was in the room, rambling about a co-worker or planning the next presentation with you. She never cared. She would just walk in, hand you a paper, give you that stare, that pose, and then walk away knowing you couldn't stop thinking about her until the end of the meeting.

You run your hand over your mouth and face in frustration, trying to stay present.

It's been months since you last had her. It's getting strenuous.

Doesn't matter how rough the day has been, how exhausted you are. The moment you launch onto your bed, she's the one thing in your mind.

The responsabilities and pressures of your work fade away, and your mind fills with memories of her, thoughts of her, the wish of her.

And you let her consume you, every night. You find yourself letting go in your fervish dream, imagining her in your bed, her hands on you touching you just like you touch yourself. Her soft, ardent hands.

Then you squeeze your eyes shut and stifle loud whimpers, feeling your own release coating your fingers, instead of her addictive warmth all over your hand. And you groan in frustration, the haze dies away and your mind resumes with its usual calculation of your next day to-do list.

Each and every night you find yourself in this situation. Hands on yourself, bed without her.

You snort, hot air leaving your lips as you sit back on your desk chair. You shake your head, dissapointed with yourself. Out of all the topics that could be bothering you, how can you be this upsted about—

The sound of the door opening makes you dart up your eyes, and who you find leaning against the doorframe makes your breath hitch.

"Morning, boss" she greets with her usual playful voice. "New files came from the marketing department. They need your thumbs-up."

You need a couple of seconds you register her words, as her outfit blows you away.

She's wearing a fitted white sweater, combined with a long leather-brown skirt and akin jacket. Her lips are full, glazed in a matte crimson lipstick and her fresh new cherry cola dyed hair shines under the bright light of your office.

She doesn't wait for your verbal reaction; she's got everything she wanted from you with that ajar mouth and wide eyes you're giving her.

She chuckles to herself, lightly, as she walks over making sure she leaves the door shut behind her.

She approaches swagging her hips in that specific way, making her look surreal, like she's floating and you're just a mere mortal lucky enough to testify the majesty of her movements.

Your gaze slides up her body, soon meeting her usual self-satisfied expression. She's looking at you through her square-red-glasses, which you find as cute as they are sexy.

She stands in front of you, thighs grazing the edge of the desk through her skirt. She tilts her head up slightly, now waiting for a response.

You blink twice and shake your head a little pushing away the dirty thoughts about her skirt, glasses, hair.

"Okay" you dryly say, keeping it proffesional and extending your hand.

She hands you the papers, narrowing her eyes. "Is everything okay?" Her head remains tilted, eyes glimmering with suspicion.

You mirror her expression, and your voice comes out lower, warning. "I know what you're doing." You shamelessly check her out.

She pauses, then let's out a sarcastic laugh. "Oh yeah? What is it, that I'm doing?" she coos, stepping one leg over the other.

You toss aside the papers and gaze at her, silent.

There's a tension in the air, in the way you're sat with your forearms on the table, fingers interwined; in the way she's standing before you, still, waiting for your next move.

"Not here" you threaten, a hint of scold in your voice.

The smirk comes back to her lips, knowing she's pushing your buttons. She places her hands behind her back and leans forward playfully.

"Since when did you become such a prude?"

You clench your jaw, eyes darkening. Her smirk grows wider; she's not afraid of you, not afraid of what she might loose if she keeps playing. She's not afraid of anything, apparently.

You stand up abruptly, you can tell you catch her off guard as her eyelids flutter at the sudden movement.

You creep up on her, hovering around her, your shoes clacking quietly against the floor.

You stand right behind her, your arm grazing her ribs as you lean closer. "We could get caught up" you whisper, hot air fanning the back of her ear.

You look down noticing how she plays with her hands nervously. "I don't mind" she says rebellious; but there's a trembling in her voice.

You smirk smugly. "Oh, is that right?" you challenge. "You don't mind if I don't lock the door and just bend you over this desk and fuck you senseless?" you hiss, lips hovering behind her earlobe.

She fidgets, bringing her hands to her front. She's grasping onto herself, already gasping quietly just with the thought of what you have just described, the vivid image taking shape in her head.

She dares to turn her head a little, feeling your defiant stare on her profile. "What if I say I don't? What if I say I truly don't mind?"

"You'd be lying."

"I wouldn't."

"Prove it."

She freezes, then looks at you over her shoulder properly. She raises her eyebrows, incredulous.

You arch an eyebrow in response, waiting for her answer. She swallows hard, and then you see it. There it is. The surrender.

Slowly, you reach up to her chin and make her look to the front. She obliges, not a single question leaves her lips.

She lets her hands fall to her sides, and wiggles her shoulders slightly making the jacket slide off her arms. You help her take it off, and then place it carefully on the desk in front of her. She frowns confused by your actions, but remains silent.

She knows this is a ritual of yours; setting it all up. She knows what's about to happen, and the last thing she wants to do is to make you reconsider. She can't afford your doubt right now— she's been waiting for this for months.

You walk your hands down her arms covered in that sweater, and you wish you could undress her completely right now. "I miss your naked body" you mutter, rubbing the side of her neck softly with the tip on your nose, inhaling her scent.

She closes her eyes and sighs, you feel her body relaxing, shoulders falling, meek.

"I miss taking my clothes off for you" she whispers back, desperation tainting her words.

For a brief moment, heavy breathing is all that fills the room. You both can hear the chaos outside, people all over the 16th floor working in tandem, giving their all for this company. Anyone could knock at the door at any given moment, because not a single decision is taken without your agreement to it.

"Please" she adds, fully giving in. "I need it. I'll do anything."

They all need you all the time. But right now, in this moment, all you need is her.

Your hand on her chin reaches back to her back, splaying out between her blades.

"Bend over" you say quietly, your voice low and rough, although there's a hint of patience too. A relaxed calm; control.

Patience she does not have, as she complies eagerly bending over the desk. She now understands why you placed the jacket there, as she turns her head and rests her cheek on it; its cool fabric refreshing her torso through her sweater.

You run your hand through her back, down to her lower back. You wish you could take your time with her, drive her insane before you give her the pleasure of feeling you. But there's not much time. You were serious about your bet— you're not gonna lock the door.

"I'm not planning on being gentle" you warn once again.

She arches her back slightly, lifting up her backside for you.

"I don't want you to" she challenges, her voice trembling and thick with anticipation.

You slide your fingers lower, tracing her buttcrack "You sure?" you tease, your voice low and playful, mocking.

She shudders in exhasperation. "Yes. Fuck, yes" she pants, wiggling her hips impatiently. You can feel her body getting stiff; holding back from moving more.

You hear more movement outside; tumult.

"I hate it when you make me do it like this" you hiss, grabbing the hem of her skirt and pulling it up. "All fast and sloppy."

She lifts her hips eagerly, her skirt rigged up her waist. "Yeah, sure" she says sarcastically, a dark chuckle escaping her lips. "As if you don't love to fuck me like this— FUCK"

You interrupt her banter, earning a sharp stifled squeal, by pulling aside her thong and sliding a finger inside her dexterously.

She moans your name in a surprised whine. "You motherfuck—"

She interrupts herself again, bringing a hand to her mouth to keep herself quiet. You groan in approval, "that's right" you growl.

Her arousal is all over your finger, inner walls clenching greedily around you as the drenched warmth covers your skin. You can't even begin to imagine how much she's waited for this, how long she had been fantasizing about this before walking into your office.

God, you've missed this.

It doesn't take long for you to start thrusting. She takes each thrust willingly, pulling back to take you deeper. Her breathing gets heavier, she's drooling onto her hand and down to her jacket.

You bring your other hand to her hair, first stroking ever so softly, then grabbing a fistful of it and pulling back, making her lift her chin.

A muffled whine escapes her lips, she flutters her eyes shut in bliss.

"Love the new color, by the way" you tease lowly, plunging harder into her.

She groans, rolling her hips hungrily. She withdraws her hand briefly, "more" she half commands, half pleas.

You pause deep inside her, tapping at that spot that makes her see stars. "Say that again" you demand.

She shivers, choking high-pitched moans that die in her throat.

"More" she says gentler, "Please, more."

You grin. "That's better" you praise. Then, you slowly pull out only to add a second finger that she accomodates immediately.

She gasps loudly, her inner walls pulse around you. She hisses a soft 'thank you' that makes you smirk.

"Oh you're welcome, princess" you coo lowly, resuming with the shoves.

She snaps her head onto the desk, taking each and every thrust with renewed vigor, following your pace obediently. Each time you push forward, she leans back hard. So hard, that she notices something bulging under your suitpants.

She looks at you over her right shoulder, eyes wide and lips parted as she pants out, "are you wearing it?"

Your gaze blazes into hers. "Yeah" you whisper breathless.

Sometimes you like to wear it just because. It makes you feel even more powerful than you already are.

She lets out a trembling, longing sigh. She throws her head onto her jacket again, her hands grasping onto the fabric. The rustling noise of leather mixed with her pleading sighs send a shiver down your spine.

"Please..." she begs misserably, her thin voice muffled against the desk. "Put it in... I can take it, you know I can."

Your thrusts turn slower, thoroughful; as you try to think

But the sight of her, bent over like this for you, sinking in desire, pleading like this, sounding like this –weak voice eventhough her words still carry her usual brattiness– it's all just too much to bear.

You pull out roughly, earning a sharp cry of hers. Her legs shake with unspent desire, she still manages to stand still, ready for you.

You stare at her exposed flesh as you unhook your belt, the ting of the steel tickling her ears, a warm tingling spreading through her cunt.

"I don't have any lube" you murmur, using her own arousal coating your fingers to moisten the tip of the strap.

"I think I can take care of that" she says smuggly, yet breathless. You chuckle darkly, always blown away by her ability to remain snide.

She's not lying, though. Her folds are glistening with arousal, juices dripping down her inner thighs. You reach down, spreading her wetness, then covering the shaft with it, stroking firmly.

She quivers at the sound of it all and whines in complain.

"I know, I know..." you murmur soothingly, pressing the tip against her entrance, her thong tossed aside carelessly in a way that makes her backside look even more full and rich.

She pulls back greedily, her patience too far gone. She takes you easily, the toy slamming roughly deep inside her before you can even register it.

She arches her back and moans loudly, you quickly silence her by putting you palm over her mouth. She bites hard, her sounds making your hand vibrate.

You start rolling your hips, pounding into her steadily in a growing motion.

She cries out, arching her back further beautifully, you feel the need to caress it tenderly, a sharp contrast to how hard you're taking her.

She might have a big mouth, but one thing she doesn't do is lie. She always complies. She was right; she can take it. Sure she does.

You start ramming even harder, toy buried to the hint with each shove as the wet sound of flesh against flesh fills the room.

Her muffled high-pitched moans are scrumptious, stirr you up and motivate you to bump harder, faster, rougher.

"More, more, more" she implores through shaky, breathy moans, her plump lips brushing the palm of your hand, teeth sinking into your skin as she desperately tries to remind quiet. You can feel the drool falling down her chin, her throat reverberating under your touch. Her glasses are smashed against her face as she bounces erratically, eyes squeezed shut, tilting her head.

Your hips move frantically, bumping into her for all she's worth, her juices glistening around the shaft. She's soaking for you, making it slide in a clean way that makes the both of you feel shattered.

Your hand snakes down from her lower back to her backside. You hook a finger on her thong and tug at it teasingly, she whines against your hand.

Then you let go of it, making it darn against her skin. She jolts, whimpering onto your hand; but her back archs with enthusiasm.

This makes you grin, amused by her reaction. "You really can take it all, huh?" you breath out, sliding your hand lower. "Such a champ... Deserves a prize."

She squirms and writhes as soon as your fingers make contact with her neglected, throbbing clit. It's swollen and damp. She's drenched, it's all over her.

"Fuck, you're beautiful" you murmur, winded. Your words make her moan in bliss and profound pleasure, jerking back against you.

She bites your palm harder now, hips swagging with wanton abandon, hands splayed out on her sides, holding herself as she takes you anxiously. You've never seen her like this before, so avid of you, so itchy. But you couldn't love it more.

Her body goes rigid, hips still rolling, tip of your toy rubbing her G-spot deftly, base slamming onto her outer pussylips, fingers circling her clit just in the right way.

You're hitting all the right spots, and although she'd like to edge longer, to prove you how good she is, how good she can be for you, this time she has to let go of her pride and simply relent.

Her body shakes violently, writhing in pure rapture as she cums hard on your cock, juices gushing out of her, down her inner thighs freely.

Her muffled sounds die in your hand as she cries out in unbridled pleasure, riding back onto you wave after wave of deep delight.

She collapses onto the desk with a final, trembling, content sigh; loosening her grip on your palm to replace it with thankful, sated kisses.

You give her some last thrusts before you finally pull out of her, and you're still caressing her sensitive nub. "You're so good" you coo tenderly.

You slowly slide up your hand, earning a soft whimper from her. "Not enough?" you tease smirking.

She manages to glance at you over her shoulder, and she's about to respond when a soft thud interrupts her.

Someone is knocking the door.

You step back from her, you two looking around trying to figure out what to do.

"Boss?" the muffled voice of Enrique comes through the door.

She's barely standing up, jelly legs can't allow her to walk out the door just casually, feidging you two just had a chat.

"Are you there?" He knocks again.

"Quickly, under the desk" you hiss, gabbing her jacket with one hand pulling up your pants with the other, not quite managing to put the strap away. You approach the chair sit there casually, leaving some room for her to crawl under the desk.

"Are you kidding?" She hisses back. But Enrique knocks insistently.

"Two seconds please!" You shout to the door, then look at her intently, raising your eyebrows.

She pouts narrowing her eyes. "Okay, okay" she grumbles, crawling there.

"Sorry, boss" he says, finally steping in without permission, just when Jenna finally hides. "I needed to check, did you get the new files from Marketing? They're going insane over there, John says he's quitting if you don't approve this new version."

You freeze momentarily, staring at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

He waits, then nods slowly. "Ma'am?" He tries again.

What he doesn't know is that Jenna has just grabbed the shaft between her fingers, and is stroking it slowly, teasingly.

You blink several times and shake your head briefly. "Yeah yeah yeah" you gabble, "Yeah I got it. I'll take a look as soon as—"

You choke a gasp, quickly feidging like your coughing. Your eyes flicker down just for a hot second, catching the image of Jenna staring at you from under the desk, sticking out her tongue and swirling it playfully over the tip.

"As soon as...?"

Your eyes snap up back at him.

"As soon as you leave my damned office, Enrique" you say in a thick voice; a tone you would never use with your employees if not to cover up yourself.

He frowns, noticing your odd behavior. "Whatever..." he murmurs. He's about to shut the door when he stops himself again.

"By the way, have you seen Jenna? She left her position like 40 minutes ago."

Your lips curl down at the corners and you scoot up your eyebrows, performing the role of your life. "I have absolutely no— idea" you manage to groan, she gives the toy a long lick as you speak.

You cough again.

Profusely.

Enrique senses something's up, but he genuinely couldn't care less.

"Are you planning on renewing her contract? Human Resources is already working on the soon-to-expire contracts."

You inhale deeply, pinching your nose. Now that your hand covers your eyes, you glance at her again. She's staring at you with a smirk and the shaft of the toy pressed against her jawline.

"Yeah" you look at him. "No complains. She seems like a good girl" you try to hide the sly smile that threatens to embellish your lips.

Enrique shrugs, indifferent. "Yeah, I guess..." he finally shuts the door.

You let out a deep sigh, leaning back onto the chair. "Fucking hell that was close" you mutter, glancing down.

She gives the toy a final lap before spreading your legs and standing up between them.

"Yeah, someone was definitely close" she needles you, pocking your forehead with a sharp crimson nail.

You offer her a grin, your eyes dizzling and scheming. "Sure..."

A soft chuckle dies behind her pressed-together lips, "Stubborn bitch..." She mutters, attempting to get off you, fixing her skirt.

"Uh-huh..." You purr, sliding your hands under the fabric. You grab the strands of the thong and pull it down. "I'm gonna keep this" you hum, capturing it in a firm fist.

There's a sparkle of excitement across her eyes as she looks at you, one corner of her lips curling up in delighted agreement.

She's not gonna give herself away, though. She huffs and shakes her head, as if what you just did doesn't make her want to ride you right now.

She grabs her jacket and puts it on casually, she pulls her skirt down as she walks towards the door, ready to leave you with intact confidence as if minutes ago she wasn't pleading you to ravish her.

"Hey" you call her, propping your elbow on the desk as you rest your chin on your hand.

She pauses and turns around, looking at you as she casually wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Let me take you to dinner tonight." You play with the thong between your fingers.

Her gaze softens, and she dedicates you one of her warmest smiles, teeth and all. One of those that you hadn't seen for months. She fixes her glasses.

"Okay" she nods.

You both pause, eyes locking with calmness, with trust.

"We can't do this again, okay? I'm serious."

She nods again, but this time in mockery. "Yeah, sure. No way."

Taglist: @bella423

[car-o-line]

Oh boy uhm. Really nervous to ask this

First of all, I've recently started following you and I just have to say, I love your work. Everytime I read your posts it has me giggling and kicking my goofy little feet in the air./pos /gen

I was wondering if you could write about what if Doey and his 3 consciousness would do with a blind player /w broken glasses (Their vision is shit and can only make out things if they're REALLY close to their face 💔)

It's completely fine if you don't want to do this or don't have the time, just dropping down a small request :3

AHJBHEJFGWQKJBHKFER, ahem, thank you omg ur so sweet- and also this came to me at the right time because my vision is also ass but I refuse to wear glasses so shhh🤫🤫🤫 AND DO NOT BE NERVOUS ABOUT REQUESTING I DON’T BITE, PINKY SWEAR😤

Doey with a reader whose vision is bad bad 👓🤏😐

You honestly had no idea how you’ve made it this far-

From using your grab pack to grab handles that seem just like a glowing color, to reaching for batteries that seem like a speck of dust, and even not knowing that you killed monsters(you didn’t even realize Catnap died until Poppy told you herself)

Speaking of Miss Wendy’s head, she also has no clue how you came such a long way. But she figured that if you could manage to do all of this without good vision, the things you could do with perfect vision would be unimaginable in a place like this.

Either way you survived and you did the job, that’s all that counted.

After escaping..uhm, a rainbow lion or whatever. You quickly came across a green dinosaur that somehow made piano noises, though for the 15 seconds that you first saw him, the next 15 seconds were how he died. You couldn’t tell what killed him until the something crawled out of the darkness and came straight up towards you.

“Hiya there pallll, don’t worry! I won’t eat you. Ahahah..”

You recognized who that something was, Doey. You were a pass employee after all, but he was hard to see. And hard to understand where he was at during the whole encounter. Was he spying on you when you couldn’t see? Who knows?

The mascot told you to follow him as he managed to squeeze his way through the holes in the brick walls, which made everything wayyyyy more confusing than it had to be.

Appalled, you literally just didn’t know where to go to follow him, you looked up, down, left, right, but all you could see was a blur.

Doey, eventually realized that you weren’t following him, so when be went back to where you first were, he was meant with you trying to grab the handle above(you found out how to follow him eventually) and missing each time miserably.

“Do you need help with that bud?”

(he scared you to death)

You sheepishly told him that you could not see a single thing unless it was real close to you. That’s why you’re missing so much.

He was a bit dumbfounded because if you were “Poppy’s friend,” wouldn’t she had chosen someone who would be the least at risk when it came to this sort of things. He imagined that if he grabbing a handle was a hassle for you, then everything else you’ve done must have been horribly troublesome for you.

Because Poppy wouldn’t let someone who’s basically BLIND do all her dirty work..right?

Right????

He decided to deal with that problem later, for now he wants to guide you personally to Save Haven. Somewhere where you can be safe until it’s not, or until he figures out what to do with you.

His way of transporting you was simple, just for you to piggy-back ride him til the area was reached(Jack just wanted a way to kind of actually touch someone without doing it randomly🎀)

Once at Safe Haven he had the Medic check up on you in case you got injured in anyway while he had a “chat” with Poppy.

“You let someone who can barely see go out and do all of the things someone in top-notch shape should be doing?”

“Listen Doey, who else is going to be down here and help us. Who else is capable to do the things they’re doing!?”

“Not them.”

“Doey-”

“I know you want this to happen as fast as possible Poppy. But using Y/n isn’t the right option, it’s a miracle they’ve survived for this long. And if they would’ve died, it would’ve caused the Prototypes attention much more then if Y/n hadn’t came here to begin with.”

“You don’t get it, Y/n has potential- you’ve seen what they’ve done!”

“And it’s great, but they’ve done enough. They will stay here until the Prototype is dead, end of discussion Poppy.”

And he means to keep his word until he physically cannot do so anymore.

Matthew is definitely the most concerned about your predicament. When he’s in control he’ll kind of be like a butler or a guidance for you. He makes sure that the other toys in Safe Haven know about your vision so that if they play or you’re helping them do whatever, that they know to either play gentle or not ask too much from you when you’re around.

Kevin did not give two craps at first I’m so so sorry😭 He’s so inconsiderate ain’t he beginning like, they don’t have glasses? Are they poor? When he’s first met you he purposefully hid your items from you just so you get annoyed. But when you got closer with his personality, he yells at anyone who bothers you or hides things from you. A hypocrite at his finest.

Jack used your vision as an opportunity to bond with you. Even if he wasn’t purposely doing it he sometimes uses your lack of sight to his advantage for entertainment. If you need something but can’t see it(it’s literally on your sleeping bag and you’re IN the tent) he makes a game out of it like if he finds it first you have to give him a hug or a high-five. He also wonders about it most too, so you literally just cannot see? Interesting…he said he’d cry if that happened to him. Okay Jack. Okay.

#ThisIsWhyYouDoNotBreakYourGlassesOrYouWillEndUpLikeY/n

[cheol-e-kat]

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒓

pairing: kim mingyu  / f!reader / choi seungcheol

summary:  y/n thought she was in a normal, healthy relationship with another human until mingyu was forced to turn y/n into a vampire to save her life. 

but when y/n is still upset about all of mingyu's lies, she leaves to find her own way and stumbles into vampire seungcheol along the way. 

y/n is left to chose between a new love and maybe her true love. 

teaser word count: 2.4k [full fic approx. 30k]

genre: vampire au, soulmate au, crack - when soonyoung pretends to be a doctor! (i said crack), smut, kind of found family

rating: 18+, mdni, explicit

warnings below cut

warnings: grief, depression, anxiety, gentle kidnapping, blood, gore, fake death, real death (mc has to die to be turned - sorry - just vampire things), sex, drugs, alcohol, blood consumption (vampires, hello)

Y/n was depressed. Which everyone kept saying was natural because who wouldn’t be after they had watched their boyfriend be buried - so they were understanding. 

But the problem was Mingyu was (had been) so much more than just Y/n’s boyfriend. They had been dating for two years - they had plans to run away together and live together and make their own life TOGETHER. No one understood what Mingyu had actually meant to Y/n. 

No one understood that her inner grief was tenfold compared to what she let them see. 

She stayed cooped up inside her apartment wearing Mingyu’s hoodies, hoping that his scent would linger until she died - which, according to Jeonghan, wouldn’t be that long if she didn’t stop isolating herself so thoroughly.

And maybe Jeonghan had a point, since she only shifted from her computer to her couch when she was practically falling asleep at her keyboard. She hadn’t gone to class since it happened, or left her apartment for that matter, excluding the funeral. 

Y/n refused to accept what had happened. She didn’t like talking about Mingyu in the past tense. She didn’t think about Mingyu in the past tense. To her, it seemed like maybe Mingyu was just somewhere that, if she tried hard enough, she could reach, and they could be together again.

She had only gone to the funeral because her friends (their friends, she supposed) had dragged her there. She had stared straight ahead - her head swimming with thoughts of how she could fix all of what was happening. She had only paid her respects because she felt forced to, but to her, there had to be a solution - she was determined that Mingyu didn’t have to stay this way.

She did not mention this to anyone else. 

She did not explain that he had been digging into odd-looking message boards - ones where people claimed to have successfully reunited with their loved ones. Mostly because all of these seemed to center around things like Ouija boards and ghosts. Y/n had higher hopes than some knocking on a table. She wanted Mingyu back.

And that was how she found Dr. Kwon Soonyoung - founder of Tiger Life © 

According to one OP’s review, Dr. Kwon had been able to bring life back to the OP’s brother-in-law in under two sessions. 

Another one read, “Dr. Kwon has medical expertise beyond any ‘regular’ doctor - he truly views his patients holistically.” 

And one enthusiastic reviewer reported that “Dr. Kwon saved my life - everyone else was resigned to my quote-unquote ‘death’ but not Dr. Kwon - he never gave up and here I am typing this review!”

It wasn’t so much the reviews that got Y/n’s attention - for all she knew those were from bots - it was the videos showing the actual process. She had looped it trying to figure out if it was fake. 

But everything she saw, from digging up the body to injecting it with something pink from a beaker that caused the person to rouse like they had woken up from a nice, long nap, seemed to check out in her exhausted mind.

And somehow it only cost $499.99 plus gas and snacks, with a preference for gummy candies and chips. 

Y/n watched the other videos as well - there was an interview where Dr. Kwon explained that the ‘life-challenged’ were just in need of a hard ‘reboot’ of their systems and that all were just waiting to be reunited with their lives. 

Dr. Kwon did note that in some cases his patients may have elected to move on fully, but that in 98% of cases, the patients were now restored with their normal energy levels and “everything.”

Y/n watched the videos with tired eyes while she slurped noodles, barely tasting them as they wiggled down her throat and satisfied her grumbling stomach. The more she saw Dr. Kwon, with his glasses and white coat, the more confident she was that it was worth the money. So after a week of not sleeping and watching videos, she finally sent a message to the instagram account provided and waited for a response. 

Waiting really meant that she passed out on her couch - it wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable slumber, but Y/n was no longer in a position to argue with her body and its needs, she yielded to sheer exhaustion. 

But apparently during the week that she had been researching Dr. Kwon and his methods, she had ignored Jeonghan a bit too much. Since she was suddenly being woken up from a very restful faceplant by a loud knocking on her door.

She slowly rolled off the couch, landing with a small thud and groaning, swearing that Jeonghan knew her door’s passcode. She stayed on the floor for a bit longer, her eyes not wanting to fully open, her thick eyelashes feeling almost tangled together, but Jeonghan was insistent and LOUD. Y/n roused herself forcefully and went to fling the door open.

Jeonghan, pale and slender and dressed to kill in his all-black ensemble, lifted his oversized sunglasses to stare daggers at Y/n, “You look terrible,” he deadpanned with a smile that tugged the corners of his lips, “Can I come in already or do I have to stand on the doorstep like some sad person delivering food?” he demanded softly.

Y/n sighed, “Yeah, come in, I guess,” and let Jeonghan pass.

She wasn’t exactly thrilled to have Jeonghan there. Because with Jeonghan there, she was suddenly very aware that she hadn’t showered in a few days and was unquestionably gross. 

She was also uncomfortably aware of every single greasy hair on her head because she was sure that Jeonghan was examining them as well. She felt like a child who had been left to their own devices compared to Jeonghan whom she had never seen with a hair out of place.

Jeonghan poked around Y/n’s desk, examining the haphazardly stacked dirty dishes with a slender finger that seemed to be declaring everything as ‘ick,’ “How have you been?” his voice was kinder than she expected.

She blushed, “Fine,” she didn’t want to say that she had definitely spent $500 on something that was maybe a grift.

Jeonghan nodded, “You seem like you’re still missing him,” Jeonghan seemed to be talking to himself more than to Y/n.

She shrugged, “No, I – uhh, I’m fine now,” she stammered - even if Dr. Kwon was a grifter, she would give it a chance.

 What was the worst case anyway - she dug up a dead body, she wondered to herself if that was the worst part. She had no idea what a body would look like after being buried for a week or so, actually she wasn’t sure how long it had been anymore, but not so long, she was fairly certain. But maybe it was more like a month, but only if she actually gave it some thought and counted the days.

She barely noticed that Jeonghan was suddenly in front of her until Jeonghan touched her cheek, “Who is Dr. Kwon?” he asked gently.

She shrugged, certain she hadn’t mentioned the name aloud, or at all, and avoided eye contact when she responded, “I don’t know,” she sounded almost confident.

And Jeonghan pinched her cheek lightly and sighed, “It’s funny when you lie to me and think I don’t know,” he sighed again, this time it was more pronounced and dramatic, “Oh well, I guess we will just have to meet the doctor together,” he announced and flopped onto the sofa. He gazed at her, daring her to contradict what he had just declared.

She bit her lip gently and shrugged, “If you say so,” she wasn’t in the mood for Jeonghan’s games, “I’m going to shower,” she muttered. She could have sworn she heard a small ‘thank you’ from Jeonghan but wasn’t sure and wasn’t going to check either.

Y/n was happy to shower - she hadn’t realized how grimy she had felt until she wasn’t. And now she could lie in her bed and bury her face in the pillow Mingyu had once used while she stared at her dms waiting for a response. 

She could hear low sounds from the tv - she had just assumed that Jeonghan was staying by the way he had parked himself on the sofa. There was something comforting about it though. She really had been very alone the last however many days or weeks. She nuzzled into the pillow that still held Mingyu’s balsamy scent and was quickly asleep. 

── .✦

Y/n had been used to her weird dreams since she was young - they were usually pleasant, maybe a bit too real, but since she had met Mingyu whenever she woke up from one there was someone there to cuddle her and assure her that she was okay. 

Now she sat up, rubbing her face, and remembered she was alone again - there was no one to tell her that the weird dream about Mingyu floating in the air above her with hungry red eyes was fake. 

She could have cried, but then Jeonghan would have probably heard her and had some snarky comment to make. She fell back onto the bed and chewed her lip. She stayed motionless, letting the sadness wash over her and then recede like the tide. She hated that even in her dreams Mingyu had become something macabre. 

Even as her feelings ebbed, she felt her phone vibrate with some new notification. She blinked and checked to see that it was an instagram notification. She was quick to unlock her phone and read the message from Dr. Kwon replying that he thought Y/n’s case was one that warranted review and suggested that they meet that night. 

She responded without hesitation, wanting to be sure that she met Dr. Kwon as soon as possible. She waited excitedly for confirmation. And she grinned stupidly when it came through - a message providing an address for a small tea shop and a request for payment only once she was satisfied with the results of the procedure. Y/n chewed her lower lip softly - if this were a grift, at least it wasn’t an obvious one, she supposed.

She got up and dressed in something she didn’t mind going out in. And walking out of her room, she was feeling a bit excited for once since everything had changed - she had almost forgotten Jeonghan completely until he piped up, “Heading out, Y/n?” 

Y/n’s head spun to look at Jeonghan, who was lounging on the sofa with some baking show playing in the background – his eyes were closed, giving the impression he was napping. 

She stared for a moment, her blood feeling a bit icy in her veins because it reminded her of the way Mingyu always seemed to know when she got out of bed (or into it) - he would seem fast asleep, but he was also keenly attuned to any little movement from Y/n. She wasn’t sure why it would make her uncomfortable now - probably because it was coming from Jeonghan and not Mingyu, she guessed. She knew Mingyu cared, at least.

Jeonghan sighed and stood up, stretching nonchalantly, “I assume we are going to see the mysterious Dr. Kwon?” he almost sounded chipper, which was a strange development.

Y/n shrugged off the feeling, “Uh, I’m just going out,” she tried.

Jeonghan tutted, “You aren’t getting rid of me so easily, Y/n, I’m an old hand at all of this - you just need to accept that certain things come along with dating Kim Mingyu,” he had already rounded the sofa and was next to Y/n, looping his arm through hers and steering them towards the door.

It was a strange turn of phrase that Y/n played over in her mind as they sat in the back of a taxi ‘certain things come along with dating Kim Mingyu,’ but what did that mean, she wondered, and more to the point why would Jeonghan say it to her - it was another of those annoying things that somehow reminded her of Mingyu’s mannerisms but was also starkly different. 

Mingyu was good at anticipating certain things - things that Y/n generally had to blatantly ask for from past partners, Mingyu always seemed to just understand. But that understanding felt natural between them, innate even. 

From Jeonghan, it made Y/n’s skin crawl and she attempted to sit as far away from the other as she could in a cramped taxi. Especially since Jeonghan’s comment had to do with her very dead boyfriend. 

Y/n stared out the cab’s window, watching the slow drizzle of rain and fog commingle as they wound their way to the ancient tea shop. It was in an older part of the city. To her, it certainly had the vibes of a place you would meet someone who was capable of reanimating the dead. 

Jeonghan took care of the cab while she went into the shop. There was only one table that was occupied. Y/n immediately recognized the man from Youtube - it was really him, Dr. Kwon Soonyoung.

He glanced up and smiled warmly, “You must be Y/n,” his voice was welcoming, as he stood from his seat and gestured for her to join him. 

She sat and, again, found herself being startled by Jeonghan’s sudden appearance at her side. It was a bit annoying to feel like she had a chaperone. Still, she wanted to know what Dr. Kwon had to say. 

She accepted tea from the pot - which, in hind sight, was maybe her worst decision. Because before they could really even talk, she had started to feel groggy. Her vision swam a bit, and her head began to ache horribly. 

Her vision blurred at the edges. And soon, she realized she was being taken by Jeonghan and Dr. Kwon, who Jeonghan seemed to know fairly well, since he kept calling him ‘Soonie’, out the back of the shop.

She tried to cry for help but there was no sound, nor did there seem to be anyone to even hear her. She noticed as they carried her out how decrepit the building looked - it looked on the verge of being condemned more than anything. How had it seemed so warm and inviting at first, she wondered in her haze.

She had no idea where they were taking her, but they put her in the back of a large black car. The last thing she saw was Jeonghan, leaning over her to buckle her in and pat her head, “Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you, even if Soonyoung has crackpot ideas,” he smiled in a way that only made Y/n whimper. 

this should be fun and messy ^^ also don't come at me about tags - this is a teaser for a fic that meets fluff, smut, and angst - but the beginning is def crack

@gyupappi - just a teaser, but vampire mingyu needs more than a one shot (and vampire cheol...and hosh as a grift doc on insta hehehe) kissesss

♡ kat

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[dmitriene]

jayce brought him back to life, panicking, desperate, with his calloused hands shaking from fear, in a desperate attempt to give him a chance to continue, to bring his partner back from the other side, to which he was only one step away and shaking in his weakened knees.

viktor had nothing left of his past, or maybe he had always been like that, with a fate written long ago, like all those endless papers he had worked on in their laboratory, now having the opportunity to pursue what he had been fighting sleepless for so long.

he could help them all, those people who suffer down there, from addiction, from air, from someone else's indifference, viktor can help them in a way that he has never been helped, living as if buried in advance, with body weak, broken from disease, with nails scraped to climb.

to build a commune, to heal, to provide care and clean air, to give these people what they deserve by birth, to build a temple on earth for people who have long been doomed, to show them that not everything is over, to become a creator.

to leave jayce, confused, with those golden eyes rounded like puppy's, in relief, pain, panic, studying viktor with pupils jumping back and forth, examining his face, body, new, non human, fused with hexcore, but still so dear when he squeezed him in his arms, wrapped in a blanket.

a meeting that was to be the last, before viktor left to pursue his calling, echoing with a quiet, alluring hum from somewhere deep in his body, forcing him to walk, to turn, to make his way through the nooks and alleys, to find a place where his commune would stand, open to all.

but fate is a thread, and jayce will return, looking as if he has passed through the infinity of time and universes, shabby, sharpened at the edges, with eyes churning, the face hard and settled in grim, tense line, with calloused fingers tightly clenched around the handle of his hammer.

limping, with his hands almost shaking, not from the weight, from something more deep, almost carnal, turning his ribcage inside out, raw and exposed with every nerve laid out for viktor to see, feel, even at a distance where he's hovering up, while jayce is standing from across.

there's none of that clean shaved, sun blinding golden boy, there's a man that's been through things that changed him from guts to mind, shown him that something, scaring and bone chilling, that brought him there, with stance poised to pounce, with nicked lips rised up in a snarl.

they are recognizable, even though almost a strangers to each other, after all the time that passed, for both of them, in this or another reality, but there's a voice persistent, singing and clawing, inside of viktor, humming, buzzing and ringing in his ears, his chin lifting deliberately, a caress against the stilling air.

a dazzling speckle of colors in his eyes, each different, and so far away from his dear ones, liquid amber, they swirl, tangle, mix together to burst as emotions, and when he meets jayce's gaze, warring, unsure of should he do what he came here for, the world spins.

viktor's irises tint pink, pale, almost translucent color that mirrors all the familiarity between them, a barely noticeable change, but it's the way the lines around his eyes soften, gaze warming, suddenly tender, a twitch to his lips, corners raising a little bit, stretching his delicate moles, still there.

it's enough, already, to make jayce's fingers struggle where they're clenched around the handle of that damned hammer, where his knuckles tense beneath the tanned skin, emotions warring all over his face, looking almost as if it's painful, and the hexcore in viktor thrills at the sight.

his voice comes out as a call, beckon, so close to a purr, just the way hexcore in him murmurs, directed on jayce, with that strange, unbearable need to pull him in, so viktor let's his lips open with a chirping

“jayce”

and jayce let's his hammer crumple down to the floor.

maybe, that's how it meant to be, maybe, jayce grasps on, the arcane showed him wrong, maybe it was all only a cruel game of his mind, because his partner, his viktor, is there, calls to him with a gaze welcoming and lips smiling, and how can he disobey?

fate is a funny thing, at the end, so jayce closes the remaining distance between his and viktor's form, stepping over his hammer, over his oath, to let himself go in the embrace he missed for so long.

[camcat1320]

Ozai was supposed to be Amon

My meta theory about TLOK is that the entire show is just ATLA Book 4 chopped up, diluted, and repackaged. I wholeheartedly believe Amon was supposed to be Ozai in disguise.

Remember that scene in TLOK when Amon's mask flew off and he revealed that he was a bender?

With the tension rising, the animation and music, you would think it would've revealed a previous big bad that the characters have dealt with before that had returned to power. But no. As I watched it years ago, I felt like I hit a brick wall, wondering "who the fuck is that?" It didn't stick the landing for me.

I believe this scene was supposed to be the finale of ATLA Book 4 and the reveal was supposed to be Ozai. From a writing perspective, that would make more sense for a masked villain reveal.

I did not care for the use of bloodbending to lock or take away someone's bending. It doesn't make sense in the magic system of the Avatar universe. But having Ozai learn to energy bend, reverse engineering what Aang did to him, that makes sense.

But wait, isn't the Avatar the only one that can energy bend? Not necessarily.

As the lion turtle said, "Before the age of the Avatar, we bent not the elements but the energy within ourselves. To bend another's energy, your own spirit must be unbendable, or you will be corrupted and destroyed."

If ancient people did this before the Avatar even existed, it stands to reason that energy bending is not an exclusive power only the Avatar can do. An important thing about energy is that it is all around us and within us. Also, energy cannot be destroyed nor created, it can only transform.

Aaron Ehasz had stated in an interview that his ideas for Book 4 was supposed to include the negative consequences of taking Ozai's firebending. Since energy cannot be destroyed, Ozai's firebending had to go somewhere. Aang took in Ozai's firebending into himself and he would have to deal with the personal consequences of that.

On a wider scope, bringing back the ancient art of energy bending to the collective consciousness should have negative consequences as well. The whole show is about yin and yang ideas, light and dark, 2 sides of the same coin. What if something that was used for good was also used for evil?

Now I think Aang was naively incorrect about Ozai. Aang states that he took away his firebending so he could not hurt anyone else ever again. But for someone such as Ozai, his firebending wasn't the only source of power he wielded. Ozai was the leader of a fascist imperialist regime, he would have skills in manipulation of the masses and bending people to his will. He doesn't necessarily require firebending to do so.

So what does one do after they've been dethroned and crave revenge? Start a cult.

Amon has hints of being a cult leader, especially when he says that the spirits had given him the power to take people's bending away. Cult leader 101, make it seem like you have an exclusive, God-given superpower.

The TLOK writers tried to go for an oppression narrative where the nonbenders were suppressed by bender gangs. I think this was grasping at straws to replace the narrative that was meant for ATLA.

Imagine, Ozai wanting to start a cult so that people would willingly give up their firebending so that he may take it for himself, growing in power the more he takes. He would take advantage of the down and lost people of the Fire Nation. The people are disappointed in the loss of the Hundred Year War and the economic downturn that resulted shortly after and are disgruntled by Zuko's leadership thus far. Ozai would tell the people what they want to hear, feeding into their anxieties and fears, spinning webs of lies. He would propose to tear down the government then replace it with something new, a new world order, something with him at the center of it. And Ozai would do this with the assistance of the Fire Sages and high ranking government officials who have all sworn their loyalty to him.

Now THAT sounds like better villain motivation!

[deezee112]

The good ending : Not Ready to Be a Parent

The worst ending 27 | Special ending

Yandere!Twisted Wonderland x GN!Reader

A/N : Everyone! I never thought we’d make it to this ending. Thank you all so much for following along until now I really appreciate it!

Right now, I’m planning a special episode ( which explores what would happen if we didn’t die ) for all the characters!

I’m also working on the storyline for Season 2. It shouldn’t take too long, but the special ending will probably be much longer than usual. This chapter might be a bit short, but I think it turned out really well!

Tags :

@iris-arcadia @yuu-twisted

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

English is not my first language.

You stared at the doll, now seated upright on your couch, its unsettlingly realistic features illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through your apartment’s curtains. It was a child almost somewhere between eight and twelve years old, with smooth skin, delicate features, and glassy eyes that seemed far too lifelike.

Your fingers drummed against your arm as you stood there, watching it. The clothes it wore were plain, just a simple shirt and pants, but they somehow made it seem even more human. Like a real child sitting there, waiting for you to say something.

You exhaled sharply. “ What the hell am I supposed to do with you? ”

Of course, the doll didn’t answer.

You turned away and headed for the kitchen, needing coffee before you could deal with this mess. The rich, bitter scent filled the air as you poured yourself a cup, taking a slow sip while trying to think logically. Crowley had given you next to no instructions beyond take care of it, as if that were a simple task.

Feed it. Talk to it. Treat it like a real child.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “ Right. Because raising a kid is so easy. ”

The longer you stood there, the more your mind started running through the realities of what Crowley was asking of you. Raising a child even an artificial one meant responsibility. And responsibility meant time, effort, and most importantly…money.

You glanced at the doll again, still sitting motionless on your couch.

“ Alright.. ” you muttered, walking over and sitting across from it. “ Let’s break this down. ”

You weren’t exactly wealthy. Your job covered your rent, bills, and food, but it wasn’t like you had stacks of cash lying around for extra mouths to feed especially not ones that came with unknown costs.

Would this thing need clothes? Medical care? Did it get sick? Did it grow?

You frowned, rubbing your temple. “ God, this is a nightmare. ”

You’d never even considered having kids before. Not because you hated them, but because they were expensive, time consuming, and required more patience than you had. And now you were being expected to raise this?

Your gaze drifted toward the grocery list stuck to your fridge, the numbers scribbled on the side reminding you of how carefully you already had to budget. If you took this thing in, that list would get longer. Food, water, maybe even extra furniture.

And what about emergencies? What if something happened to it? Could it get injured? Would you be responsible for repairs, doctor visits whatever it required?

You sighed, resting your forehead against your hand.

“ I think I should return it. ”

The words slipped out before you could fully process them, but once they were spoken, they made sense. The longer you thought about it, the more you realized just how unprepared you were for something like this.

Crowley could pretend this was some simple task, but it wasn’t. Raising a child even an artificial one wasn’t just about giving them food and shelter. It was about being ready to take care of someone else’s life, to be responsible for their well being.

And you weren’t ready.

Not financially. Not emotionally. Not in any way that mattered.

You let out a slow breath and looked at the doll again. It hadn’t moved, hadn’t reacted, but something about its presence still weighed on you.

Maybe, if things were different if you had more time, more money, more experience you might have considered it. But this wasn’t some stray animal you could feed for a few weeks and then decide if you wanted to keep. It was a child.

And children deserved more than someone who took them in on a whim.

Decision made, you grabbed your phone and texted Crowley.

" We need to talk. "

It only took him a few minutes to respond.

" Ah, wonderful! How is the little one doing? "

You exhaled sharply, already irritated. He always had this way of dodging real conversations.

" Come pick it up. I’m not the right person for this. "

This time, there was a long pause before a reply came.

" Are you certain? This is quite the opportunity, you know! A chance to raise a child, shape a young mind, be part of something truly groundbreaking! "

You scowled. Opportunity? Was that how he saw it?

" I’m not ready for this, Crowley. It needs someone with experience, someone who knows what they’re doing. Give it to them. "

Silence.

Then, finally

" Well, if you’re absolutely sure…I’ll make the arrangements. "

You put your phone down and sighed, running a hand through your hair. The weight on your chest loosened slightly.

It was the right choice.

Raising a child real or not wasn’t something you could do just because someone told you to. It required commitment. And if you weren’t ready for that, then the best thing you could do was step aside and let someone else take care of it.

You looked at the doll one last time.

“ Guess this is goodbye, huh? ”

It blinked slowly.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “ You probably don’t even understand what’s happening. ”

Maybe that was for the best.

When Crowley finally arrived, he was all smiles, acting as if this was just another minor inconvenience in his day. You didn’t bother explaining yourself again. You’d made your decision, and that was all that mattered.

As he carried the doll away, you watched from your doorstep, a strange sense of relief settling in your chest.

It wasn’t your responsibility anymore.

And that was okay.

But the last thing you saw was that doll staring at you one final time before it disappeared.

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 12

<<<Previous Next>>>

The candlelight flickered, its golden glow casting long, wavering shadows along the walls of his office. Ink-stained parchment lay between you, forgotten in the quiet, but your focus was elsewhere. You were staring at him. Searching. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, some crack in his composure, some fragment of emotion buried beneath his usual refinement. His face, sculpted in patience and quiet knowing, was difficult to read. He was the Sage of Truth, after all. He had spent years refining himself into something measured, unshaken, unreachable. And yet…His eyes. His eyes were something else entirely. The candlelight caught in them, turning gold to something softer, something warmer, like the last moments of sunlight before dusk swallows the sky. His gaze, normally so precise, so piercing, seemed different now. Less a scholar observing a student, and more… a person looking at another person. “I know that look.” His voice was quiet, smooth, a gentle weight against the stillness between you. You startled, blinking, caught in the act. “What look?” The corner of his lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “The look of someone searching for something.” You hesitated. Your fingers curled slightly against the parchment, its texture grounding you. “And if I am?” Shadow Milk Cookie considered this, his gaze never wavering from yours. “Then I hope you find it.” Simple words. Yet, they landed heavier in your chest than you expected. A breath passed before you spoke again, softer this time. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” He hummed in thought, resting his chin against his knuckles. “Perhaps you are not meant to find it all at once. Truth is patient. It does not demand to be uncovered in a single moment; it reveals itself in time.” His voice, ever measured, held something gentler now, something not meant for lecture halls or grand declarations. “And so too must you be patient with yourself.” You swallowed, glancing down. “That’s… difficult.” His silence was contemplative. Then softer than anything you’d heard from him before he murmured, “I know.” You lifted your gaze, eyes meeting his again. Something had changed. You could feel it, like the moment before the tide shifts, when the waves hesitate before retreating. His walls were still there, but for the first time, they were not impenetrable. He had let them waver. For you. You exhaled shakily, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you being so kind to me?” He regarded you for a long moment, his expression unreadable save for the gentlest crease of his brow, the subtle shift in his gaze like he was weighing something fragile, something precious. Then “I would not want a bright mind like yours to be discouraged.” The words, so effortlessly spoken, settled into the quiet like a promise. You stared at him, searching again, reaching again, but this time, not out of doubt. Not out of fear. Because he had offered you something beyond knowledge, beyond the pursuit of truth. He had offered you patience. And somehow, that was enough.

The hush of his office felt delicate, like spun sugar that could dissolve with the wrong touch. The weight of his words still lingered in the air between you, soft and fragile, like something too precious to name. You should have let it settle, should have let the moment breathe. And yet- You looked at him, really looked at him, as if you could read something in the way the candlelight danced in his golden eyes. As if the truth of him was written there, somewhere in the warmth he tried to keep measured. You weren’t sure what made you ask it. Maybe it was the way he had softened his voice just for you. Maybe it was the way he had let the walls around him shift, even just a fraction. Or maybe it was simply that you needed to know. “…Are we friends?” Your voice was quiet, hesitant, each syllable slipping from your lips like you were afraid to shatter something fragile. Shadow Milk Cookie blinked, his gaze steady on yours. For a moment, he said nothing. For a moment, you thought maybe you had reached too far, held too tightly to something that was never meant to be yours. And then…He sighed, a sound so light it barely disturbed the stillness between you. “That is an interesting question.” Your fingers curled slightly against the parchment between you, trying to brace yourself. But then his gaze softened, the faintest trace of something unreadable flickering across his features something warm, something human. “I believe,” he mused, tilting his head just slightly, “that if you must ask… then perhaps I have not made it clear enough.” Your breath hitched. He leaned forward just a fraction, the candlelight catching along the sharp lines of his face, making the gold in his eyes glow. “I do not waste my time,” he said softly. “Not on falsehoods. Not on empty pursuits.” He held your gaze, unshaken, unwavering. “And certainly not on people I do not value.” The words settled over you like the warmth of the hearth after too long in the cold. You swallowed. “So then…?” He exhaled, shaking his head just slightly, as if amused by your persistence. “You are not simply a student, if that is what you are asking.” It wasn’t quite a confession. But it wasn’t a rejection either. It was something in between just enough to hold onto, just enough to keep reaching for. Your chest ached with something you couldn’t name. “You should not doubt your worth so easily,” he murmured.

His voice was so unbearably gentle. You bit the inside of your cheek, glancing down at the parchment, afraid that if you looked at him too long, this moment might slip through your fingers like sand. But then so quiet you almost missed it “If you would like to call me a friend…” Your breath stilled. “…I would not stop you.” Warmth rushed to your fingertips, the weight in your chest shifting into something else entirely. Something lighter. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, daring to meet his gaze again. And for the first time, you swore he was looking at you just as much as you were looking at him. The moment lingered between you, suspended in the quiet hum of candlelight and parchment. You didn’t want to move, didn’t want to disturb the delicate understanding that had just taken shape so tenuous and warm, like a flickering ember cupped between trembling hands. But all things had their end, even moments like these. The window outside painted in gorgeous blues and pinks, served as a reminder of the evening hour. Dinner. You hesitated, glancing toward the door, then back at him. He had already settled into his usual posture composed, unreadable but there was something else there now. Something softer in the way he regarded you, as if he too was reluctant to let the moment slip away so soon.

"You should go," he said, and his voice was quieter than usual. Less like the Sage of Truth, more like… something else. You nodded, though part of you wanted to stay, to stretch this moment just a little longer. But you knew if you lingered too much, you might never find the words to leave at all. So you gathered your notes, holding them close to your chest as if they could somehow preserve the warmth of what had just passed between you. Before you reached the door, you paused. “…Thank you,” you said, barely above a whisper. For what, you weren’t entirely sure. For his patience? For his words? For not letting you carry your doubts alone? He inclined his head, the faintest ghost of a smile touching the corners of his lips. “Good evening,” he murmured. “I will see you tomorrow.” With that, you stepped out into the halls, feeling the weight of the moment settle deep in your chest, something to be held, not spoken of.

By the time you reached the dining hall, the warmth of conversation and clinking utensils filled the air. Your friends were already gathered, waving you over the moment they spotted you. “You look weird,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie remarked the second you sat down, squinting at you. “I look normal,” you countered, rolling your eyes as you reached for a plate. “No, no, he’s right,” Chai Latte Cookie chimed in, tapping her fingers against the table. “It’s like… you’re still you, but something’s different.” Earl Grey Cookie regarded you carefully over the rim of his teacup. “You’re not nearly as distracted as before,” he observed. “Yet… you seem preoccupied all the same.” You opened your mouth to argue, but…You hesitated. Because they were right. It wasn’t admiration weighing in your chest anymore, not the distant kind reserved for a scholar too far above you to truly reach. It was something else, something softer, something more vulnerable. And, you didn’t know what to do with it. So you simply smiled, shaking your head. “It’s nothing.” Hazelnut Biscotti scoffed. “Sure, sure. Nothing.” Chai Latte nudged you playfully. “Well, whatever it is, I hope it’s a good something.” You glanced down at your hands, at the way your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of your sleeves. “…Yeah,” you murmured. “I think it is.” And as the conversation flowed around you, as laughter and warmth pulled you into the moment, you held onto that truth quietly, deeply, where no one else could see. As you settled into your seat, the usual warmth of your friends' chatter surrounded you, the scent of freshly baked bread and spiced tea filling the air. It should have felt grounding, comforting but the moment in his office still weighed on you, lingering like the final note of a song that refused to fade. “So,” Earl Grey Cookie began smoothly, setting down his cup with a quiet clink. His sharp eyes studied you, and even before he spoke again, you could feel the weight of his scrutiny. “How did tutoring go?” You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus on the present. “Good,” you answered quickly, reaching for a piece of bread as if that would make the conversation move along faster. “It was… good.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow. “Good?” He leaned in slightly, resting his chin in his palm. “You say that like you’re hiding something.” “I’m not hiding anything,” you said, a little too quickly. Chai Latte Cookie, ever perceptive, leaned in as well, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “You’re acting weird,” she murmured, sing-song, before breaking into a grin. “Not in a bad way, but…” She waved a hand at you. “You’re, like… oddly quiet. More thoughtful than usual.” “I think what Chai Latte is trying to say,” Earl Grey cut in smoothly, “is that your usual frustrations are absent. Typically, after tutoring, you’re either ranting about how difficult the material is or complaining that you’ll never understand it.” He studied you over the rim of his teacup. “Yet now, you’re simply saying good.” Hazelnut Biscotti snapped his fingers. “Exactly. So spill. What happened?” You hesitated, fingers idly pulling at the edge of your napkin. “Nothing happened,” you insisted, but the words felt thin, flimsy, even to you. Earl Grey’s gaze didn’t waver. “You wouldn’t be so preoccupied if that were the case.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed, tapping her chin. “You’re thinking about something, though. I can see it in your face.” Hazelnut Biscotti pointed at you. “Yeah, that’s your ‘I’m overthinking something and I don’t know how to explain it’ face.” You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why do you all know me so well?” Chai Latte Cookie giggled. “Because we’re your friends, duh.” Earl Grey exhaled softly, setting his cup down with care. “You don’t have to tell us everything,” he said, voice even. “But if something is troubling you, we would rather you not carry it alone.” That made you pause. You lifted your head slightly, looking at them their expectant faces, the warmth in their gazes. And for a brief moment, you almost did tell them. Almost let the words spill from your lips about the way Shadow Milk Cookie had looked at you, the way he had softened in a way you had never expected. The way you had felt something shift between you, something you didn’t yet have the words for.

But instead, you just exhaled, shaking your head. “It’s nothing bad,” you assured them, and that, at least, was the truth. “Just… I don’t know. Something to think about.” Hazelnut Biscotti studied you for a moment before finally sighing dramatically. “Fine, fine, keep your secrets.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes. “You love secrets.” “Only when I get to know them,” he shot back. Earl Grey, ever composed, just offered you a knowing look before picking up his tea again. “Very well,” he murmured. “Just don’t let it consume you.” You managed a small smile. “I won’t.” And as the conversation shifted, moving to harmless gossip and lighthearted complaints about lectures, you held onto that moment and kept it close, where no one else could see.

You held it close. The moment, the warmth, the quiet understanding that had passed between you and Shadow Milk Cookie. After all it was yours, and yours alone. A fragile thing, delicate as the parchment he so carefully preserved, as the ink that bled into it, telling stories that only those with patience could decipher. It stayed in your heart, safely tucked away. But that didn’t mean you withdrew. You leaned forward as Chai Latte Cookie launched into a particularly dramatic retelling of something she’d overheard earlier in the day, her voice hushed in mock secrecy. “I swear, I saw them sneaking out of the library together,” she emphasized, eyes gleaming. “Like, if you’re going to sneak around, at least don’t do it in a place where half the Academy studies!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a sharp laugh. “That’s basically asking to get caught.” “I know!” Chai Latte groaned, throwing her hands up. “Like, if I were in their shoes, I’d at least go to the alchemy labs or something. The explosion risk would be a good cover story.” Earl Grey Cookie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t suggest using dangerous chemicals as a decoy for academic scandal.” “Oh, lighten up,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie teased. “You’re just mad because you hate gossip.” “I don’t hate gossip,” Earl Grey Cookie corrected smoothly, taking a sip of his tea. “I simply dislike inaccurate information.” “Well, this isn’t inaccurate,” Chai Latte Cookie huffed, leaning toward you. “Right? I mean, you believe me, don’t you?” You blinked, momentarily pulled from your thoughts. Then you smiled, small but genuine. “I don’t think you’d make it up.” “See?” she declared triumphantly, elbowing Earl Grey Cookie. “Someone here believes me.”

Earl Grey exhaled, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. “That isn’t the same as proof.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Sounds like you do hate gossip.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. And for a while, that was enough. You listened. You joined in. You let yourself be carried by the familiar rhythm of your friends' voices, the playful back-and-forth, the easy warmth of their presence.Even as something new and unspoken rested within you, even as your heart held a secret it had only just begun to understand.Dinner ended in a flurry of laughter, Chai Latte Cookie dramatically reenacting a terrible love poem she had found tucked between the pages of an old tome, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie making exaggerated sound effects in the background, and Earl Grey Cookie sighing in exasperated elegance as he reminded everyone that at least one of them should be preserving the dignity of scholarly discussion.

“I’ll have you know,” Chai Latte Cookie declared, standing atop her chair with one hand over her heart, “this is a historical treasure a relic of unbridled passion and artistic expression!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “It’s written in ink that bled through the pages. The only passion here was a fountain pen malfunction.” You laughed, warm and full, letting yourself sink into the moment letting it be enough. And for a little while, it was. Eventually, with bellies full and spirits lighter, the four of you parted ways, bidding goodnight under the soft glow of the enchanted lanterns lining the Academy’s paths. But as you walked back to your dorm alone, the laughter settled, leaving you with the quiet hum of your own thoughts. His eyes. You hadn’t meant to look too deeply, hadn’t meant to search for something beyond what was already there. And yet… you had. And what had you found? There was patience, of course. There always was. But there had been something else beneath it something softer, something steady yet fragile, as though for a moment, the weight of his understanding had been placed upon you gently, trusting you to hold it. Why did that linger? Why was it so hard to set aside? You exhaled as you reached your door, shaking your head at yourself. It wasn’t something you could answer now. But as you settled into your dorm, the warmth of his gaze stayed with you, quiet and unshaken, like an echo of something you had yet to fully grasp.

The morning had started pleasantly enough. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out to a quieter part of campus, one you didn’t often have the luxury of visiting. The crisp weekend air carried the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves, and for a while, you let yourself be lost in the moment, surrounded by the chatter of those who cared for you.

It was supposed to be a reprieve. A chance to breathe. But peace never lasted long in a place like this. It started subtly Earl Grey Cookie’s gaze shifting, his posture stiffening ever so slightly. Then, his voice, low and measured, as if bracing you for what was to come. “Be careful what you say,” he murmured. “Those three approaching, they’re not just any scholars. They’re the ones who’ve been spreading whispers.” You turned your head just in time to see them three upper scholars, dressed in the pristine robes of those who belonged to the highest circles of academia. Their strides were confident, their eyes sharp, and the smirks curling at their lips sent a warning through your bones. You had barely registered what Earl Grey had said before the first voice rang out. “Well, look who it is,” one of them drawled, tilting their head as if in mock surprise. “The Sage’s little shadow.” A cold pit settled in your stomach. Chai Latte Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie immediately stiffened, the air between you all shifting. Another scholar stepped forward, their smirk widening. “Didn’t expect to find you here of all places. Usually, you’re too busy occupying his time, aren’t you?” You said nothing. You weren’t sure what to say. “I have to wonder,” the third one mused, resting a thoughtful finger against their chin, “what exactly he sees in you.” Their eyes flickered with something unreadable before they leaned in slightly, their voice lowering just enough to be heard only by you. “Do you think it’s potential?” Your breath caught.

The first scholar hummed as if considering. “Unlikely. From what I’ve heard, you’re… struggling, aren’t you?” They said it so casually, like it was mere trivia, something undeniable. “I’d say it’s admirable that he keeps trying, but at some point, isn’t it just pity?” Your stomach twisted painfully. Chai Latte Cookie took a sharp step forward. “Back off.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie crossed his arms, scowling. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” The scholars barely spared them a glance. Instead, they kept their focus on you. “You know,” the second scholar continued, “it’s funny. You don’t even realize how lucky you are. Do you have any idea how many of us would kill for that kind of attention? And yet, it’s wasted on someone who barely understands half of what they’re taught.”

Something in you flinched, and they noticed. “Oh,” they said softly, eyes gleaming. “You know it’s true, don’t you? You’ve felt it, haven’t you? That deep, sinking feeling that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never quite measure up.” Their words struck deeper than you wanted them to. Because they weren’t just pulling things out of thin air. They had seen you. Heard the whispers. Knew the struggles you had so desperately tried to keep hidden. And they were using it. Because they could. “Do you really think the Sage sees you as an equal?” they pressed, voice dipping into something almost gentle, mocking, but laced with a sickening kind of concern. “Or is it just… entertaining for him? To watch someone struggle, knowing they’ll never reach him?” A cruel smirk. “Do you really think he believes in you?” You swallowed, your throat dry, unable to find words. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clenched his fists. “Shut your mouth.” The first scholar gave a slow, deliberate shrug. “It’s just an observation. After all, who would people believe? A group of top scholars, or… someone barely scraping by?” The implication was clear. Even if you protested, even if you tried to argue, who would listen? The doubt settled into your bones, heavy and suffocating. Eventually, they left, their laughter trailing behind them like a haunting melody. And you were left standing there, the weight of their words pressing down on your chest, unable to shake the feeling that somewhere deep inside this had always been a fear you couldn’t quite escape.

You took a slow, unsteady breath, your mind still tangled in the words the upper scholars had left behind. It felt like their voices had embedded themselves into your skull, looping over and over, digging into the insecurities you had long tried to ignore. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, and after a moment of hesitation, you turned to Earl Grey Cookie. “…Who are they?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. Earl Grey gave you a measured look, as if weighing whether or not you really wanted to know. But you did. You had to. He exhaled softly, then spoke. “Those three?” He adjusted his cuffs, voice calm, but there was something sharp underneath. “They’re well-known in the Scholar’s Wing. Opportunists, mostly more interested in reputation and status than in actual study.” You held your breath as he continued. “The one who spoke first that was Camellia Pith Cookie. Comes from a long line of scholars, all of whom have held high positions in the Academy’s history. They know how to wield their name like a weapon.” The name felt like an anchor in your mind. You nodded, waiting for more.

“The second one, the one who leaned in Serrano Bark Cookie. Ambitious to a fault. They’ve been after a research position under the Sage for some time now.” A pointed pause. “You can see why they’d have a… personal interest in tearing you down.” Your stomach twisted. “And the last one,” Earl Grey continued, voice taking on a slightly unimpressed lilt, “is Fennel Drizzle Cookie. The least remarkable of the three, but they know the right people. Their influence comes from association, and they’re well aware of it.” You let their names settle, turning them over in your mind, trying to attach them to the words they had thrown at you. Earl Grey Cookie adjusted the cuff of his sleeve once more, then met your gaze directly. “You shouldn’t pay them any mind.” You swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “That’s… easier said than done.” “I know,” he said plainly. “But they’re cowards.” You blinked, caught off guard. Earl Grey’s tone remained cool, but there was an edge to it now something resolute. “They only speak like that when they know no one will challenge them. Do you think they’d ever say those things in front of the Sage of Truth himself?” He scoffed. “Of course not. They know better.” A pause. Then, quieter “And so should you.” You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but the words still settled deep. Even so, doubt lingered. Even if those scholars wouldn’t say such things in front of the Sage… did that really mean they were wrong? The thought clung to you, no matter how much you wished it wouldn’t. You sighed, rubbing your temples as you sat with your friends in the quiet corner of the courtyard, away from the bustle of the weekend morning. The warmth of the sun didn’t quite reach you, not with the weight pressing against your chest. “What am I supposed to do?” you finally asked, voice quiet, uncertain. “It’s not like I’m being severely bullied or anything. They’re just… talking.” You hesitated, then exhaled. “But it still gets to me.”

Chai Latte Cookie frowned, leaning forward on her elbows. “It is bullying,” she said firmly. “Just because they aren’t shoving you into a library shelf doesn’t mean it’s nothing.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie huffed, crossing his arms. “They think they can get away with it because they’re not technically breaking any rules. It’s all about status to them. Reputation.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s pathetic.” Earl Grey Cookie, who had been quiet until now, regarded you with a careful gaze. “And yet, it worked,” he said smoothly. “They planted doubt in your mind.” You flinched but didn’t deny it. You bit the inside of your cheek before speaking again. “I know what they said isn’t true. But… I don’t know.” You swallowed. “It’s like they fed a fire that was already there. I do struggle. I do make mistakes. I’ve worked so hard, but-” You hesitated, your words tangling. “But they’re still ahead. And they didn’t even have to try.” Your hands clenched into fists on your lap. “I don’t even like them, but I feel kind of bad for them too. They were just given all of this, and they still feel the need to tear someone like me down.” You shook your head. “It’s such a weird position to be in.” Chai Latte Cookie pursed her lips. “It’s unfair,” she murmured. “It’s not your fault they don’t appreciate what they have. But I get it. It sucks.” Hazelnut Biscotti let out a slow exhale, rubbing his face. “You shouldn’t let them get in your head. That’s exactly what they want. But if it were me, I’d be pissed off too.” Earl Grey Cookie studied you carefully before speaking. “You are not responsible for their bitterness.” He set down his teacup with a soft clink. “Nor should you feel guilt over their own lack of fulfillment.” You let his words settle, staring down at your hands. “But,” he added after a pause, “I understand why it weighs on you.” You glanced up at him, searching for something in his expression, but it remained calm, measured. “Then… what do I do?” you asked, voice smaller than before. “If I can’t change what they think, if I can’t stop them from talking… what do I even do?” Chai Latte Cookie reached out, squeezing your wrist gently. “You keep going,” she said. “You don’t let them stop you. You have us, you have the Sage of Truth, and you belong here.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “And if they try it again, you let us know. We’ll handle it.” Earl Grey Cookie exhaled softly, shaking his head. “You don’t need to fight them. But you also don’t need to listen to them.” His gaze met yours. “And if you must entertain their words, then at least ask yourself this who do you trust more? The Sage of Truth, who has chosen to teach you? Or scholars who rely on whispers and cruelty to affirm their worth?”

Your breath caught in your throat. It was a simple question. And yet, it rattled something deep within you. Your fingers curled around the fabric of your sleeve, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you like a stone in your chest. You swallowed, hesitating before speaking. “…What if things escalate?” Your voice was quieter than before, almost reluctant to give voice to the fear that had been clawing at the edges of your mind. “Right now, it’s all just words, but they have connections. What then?” The moment the words left your lips, silence settled over your small group. Chai Latte Cookie frowned, brows knitting together as she crossed her arms. “They wouldn’t dare.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, however, was less convinced. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t put it past them. If they think they can use their influence against you, they might try.” Your stomach twisted. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, took a measured sip of his tea before placing the cup down with a quiet clink. “If they escalate, then they will have made a grave miscalculation.” His voice was smooth, controlled, but beneath it, there was an unmistakable edge. “The moment they attempt anything beyond mere words, they expose themselves. Those with true influence do not resort to such pettiness not without consequence.” You swallowed. “But what if they’re subtle about it? What if it’s just enough to make things harder for me?” Earl Grey Cookie regarded you for a long moment before tilting his head slightly. “Then you must be smarter than them.” Chai Latte Cookie scoffed. “We are smarter than them,” she muttered. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “We’ll watch your back. If they try anything, we’ll make sure there’s proof. They aren’t untouchable.” Earl Grey Cookie leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Do not let fear decide your actions. If you shrink back, you give them exactly what they want. Instead, you do what you came here to do. Learn. Improve. Succeed. They will be the ones left in the dust.” You let out a slow breath. You weren’t sure if it was that simple. But as you glanced at your friends, their unwavering expressions, their quiet confidence in you… you felt something steadier take root in your chest. “…Alright,” you murmured. “I’ll keep going.” Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie gave you a firm pat on the back. “We’ve got you.” Earl Grey Cookie gave a satisfied nod. “Good.” And for the first time since that encounter, you felt like you weren’t facing this alone.

 The afternoon sun cast golden light through the hanging tendrils of the willow tree, swaying gently in the breeze. The pond before you rippled as the koi-like creatures beneath the surface swam lazily, their shimmering scales catching the light in fleeting flashes of silver and gold. The bench beneath you was familiar, worn to your shape, a place that made sleep come easily, where the weight of the world often felt just a little lighter. Today, though, your mind was restless. You were supposed to go to Shadow Milk Cookie’s office. He had asked you to be there. But it was the weekend. And after everything that had happened, after the words that had dug into your skin like thorns, you couldn’t bring yourself to go. Not today. You told yourself he wouldn’t mind. He was busy always busy. He had research, lessons, scholars seeking his wisdom. You were just another student, one of many. If you weren’t there, it wouldn’t make a difference. Right? You exhaled, leaning back against the bench, staring at the way the light flickered across the water. You tried to let the quiet lull you, tried to let the steady movement of the koi-like creatures settle your thoughts. But even here, you weren’t free of it. Those upper scholars. Their words. The way they had spoken with such certainty, as if they knew more about you than you did yourself. The way they had wielded their privilege like a weapon, their connections like a shield. A part of you still burned with indignation. Another part, the part that had always been small, tucked away, hidden beneath layers of resolve whispered that they weren’t entirely wrong. What were you compared to them? You clenched your jaw, forcing the thought away. No. That wasn’t fair to yourself. You had worked for this. You had struggled, failed, and gotten up again. You weren’t handed anything. You fought for every scrap of understanding you had. And yet… You stared at your reflection in the water, fragmented by the ripples. No matter how hard you tried, that seed of doubt remained, buried deep where no amount of logic could root it out.

For a while you heard nothing then footstep. The footsteps were slow, deliberate. You heard them before you saw him, before you even thought to turn. At first, you ignored them, eyes locked on the rippling surface of the pond, watching as the koi-like creatures wove their silent, endless circles beneath the water. It wasn’t unusual for students to wander the academy gardens, but few ever strayed this far. This place was tucked away, hidden behind winding paths and overgrown archways, a sanctuary where the world quieted, where time itself seemed to slow. But the footsteps did not pass. They did not hesitate at a nearby tree, did not stop to admire the golden shimmer of fish beneath the water’s surface. They came closer. And then  They stopped. Right behind you. A slow breath left you, though it did nothing to steady the sudden, heavy awareness that settled over your shoulders. You knew who it was before he spoke. "I should have expected to find you here." His voice was low, threaded with something unreadable. Still, you hesitated before looking up. Shadow Milk Cookie stood behind your bench, golden eyes softened by the afternoon light, framed by the willow’s swaying branches. The breeze stirred the edges of his robes, lifting stray strands of his hair, and for a fleeting moment, he looked like something out of a dream, something distant, unreachable. And yet, he was here. Your stomach twisted, a quiet war waging in your chest. “…I didn’t think you’d come looking for me,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to the ground. “It’s the weekend. I thought you’d have more important matters to tend to.” A pause. "You were expected," he said simply. Your breath caught. You had skipped your meeting. You had convinced yourself that it wouldn’t make a difference that surely, someone like him, someone so deeply entangled in the pursuit of knowledge, wouldn’t notice the absence of one struggling scholar. But he had. You swallowed, guilt creeping into your tone. "I'm sorry." Shadow Milk Cookie did not chastise, did not press. Instead, he stepped forward, lowering himself onto the bench beside you. Your fingers twitched. He had never done that before. For a moment, you could only stare at the space between you, at the way his presence changed the air still measured, still poised, but somehow… softer.

Neither of you spoke. The willow’s leaves whispered against one another, the wind tracing invisible paths along the water’s surface. It was he who broke the silence first. "Would you like to tell me what troubles you?" Your fingers curled into your lap. You had known this question would come. And yet, now that it was here, you weren’t sure how to answer. What could you possibly say? That a few upper scholars had tried to undermine you? That, despite knowing their words weren’t true, they had still found a way to carve doubt into your ribs? That a part of you some small, fragile part was beginning to believe them? It sounded foolish. It felt foolish. So instead, you swallowed down the knot in your throat and gave the simplest answer you could. “I just needed some time to think.” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, gaze calm but searching. “And have you found the answers you seek?” A quiet, humorless chuckle left you. “Not really.” He hummed, thoughtful. His gaze flickered back to the water, watching the gentle ripple of koi fins beneath the surface. "Then perhaps you have been asking the wrong questions." You blinked, turning to look at him fully. “What do you mean?” He did not answer right away. Instead, he regarded you with the same careful patience he always did, steady, unwavering, as if waiting for you to understand before he even spoke. And then, at last 

“I do not ask for the sake of idle curiosity,” he said. “If something burdens you, I would rather you not carry it alone.” Your chest ached. For a long moment, you simply stared at him, searching his expression, looking for anything…anything that might explain why he had come all this way for you. Why he cared. And for the first time, you saw it. Not just the scholar. Not just the Sage of Truth. But something gentler. Something steadier. Something real. Your lips parted, words teetering on the edge of existence. But when you tried to speak, you found yourself faltering. “…I don’t know how to say it.” Shadow Milk Cookie did not look away. “Then say what you can,” he murmured. “And I will listen.” His voice was quiet, but his words carried weight. Something fragile unfurled in your chest, something small but growing something that felt dangerously close to trust. You exhaled, pressing your palms together, letting yourself be in this moment, in this silence, in his presence. And though you still did not have the words though the shadows of doubt still curled at the edges of your mind  For the first time in a long while, you did not feel alone. The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them. "Why do you care so much?" A question barely louder than a breath, yet it carried weight, carried something trembling and raw between you. Your eyes searched his, desperate, pleading for what you didn’t know. An answer. A confirmation. A reason to believe that this mattered, that you mattered. Shadow Milk Cookie did not look away. For a long, breathless moment, he only held your gaze, letting you search, letting you reach into the golden depths of his eyes as if you might find some hidden truth written there. The eyes are the doors to the soul, they say. But his were locked. Not cold. Not empty. But guarded. His silence stretched, not cruel, not dismissive just… careful. Measured. You almost wished he would lie to you. Tell you it was an obligation, tell you it was mere curiosity, tell you that your presence was just another puzzle for him to solve. But instead, his voice came quiet. Steady.

"Would you have me turn away?" Your breath hitched. That wasn’t an answer. But it was. Your fingers curled against the bench, nails digging lightly into the worn wood. The world around you seemed to soften, the wind a gentle hush through the willows, the koi-like creatures gliding beneath the water in endless, slow circles. “…No,” you admitted, voice fragile, nearly lost beneath the rustling leaves. “But I don’t understand.” Something flickered in his gaze. He inhaled deep and slow, like a man on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t, something that threatened to chip away at the carefully constructed walls he had built around himself. And then, at last  "Neither do I." The words were soft. Barely there. A confession in their own right. You stared at him, the ache in your chest something both heavy and light, something you couldn’t name. There was something terrifying in this not in what he said, but in what he didn’t. In the spaces between his words, in the way his eyes held yours, unflinching, unguarded, just for a moment. As if he, too, had been reaching for something he did not know how to hold. You swallowed the lump in your throat, the weight of his words settling in your chest like an unanswered question. It lingered thick and heavy in the air between you, something fragile, something unspoken. And yet… you left it there. Let it rest in the quiet hush of the willow’s shade, let it settle in the rippling water, let it slip through your fingers before you could grasp what it meant. Instead, you turned toward something safer. Something familiar.

"Shadow Milk… what did you research today?" His name on your lips felt strange, too intimate, too deliberate. You rarely said it, always keeping that respectful distance, always keeping the boundaries clear. But right now, you needed something clear. A path forward, a step back into normalcy. He regarded you for a moment longer, as if weighing your sudden shift, as if debating whether to push, whether to pry. But he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled slowly, tilting his head as he considered your question. "Ah… an interesting inquiry. I had the pleasure of studying an old text on astral navigation, rather fascinating, truly. It details the methods by which early scholars charted the celestial currents, long before modern star-mapping techniques were refined." His voice was smooth, practiced, slipping into his natural rhythm with ease, offering you the normalcy you sought. You nodded, grasping onto his words like a lifeline. “That does sound fascinating. Did they have any theories that still hold weight today?” He hummed, ever thoughtful. "A few, though many have been refined or disproven with time. There was one particular hypothesis regarding the influence of lunar phases on magic conductivity though widely dismissed, I find the logic behind it intriguing." You let out a soft breath, nodding along, focusing on the conversation, on the back-and-forth of learning, of inquiry, of things that made sense. Because this was what you understood. Not the way his voice had softened moments ago. Not the way he had looked at you, as if there was something neither of you were ready to name. Not the way your heart ached with something you were too afraid to face. So you let the moment slip away. And Shadow Milk Cookie, for all his wisdom, let you.

You leaned back against the bench, letting your head tilt just slightly as your gaze wandered not toward the koi-like creatures in the pond, not toward the swaying willows, but to the soft, flowing strands of Shadow Milk Cookie’s hair. It was almost hypnotic, the way it moved despite the stillness of the air, as if caught in some unseen current. Deep, endless blue fading into a luminous, almost ethereal lightness, like a river reflecting the night sky. You squinted at it. “Is your hair magical?” He turned his head toward you, golden eyes narrowing slightly, not in displeasure, but in quiet amusement. “That is quite the sudden inquiry.” You shrugged. “It’s just… it moves even when there’s no wind. And it sparkles, like it’s full of stars.” You frowned, studying the strands with something close to suspicion. “It’s a little unfair, honestly.” That earned a chuckle a real, quiet laugh, the kind you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him before. “Unfair?” “Yes! Some of us have to deal with normal hair that just sits there. Yours looks like it was spun from the sky itself.” He hummed, as though genuinely considering this. “An unfortunate injustice, indeed.” You deadpanned. “Are you mocking me?” His expression was the picture of innocence. “I would never.” You narrowed your eyes at him, not believing that for a second, but huffed and leaned back again. “So? Is it magic or not?”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he finally exhaled, tilting his head just slightly so that a few strands of his hair slipped over his shoulder, catching the light. “It depends on how one defines magic.” You groaned. “No. None of that Sage of Truth nonsense…I want a real answer.” He let out another soft laugh. “Very well. No, my hair is not inherently magical.” You blinked. “Oh.” Then your eyes narrowed. “Wait. You hesitated. That means there’s a but.” He sighed, as if he had been caught in some great scheme, though there was no real frustration in it. “Perceptive.” You grinned. “So? What’s the but?” “The ‘but,’” he echoed, “is that while it is not magical in the traditional sense, it is… a reflection.” That caught your curiosity. You tilted your head. “A reflection of what?” His golden gaze flickered toward the pond, watching as one of the koi-like creatures glided beneath the surface. “Of who I am.” You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. It was rare for him to say something so… personal. But before you could think too much about it, you huffed, trying to bring back the lightheartedness. “Well, then I’m doomed. My hair just reflects how little sleep I get.”

That startled another laugh out of him. It was soft, brief, but real. And somehow, hearing it made your chest feel warm. You smiled, shaking your head before letting your gaze drift back to the pond. He didn’t press for conversation, nor did you, but the air between you was lighter now, easier. And if you caught him watching you from the corner of your eye, his expression softer than usual, well…You decided not to say anything about that, either. You tapped your fingers idly against your knee, watching the way the strands of his hair shimmered even in the shade of the willow tree. A reflection of himself, huh? You let the thought settle, mulling over his words, before speaking again soft, thoughtful, but lighthearted all the same. “So that means… your true personality must be beautiful.” Shadow Milk Cookie turned his head slightly, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. Warmth flickering on his face a subtle darker blue. His eyes, gold like the light of an old star, held something unreadable, something quiet. Not necessarily surprised, but… considering. You blinked at him, confused by his silence. “What? You were the one who said your hair is a reflection of who you are.” You gestured vaguely. “And, well, it’s beautiful. So logically, that means you must be, too.”

His lips parted slightly, then pressed together as though choosing his next words carefully. “Beauty is a subjective concept,” he said at last, voice even. “It is determined not by the subject itself, but by the eyes that perceive it.” You huffed. “You always do this.” His brows lifted slightly. “Do what?” “Turn a simple observation into some grand philosophical statement.” He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “And you always take my words at face value.” “Well, yeah,” you said, leaning back on your hands. “You’re the Sage of Truth. If I can’t take your words at face value, then who can I trust?” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment before tilting his head ever so slightly. “Then if I were to say I do not often think of myself as you claim-” “You’d be wrong.” He blinked. “I-” “See? You’re not used to being told that, huh?” You grinned, watching the way he seemed caught between amusement and something else, something deeper, lingering beneath the surface. “I mean it, though. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He studied you, his expression unreadable once more, before glancing away. “You speak as though you know me well.” You shrugged. “I do know you well.” “Do you?” The way he said it wasn’t a challenge, not like the way he typically invited debate it was softer, thoughtful. You frowned slightly, considering. “I mean… I know the version of you I’ve seen. The one that tutors me. The one that lets me ask ridiculous questions about your hair and doesn’t seem too bothered by it.” You tilted your head. “There’s probably more I don’t know, but… I think that’s true for anyone.”

Shadow Milk Cookie was quiet for a moment, gaze turning toward the rippling pond. “Indeed,” he murmured. “No one is known in full. Not even to themselves.” You stared at him for a second before shaking your head with a small laugh. “And there it is.” He raised a brow. “There? what is?” “That grand philosophical statement I was talking about.” You grinned. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Shadow Milk Cookie sighed in something that might’ve been exasperation, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps not.” You leaned back again, satisfied with that answer, and let the moment settle into something quieter, something easier. “Still,” he said after a while, voice softer now, “you are one of few to look at me and see something beyond my title.” You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden honesty. Then you smiled. “Well,” you said, nudging his arm lightly, “maybe your hair isn’t the only reflection of who you are.” He looked at you then, truly looked at you, and you couldn’t quite place what it was in his expression. Something contemplative. Something… open. For a fleeting moment, you thought he might say something else.

But he only hummed, low and thoughtful, before turning his gaze back to the water. And this time, you let the quiet linger. You kicked your legs idly, watching the way the koi-like creatures stirred beneath the surface of the pond. The conversation had quieted for a moment, the weight of it sinking into something softer, something unspoken but understood. Still, the silence wasn’t unwelcome. It was… nice.But you weren’t one to let things sit too heavy for too long.“So,” you said, turning your gaze back toward him, “if your hair reflects your true self, does that mean if you ever had an existential crisis, it would just… change color?” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. Once. Twice. Then turned his head slowly to look at you. “…I beg your pardon?” You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. “Like, imagine you’re having a really bad day, and suddenly your hair just turns, I don’t know… gray. Or maybe it starts flickering like candlelight when you’re deep in thought.” He exhaled sharply, not quite a sigh, but something close. “That is not how it works.” You hummed, unconvinced. “Has anyone ever tested it?” Shadow Milk Cookie pinched the bridge of his nose. “No one needs to test it.” “So you don’t know for sure.” “I-” He stopped, inhaled deeply, then exhaled as if summoning patience from the very air around him. “You are relentless.” You grinned. “I learn from the best.” His hand lowered, and he glanced at you, brow arching slightly. “Do you?” “Of course, Shadow Milk,” you said, testing the name again, feeling it settle more naturally on your tongue. “Your dedication to truth is inspiring.” He hummed, but there was an amused lilt to it. “And yet you insist on filling the air with absurdities.”

“Because it’s fun,” you admitted, tilting your head. “And because you humor me, even when you pretend you don’t.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment, golden eyes steady and thoughtful. “…You are not incorrect.” You smiled, satisfied with that answer. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The breeze stirred through the willow’s drooping branches, and the koi-like creatures rippled the surface of the water. The academy gardens had always been a place of quietude, but somehow, in his presence, that quiet felt fuller like something being gently held rather than simply left alone. But, of course, you couldn’t let things stay too still for too long. “Do you think if I concentrated hard enough, I could move things with my mind?” Shadow Milk Cookie let out the softest chuckle, shaking his head. “That is not how magic works.” “You don’t know that.” “I do, in fact, know that.” “You don’t know know that.” Shadow Milk Cookie turned fully toward you now, folding his hands in his lap, as if preparing himself for an argument he never intended to win. “I have spent countless years studying the properties of magic. There is no such thing as purely willing an object to move without some external force…be it spellcasting, elemental manipulation, or otherwise.”

You squinted at him. Then squinted harder at the cup resting on the bench between you both. “…What are you doing?” “Trying to move the cup with my mind.” A pause. “You are absurd.” “And yet,” you said, lifting your chin slightly, “here you are, sitting with me, indulging my absurdity.” Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t refute that. Instead, he leaned back ever so slightly, gaze flickering between you and the unmoved cup, and sighed. “At the very least, you are persistent.” “See? I am learning from you.” He shook his head, but there was something fond in the way he did it. And for the first time, you realized just how much you had eased into this into him. You had been so careful, so hesitant before. Always aware of the weight of his presence, the grandiosity of his title, the sheer difference between the two of you. But here, beneath the willow, with the koi-like creatures dancing beneath the surface of the pond and the sunlight filtering through his star-strewn hair, he felt… reachable. And maybe that was why you kept talking. Maybe that was why you kept asking ridiculous questions. Because he let you. Because he answered, even when he sighed, even when he shook his head in exasperation, even when he tried so hard to act as if he wasn’t the slightest bit entertained by your antics. Because right now, you weren’t just his student. You were something else. Something you didn’t want to name just yet.

But something that made you call his name again, lightly, playfully. “Shadow Milk.” He turned to you, expectant. You grinned. “Do you think you could make your hair sparkle more on command? Like, really sell the whole ‘ethereal sage’ thing?” His lips parted slightly, as if stunned into silence. Then, finally, he let out a breath of something close to a laugh. “…You truly are relentless.” And yet, he didn’t seem to mind. The moment between you both had settled into something light, something easy. The kind of moment that didn't demand anything but presence, where words came as they pleased, and silence was just another way of speaking. The koi-like creatures swam in slow, lazy circles, catching glimmers of sunlight on their iridescent scales. The willow’s long tendrils swayed, brushing against the surface of the water like fingertips tracing the lines of a dream. You sat back against the bench, sighing softly, letting yourself just be for a moment. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this something outside of studying, outside of the weight of expectations. Something that felt like companionship, like understanding. And yet, even as you spoke with ease, even as his presence no longer loomed quite so dauntingly, the respect you held for him remained like a carefully drawn line in the sand. He was still him. Still someone revered, someone you never expected to be sitting with like this, sharing a quiet afternoon beneath the willow. Which made what you were about to say all the harder to get out. You hesitated, running a hand over the grain of the bench beneath you. The words sat at the back of your throat, a strange weight pressing against your ribs. You weren’t sure why you were nervous maybe because this side of him was still new to you, maybe because you weren’t sure if inviting him into something so normal was overstepping. But the words were already there, and before you could overthink them further, you let them fall. “Um,” you started, shifting slightly. “Would you… I mean” You stopped, sighed, and started again. “Would you like to have dinner with us later?” He turned to you, golden eyes flickering with quiet curiosity. “With ‘us’?” “My friends and I,” you clarified, suddenly feeling like you were walking a tightrope. “We usually eat together around this time. I just thought…” You trailed off, the weight in your chest twisting into something uncertain. “You don’t have to, obviously. I just” “I would not be unwelcome?” The question was simple, but the way he asked it so careful, so measured made you pause. “…No, of course not,” you said quickly. “It’s just-well, I don’t know if you’d even want to. I mean, it’s probably nothing compared to whatever important discussions you have with scholars, and I wouldn’t want to waste your time, but-”

“I would not see it as a waste of time,” he interrupted gently. That made you stop. Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but his voice had softened, just enough that it almost startled you. “You invited me,” he said simply. “Therefore, I will consider it.” You blinked, then let out a small breath, unsure if that was a yes or not, but feeling oddly relieved nonetheless. “Okay,” you murmured, glancing down at your hands. “Just… let me know if you decide to.” For a while, neither of you spoke. The moment stretched between you, filled only by the rustling of leaves and the distant sound of laughter somewhere farther in the gardens. Then, without really thinking, you smiled. “If you do come,” you added, a teasing lilt in your voice, “I’ll try not to bombard you with too many nonsensical questions.” Shadow Milk Cookie let out a breath part amusement, part exasperation. “I highly doubt that.” You laughed, and for the first time since you sat down beneath the willow, it felt like the weight in your chest had lightened, just a little. You grinned. “Hey, I can be serious when I want to.” “Mm. That remains to be seen.” You huffed in feigned offense, crossing your arms. “Is that a challenge?” He turned his head slightly, golden eyes glinting in the dappled light. “A simple observation.” You narrowed your eyes at him, but there was no real heat behind it. You were teasing, he was humoring you, and something about that exchange felt new. Shadow Milk Cookie was known for debate, for discourse that unraveled truth from tangled thought, but he was also known to be distant scholarly in a way that left little room for anything beyond the pursuit of knowledge.

But here he was, engaging in something as simple as banter. And you weren’t sure what to make of that. “…You’re different when you’re not teaching,” you mused, tilting your head. He regarded you with quiet curiosity. “In what way?” You hesitated, thoughtful. “You’re still you, obviously, but…” You gestured vaguely, as if trying to grasp the right words. “It’s like seeing the ocean on a calm day after only knowing it in a storm.” His expression shifted something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. For a moment, you worried you had overstepped, but then he let out a quiet breath. “Truth,” he said slowly, “is often mistaken for rigidity. Many believe it to be an unyielding thing a force that exists only in the realm of reason.” His fingers tapped idly against the wood of the bench, contemplative. “But truth is vast,” he continued, his voice carrying the weight of thought. “It is fluid, ever-reaching. And in all its forms, there is still room for quiet moments beneath willows. For idle conversation. For…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Dinner?” you offered, grinning. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely. “…Perhaps.”

A/N Thank you to everyone who gave me advice on how to do this <3 I finally got this work...tumblr pls let me be....

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[flymetothequoon]

Behold, a stupid little thing

Slate had never been great at the social aspects of hearthian life. When everyone you’d ever met lives within reasonable shouting distance, things get a little… let’s say cramped. When they were a hatchling, they got pretty well acquainted with the out of the way spots in the crater. Spots behind houses, between geysers, behind the waterfall, or in a dark corner of the zero g cave where they could keep their already overly long gangly limbs out of sight and tinker for a few hours where no one would find them.

The day they realized they’d grown big enough to shimmy up the cliffs out of the crater was the day all those hiding spots became obsolete. It was a lot easier to avoid people when you had a whole planet to work with. They could carry their tools, plus a tin of fish and a can of mallows, in their knapsack, find somewhere to settle down and work, and sneak back to the crater when it was dark. Sure, they usually got caught by whoever was still awake and chewed out, but Tektite usually went easy on them, so it was a worthwhile gamble.

It wasn’t like they hated people, either, though they knew they gave that impression. It’s just that trying to talk to their fellow hearthians felt like trying to blindly find their way through a ghost matter maze. They always managed to say the wrong thing, get angry at something tiny, or laugh at something they shouldn’t have. Frankly, they sucked at conversations. And when they went off the path of what was fine to say, they could feel the burning of what they’d stumbled into in their face and their chest, and an itchy, skin-crawly feeling like they were covered in bugs. That wasn’t a worthwhile gamble, no matter how many times they tried.

So they didn’t. They hoisted themself over the crater wall every morning before anybody could say anything about it, and disappeared into the expanses of timber hearth, as hidden there as they had been under the pile of tarps behind spinel’s house when they were littler.

Those vast expanses of grass and loamy soil is where slate found their place in the universe.

They’d always been a tinker, but this was the first time, and far from the last, where they’d made something that definitely could have killed them if they were just a little bit less lucky. The spout of flame from the little model rocket (just a can they’d put a mining explosive under) was bright blinding orange, and set the grass on fire in a ring around the takeoff zone. Slate barely had the mind to stagger back from the heat that was burning their shins, they were too mesmerized looking up at where the rocket had disappeared from their sight. They stood watching for it when Rutile came and yelled at them to back away and stamped out the fire, and were still glancing skyward while Rutile dragged them back to the crater by their ear. It never did come back down.

From then on, they were driven by their newfound love of launching shit into space. And it was that love that somehow found them their first friend.

Naturally, the friendship that would eventually spark outer wilds ventures started with Slate almost killing Feldspar.

It was dead cold out, and Slate was of the reasonable opinion that that meant it was the best time of year to be setting things on fire, so that’s what they were doing. The campfire they’d lit hours ago had melted the frost in a nice circle around it, and every once in a while they would throw something else in the fire, and record what made the biggest explosion.

Before they’d left the crater this morning, they’d pinched a bottle of sapwine. They’d heard Tektite and Rutile saying something about sapwine warming you up, so they took some with them. But once they’d tried it, they made a face and decided resolutely that they’d rather be cold.

It was the pilfered bottle of sapwine that brought Feldspar out to Slate’s campground.

“Heya,” they said from somewhere over Slate’s shoulder.

Slate jumped out of their skin, having not heard them coming since they were approaching from the side that Slate had mostly lost hearing in from their experiments. Not that they’d ever let anybody find out. Gneiss would never let them run off alone again.

“Scrap, Feldspar, what are you doing out here?”

“What are you doing out here?” Feldspar asked, wide eyes glancing excitedly at the fire, which was finally turning back to normal fire colors after whatever Slate had thrown in there last had turned it blue.

Slate didn’t really know what to do with that face. “Nothing,”

Feldspar rolled their eyes and laughed. “Yeah, looks like it!”

“… are you gonna tell me what you’re doing here, or are you just gonna stand there gaping like a fish?”

“Did you put something in the fire?”

“You’re really annoying,” Slate said matter of factly. They’d never interacted much with Feldspar. They were in the hatchling’s cabin together, sure, but as previously mentioned, Slate wasn’t actually there all that often, and even when they were, Feldspar was usually off dragging Gossan into trouble around the crater. And that comment was sure to end this interaction and all future potential interactions because Slate couldn’t keep their dumb mouth in line. This was why they spent so much time by themself.

But Feldspar just laughed, so hard they doubled over and clutched their stomach, and then plopped down next to Slate on the frosted grass.

“The adults are looking for you. They found out you took that.” They pointed to the bottle of sapwine on Slate’s other side. “Rutile said you’re going to be scrubbing the fish barrels for two moons when they find you.”

Slate raised an eyebrow and reached over to grab the bottle.

“It’s not even good,” they complained.

Feldspar grabbed the bottle and took a sip, and their face soured.

“Blegck! Yeah, ok you’re right. That’s bad.”

“Why do they all drink it?”

“Who knows. Flint says it makes the campfire song sweeter and the marshmallows fluffier.”

“That’s coming nowhere near my marshmallows,” slate griped. Feldspar laughed.

“What do we do with it?”

“… what do you mean?”

“I came all the way out here to warn you, you better not get caught with it.”

That caught Slate off guard. They never figured that was the reason that Feldspar was sitting next to them right now. Slate had been trying to figure out if Feldspar was making fun of them, but they apparently wanted to help keep Slate out of trouble. Suddenly, Slate got an idea.

“Wanna see something really cool?”

And that was how they ended up letting Feldspar light the fuse on one of Slate’s homemade explosives with a bottle on sapwine on top of it. What happened next though was definitely going to get them in more trouble than being caught with the sapwine would have.

The explosive didn’t go off, launching the bottle into orbit like the first can that Slate had sent into space. Instead, it caught fire. Then, the bottle exploded, sending ceramic shards in every direction. One of those directions, of course, was directly at the two hatchlings.

Thankfully the luck that had kept Slate alive so far was still going strong, and when the shock wore off and they took stock of the few minor cuts they’d each sustained, Slate and Feldspar both fell down laughing.

“That was awesome!” Feldspar crowed, kicking all their limbs up toward the sky.

“We are so dead,” Slate cackled.

“Gneiss is gonna kill us!” Feldspar shrieked with glee. They sat up and looked at Slate. “We have to do that again!”

“It wasn’t even supposed to do that! It was supposed to go up, not blow up!”

“That’s even better!”

“The first time I did it, the can didn’t come back down.”

“Really?” Feldspar’s eyes looked too wide for their face, and they had a whole sky’s worth of stars in them.

“It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.”

Feldspar shot to their feet and whooped and hollered like a crazy person. “I have to see that! No, wait! You have to shoot me into space!”

Slate laughed uproariously. “You’re insane!”

“Says the hatchling making bombs in their free time! C’mon, send me to space! I know you can do it! I want to walk on the moon!”

“How about we see if you can walk back to the crater first, space fish? You’re weird face is still bleeding,”

[v88sy]

do you also have an idea what bucks professional and private desicions could be that oliver mentioned in the last interview?

I think in his private life, he's going to do some thinking about what he wants and why he wants it. Does he want to be with someone only because he's scared of being alone? Does he need, or does he want? I think that's what Oliver meant when he said he'll be questioning the morality of how he's going about his relationships. I think this really ties into his abandonment issues and learning to be ok being by himself. I think the whole thing with Tommy does play into that too.

Tommy leaving was a large reason he felt so alone, and in a way, the hookup was his attempt to fix that, if only for a night. Getting back what they used to have and pretending it's still there in order to distract himself from the fact that it isn't. I think he does some pondering on that as well.

As far as professionally...I mean, l see that and I always think something like going for a position as Captain. BUT, if the firehouse were to need a new Captain, the obvious choice would be Hen, and I'm not sure he would want to leave the 118 for a promotion somewhere else. Unless that's also part of the choices needing to be made in his personal life. Does he need to step out from the shadow and become less codependent?

[otissbluebearshirt]

Prompts from build a fic 1. :D

꒰ 13 ꒱ “i say this with all the love in my heart, but you look like shit.”

꒰ N ꒱ fondness

꒰ 𓃓 ꒱ at work, far later than you should be

Character: Otis

And idea to add is maybe the reader is a Luitenent?

Never made a request before but I love your writing and there seriously is not enough Zvonecek love!

Let’s Go Home - [ Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek ]

Build-A-Fic: “I say this with all the love in the world, but you look like shit.” // fondness // at work, far later than you should be

Word Count: 3198

Warnings: female!reader, uhh… tiredness i guess? overworking… idk - it’s just cute

A/N: i love this i love this i love this i love this… did i mention i love this? this is the first piece i’ve written lately that i’m actually happy with and i think there’s so many opportunities for companion pieces to this??? let me know if you think i should write any (like maybe their perfect night) or if you have any requests for otis and this particular arson lieutenant!reader that you’d like to see :))

Masterlist | Otis Masterlist

You never usually stayed this late on days when Brian off shift.

You both worked for the fire department. You were a Lieutenant at arson and he, of course, was a firefighter over at fifty-one, which meant the two of you didn’t have a lot of time to spend together as is. You had a few hours a day, if you were lucky, and the majority of them were spent sleeping next to each other, therefore you had always made sure you were the first one out the door when the clock struck five.

It had been a rather strict rule you had set for yourself ever since you got married, as there had been far too many times when you were dating that you’d had to blow him off for dinner, drinks, or even a quick lunch inside the walls of your very own office. Truth be told, you honestly never expected him to stick it out this long. You figured he’d get fed up. Or find someone else who was less busy all the time, so it was safe to say you were rather surprised when he got down on one knee in the middle of Molly’s and pulled out a ring.

You had said yes within seconds. Hell, he hadn’t finished saying your name let alone asking you to actually marry him before you did. And you always would. You loved him, so much more than you’d ever loved another person in your life, and the very moment that cool, silver band slid down your finger, you made a promise to yourself that you’d never leave him hanging again. You didn’t want him falling asleep without you next to him, nor did you want him eating so much as a single bite of his dinner without you facing him, which is why today felt like one of the worst, most devastating, days of your life.

It was already way past dinner time, if the clock on your wall was fully accurate, and in less than an hour it would have been your bed time. You hadn’t intended on staying in the office for more than an extra thirty minutes, let alone six whole hours, but with a string of deadly arson fires plaguing the city Chicago and the fire commissioner, himself, breathing down your neck, you didn’t feel as though you had any other option than to stay and work the case.

You had texted Brian earlier to let him know your situation, apologising over and over — like a goddamn crazy person — as you promised that you’d make it up to him whenever you could. Whether it be a full, proper day off next week. A weekend away somewhere special, for just the two of you. Hell, even a simple trip to… the goddamn zoo, or whatever. Just something to try and make up for the fact that he’d had to eat dinner alone for the first time since he proposed. And of course, to make the weight of guilt feel that much heavier on your already aching shoulders, Brian — being the most sweetest, caring and all round perfect man to ever exist — had been nothing if not completely understanding.

After all, he was a firefighter. He’d been there himself, fighting many of the fires you were investigating — and worrying you deeply in the process as a few firefighters had tragically died in those blazes — so he knew all too well that you wouldn’t have blown him off if it wasn’t important. But that didn’t make you feel any better, not in the slightest.

You were meant to be celebrating tonight, for a rather special reason. Brian had finally gotten off sole elevator duty and was now driving truck eighty-one and you knew, all too well, how important that was to him. He’d been on elevators for seven long years and it was starting to take its toll on him, therefore you had promised him the most perfect, romantic, night to finally celebrate his big move up the ladder.

You’d planned it all, right down the very playlist you’d have playing in the background. You’d gotten everything in that you needed to make his all time favourite meal. You’d even bought some nice candles to decorate the table; a fancy bottle of red wine, from the good shelf at the store, to toast with; but most importantly of all, you had a new two piece from Victoria’s Secret hidden in your underwear drawer that you’d been planning to wow him with.

It had been a while since the two of you had so much as fooled around a little, let alone had time to be properly slow and intimate with one another. You were always too tired after work or too busy solving cases for anything but a quickie, but tonight you’d specifically planned to have the first truly magical night you’d both had in a while. And you’d been looking forward to it ever since Brian broke the news and you got the idea. So, to find yourself still standing in your office, wearing your white shirt and bugles, instead of lying in your bed clad in an uncomfortable lace outfit with Brian firmly on top of you, was rather tragic to say the least.

“I’m no expert, but I think you actually have to take the cap off the pen in order to write with it.”

At the sudden, all too familiar voice, your head snapped to your office door where Brian, himself, now stood, his arm leaning against the doorframe and a red button down shirt, with tiny anchors printed all over the fabric, covering the muscular build of his torso. Your lips curled up almost instantly, your arm slowly lowering from in front of the mess that was your whiteboard. You opened your hand as it fell limp next to you, allowing the pen — which did still have its cap on — to fall to the floor as the concentration that had sat heavy on your face all night swiftly faded, replacing instantly with nothing but pure and utter fondness as you allowed your tired gaze to drift over the entirety of his being.

“What are you doing here?” You asked curiously. He never really came down to your office as it was a tad bit out of the way, so to see him standing there, at nearly 11pm, was a little bit of a — blessed — shock for you right now.

“You’re here a lot later than you said you'd be,” Brian explained, and even despite there not being any sort of grievance or anger hidden behind his soft, comforting voice, it still broke your heart to have to hear those words slip past his lips and you almost regretted asking him. “I was getting worried.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” You whispered, your eyes swelling up the moment he began to delve further into the absolute carnage of your office. You hadn’t wanted to worry him, not at all, but in your delirious state of mind you must have forgotten to text him an update after you surpassed the original time that you guessed you’d be home at. “I didn’t…”

A shuddering breath left the back of your throat as your words fell quiet, your pen-stained hand lifting to wipe at your eyes before the tears could tip over and spill down your cheeks. You hadn’t realised how truly terrible you felt over the entire situation until you saw him in front of you. Until you finally realised that he wasn’t some sort of stress related mirage and that he was actually here, now, standing in your office having come to check in on you.

And to make things worse, he wasn’t annoyed at you or angry. He wasn’t sad or even disappointed that your night had been ruined by your need to work, he was just… him. As always, Brian was nothing more than the sweet, considerate man you had met at a CFD gala, and danced with all night, and that was more than enough to have the tap behind your eyes want to turn on entirely. But you tried your hardest not to let it pour.

Though, it seemed like you didn’t try hard enough when your vision started to blur and a small drizzle trickled out. It dampened your lashes, dripping of the ends and you had barely managed to dry the first set before you felt Brian’s hands land gently on your face, lifting it from where it had fallen and drying the second before lightly drawing his thumbs across the near-sunken in state of your cheeks.

“It’s okay, baby,” Brian said softly, assuringly, pulling you in closer and placing a tender kiss to your forehead, which almost broke you completely as even with your night having been totally ruined… the only care he showed was entirely towards you. He pulled back yet his touch remained, his thumbs working slow, comforting circles over the dampening surface of your skin as he gazed into the shimmer of your eyes. “I would have called, but I wanted to make proper sure that you weren’t working yourself to death.”

“I would say I’m not, but you just found me trying to write with a still-capped pen so I think I might be getting close,” You sniffled with a little humour, making him smile with all the fondness in the world as he brushed a few strands of your hair behind your ear and allowed his hand to settle there.

“Let me take you home,” He murmured, his thumb grazing below your eye that you could barely keep open.

“I still have stuff to do here,” You protested, yet just the thought of going home and climbing into bed beside him was almost enough to wipe you off your feet. “Receipts I need to go through, footage I need to double check and…”

“And it’ll all still be here in the morning,” Brian finished, giving you a pointed look as you let out a partially defeated sigh. He dropped his hands to rest on either side of your neck, feeling as your own raised from your sides and landed on his arms, your fingers curling tightly around the fabric of his jacket. “Though you might not be, if you don’t let me take you home so that you can get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired.” You mumbled, causing Brian to frown and tilt his head a little at the bags beneath your eyes and the droop of your eyelids.

“Baby,” He exhaled, his thumb grazing over the light beat of your pulse, “I say this with all the love in my heart, but you look like shit.”

A soft chuckle escaped the back of your throat and you nodded lightly, your eyes falling to the floor, “Yeah, I guess I probably do look a mess, don’t I?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re still the stunningly beautiful Lieutenant I married,” Brian began, the slight smugness he had over managing to secure you as his wife making you smile. “But yeah, you do… As does your office.”

And with that last little addition, you couldn’t help but agree and you let out a heavy sigh.

“Okay. Let me just…” Your brow pinched and you bit at the skin of your lips, suddenly feeling lost now that the realisation of how tired you were had kicked in. “God, I don’t even know. What do I need?”

“Your phone, your keys, your purse and your coat.”

“Right,” You mumbled, nodding your head though your brow remained furrowed. You pulled away from him, heading for your desk and pausing for a second, going over that short list in your aching mind before you nodded again. “…Right.”

A soft, partially amused exhale left Brian’s nose as he smiled fondly, waiting patiently and watching with awe as you gathered your things — whilst still looking entirely confused and disoriented, he might add and he would have been a little worried about it, had it not been a normal occurrence. You often did get a little muddled when you were running low on gas and most of the time he didn’t think you were anything more than ridiculously cute.

Especially on nights like tonight, when you were so tired that when you got home you couldn’t seem to put your pyjamas on correctly no matter how many times you tried. You’d managed to put both legs in the one hole of your shorts and almost tripped over them. Then, when you managed to do that, you ended up with your head through the arm hole of your top and your arm through the head hole, causing you to let out a forced, exaggerated sob, as you huffed in the middle of the bedroom — the misshaped t-shirt covering the entirety of your head.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” You whined out, and even though Brian couldn’t see your face, he still knew you were pouting.

“Come here,” He said with a soft chuckle, sliding back out of bed and padding his way quickly over towards you. He pulled the sleeve off your head and carefully tucked your arm back through the head hole then fixed it properly, his heart swelling in his chest at the permanent pout that etched on your face as he guided your arms into their respective place and all but dressed you. “You know, for an important Lieutenant who solves big fire crimes, you can be really grumpy sometimes.”

Though you knew he was only messing with you, you still shoved him playfully away once your pyjamas were on properly, hearing him laugh softly as he toppled back onto the bed that creaked quietly beneath him.

“Stop being mean.” You huffed, folding your arms and remaining still as he sat up a little. His playful smile faded and yet another fond one replaced it, his hand landing beside him and patting the end of the bed, inviting you over. You gave in in seconds, your arms loosening and falling limp by your sides as you shuffled over to him, sinking down into the comfort of the mattress and feeling his arm drape over you, your own sliding around his back where your fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his t-shirt. “This is the exact opposite of how I wanted this night to go.”

“Oh yeah?”

You hummed in agreement, “You’re gonna think this is so corny, but I really thought it was gonna be magical.”

“What did you have planned?” Brian asked curiously, his heart aching over your obvious disappointment.

“I was gonna cook you your favourite dinner. I even bought some of that fancy wine from the store and some candles. And I…” A soft sigh left your lips as you fiddled with a loose thread on your shorts. “I bought a new outfit that I really wanted to show you...”

“You can show me a new outfit any night this week, my love,” Brian said, his last two words slipping out in Russian. He didn’t want you to feel bad about your night going in the complete opposite direction, not when you could do it literally any other night this week as it wasn’t like it was an important anniversary. It was just a small celebration, one he hadn’t expected you to do much of anything for, let alone all this. Though he wouldn’t lie, as touched as he was over the night you had planned, the thought of this outfit that you seemed more disappointed over than anything else, sparked a fierce tingle deep in his chest. “It didn’t have to be tonight.”

“I wanted it to be,” You mumbled, tilting your head and pressing your cheek against his chest, hearing the light beat of his heart beneath. “It’s special.”

“And it’ll still be special regardless of when you show it to me.” He lifted his hand that lay hung over your shoulder and began to run it down the back of your head. “You know… I’m off next Saturday and Sunday.”

And like he expected, you perked up at that little detail and lifted your head up, locking eyes with him and not missing the subtle glint that sparked behind the browns of his irises.

“I could ask Dawson to cover my shift at Molly’s, and then maybe you and I could go out someplace nice?” He raised his brow, tilting his head a little. “Perhaps you could even wear this special little outfit you wanted to show me.”

You rolled your lips a little and dropped your gaze as a small flush of heat spread across your cheeks, “It’s not exactly an outfit that you wear out in public.”

“Oh.” Brian’s brow dipped a little as he tried to figure out what the hell kind of outfit it was then. Was it… new pyjamas, perhaps? Surely not. You wouldn’t be getting al worked up over new pyjamas, but then again he couldn’t quite think of anything else it could be other than… Oh. It suddenly clicked in his mind exactly what this special little outfit you had was and his cheeks reddened. “Oh.”

You chuckled softly at the way his eyes widened, “Yeah… I sort of… I don’t know, wanted to go all out I guess? As it’s been a while since we’ve been together.”

“What are you talking about? We were together last week.”

You frowned a little, though your tone was light and almost playful, “A quickie in the showers of your firehouse isn’t exactly the pinnacle of romance, Brian.”

True, Brian thought to himself. Though his face might have said otherwise with the way he tilted his head back and reminisced fondly over the reminder.

“Nor was it particularly professional of me to do, either. Especially after I just finished talking to your boss.” You finished, though you wouldn’t deny you were getting goosebumps just thinking about the way your body had felt pressed up against the cold tiles of that shower cubicle. But still, you wanted romance… You wanted slowness… You wanted love, and that wasn’t exactly the best way for you to get it. You sighed softly, forcing his head upright again, “I just wanted us to have a romantic night together.”

“And we will,” Brian assured you, his free hand taking yours and lacing your fingers together. He brought them up to his lips and placed a soft kiss against your knuckles. “Next weekend. Right from the very minute we both wake up, it’ll just be me, you… and that special little outfit you have stashed away somewhere.”

“You promise?”

The way your eyes all but lit up with pure hope made his heart want to weep beneath his chest and he nodded his head, pressing another kiss to you hand, this time right on top of the wedding band that lay engraved with both of your initials. His lips lingered for a second, feeling the slight coldness of the silver mixed with the heat of your hands before he pulled back just enough to whisper the two small words that you so desperately needed to hear, after the day you’d had.

“I promise.”

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[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

TMNT - Drowning Out

Summary: After their little home is flooded, Splinter tries to salvage what he can but there's not enough left for everyone. Leo tries to pretend he isn't affected.

“What matters, my sons, is that we are all safe.”

Leo rolled his father’s words around over and over and over again in the forefront of his mind, trying to keep them loud and present so as to drown out all of the other thoughts and feelings clamoring for attention. Master Splinter was getting enough of that from Mikey right now, clinging to his arm, imploring him to track down this or that of his beloved belongings somehow as they floundered through what was left of their little home. It wasn’t much, after the flood.

What mattered was that they were safe, Leo told himself, swallowing again and again to break down the lump in his throat as Papa fished a lone toy car from a crevice. All of its wheels had been ripped off, its roof mostly flattened by the water pressure; Mikey stared at it with tears in his eyes, admitting in a small voice that this was only his sixth favorite toy. But he’d still take it, because there was a strained, pleading sort of helplessness in their father’s eyes as he pressed it into his hand because it was the only one he had left to offer. It was something.

Donnie’s security blanket had snagged on some of the debris. It was sodden and heavy with sewage stench and had a sizeable new tear where it had been caught but most of it was still there. Don cried anyway as Splinter wrung it out, swearing up and down that he would patch the hole as soon as they were settled somewhere else, as soon as he could scavenge for the proper tools to repair it, as soon as he reasonably could. Once the remnant of fabric was damp but not dripping, Donnie took it, wadded it up against his plastron and hiccupped to hold his breath against the smell. At least it was something.

It shouldn’t have come as any surprise that Raphie’s “boot bank” survived. The bright, shiny yellow rubber boot he’d dragged home one day was meant to withstand water messes. It should have been a relief—and to Raphie, it was, judging by how fiercely he shook the water out of it and how possessively he held it close—but for some reason Leo felt a sharp, hot twist in his chest that he couldn’t name. Sure, the cool, colorful stones and spare change and stray buttons Raph had stored in the boot had been lost, but he could start a new collection as long as he had the boot to hold them. It was something.

What mattered was that they were safe. The fact that they all had something to latch onto was just a bonus—a bonus Leo was sure he’d appreciate later whenever they found a new niche, a new home. Mikey would have something to occupy his attention, even if it wasn’t his favorite; Donnie would have something familiar and safe through this unexpected, painful change; Raphie would have something that represented the stubbornness to survive no matter what life threw at them.

Leo should be grateful. He should be happy for them.

It’s not like he hadn’t read his books a million times anyway. It’s not like he’d forget them, no matter how many pages had been soaked and stained and shredded beyond recognition, no matter how far they had been swept away. His brothers had been lulled to sleep by Splinter’s rich reading voice so many times, while Leo strove to stay awake for just one more chapter, just two more chapters, just a little while longer; he wouldn’t mind if Splinter doubled back to catch the others up on the plot they had missed tomorrow night, he’d love to hear it with them all over again, to see their first time reactions. He had learned to read for himself with those books, tracing each word with the care it deserved, because someone out there had cared enough to put them all down for him to see and feel and imagine. He had read them to his brothers so many times to distract them when they were sick or hurt. Every time he was sick or hurt or the others were bickering and he didn’t want to be involved, he had escaped the aching and noise between the lines, off on adventures he could never have for real.

He wouldn’t just forget that.

But he really should, he had to, because they were gone now and Papa said in the big scheme of things that it didn’t matter. What really mattered was that the family was safe. That was all Leo was going to get and he had to be grateful for it.

He was, of course. If he had to choose between his books or his brothers, he’d obviously pick his brothers every time. So he should be happy for them. There shouldn’t be this twisting, writhing heat kindling in his gut as Mikey and Donnie cried like babies. They should consider themselves lucky they had anything to hold onto. They were all he had to hold onto and he didn’t want to make them cry any harder so he took their free hands and squeezed them very tightly, impressing the importance of it into his head and onto his heart as hard as he could—Be grateful. Be happy. Be grateful. Be happy. We’re safe. That’s something. Smile—until the fire in his stomach and behind his eyes simmered down enough that he could speak without a sob or a scream.

“Donnie, Mikey, please don’t cry.” Just shush up and stop crying already! You shouldn’t get to cry. Why do you get to cry and I don’t? “It’ll be okay.” It’s not okay, it’s not, it’s not, it’s not! But it will be, probably, once I can cheer you up. (They’re just little, they don’t know. You can’t cry and cheer them up at the same time. That’s your job as the big brother so just keep smiling.) “Like Papa said, we’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Even if Don and Mikey’s tears didn’t stop right away, they did slow, and once they were quieter a teeny tiny bit of the strain in their father’s face eased so Leo must have done the right thing.

That was something.

It was a little strange to him then, that as they sloshed exhaustedly through the cold water in search of a new place to sleep for the night, Papa nudged Leo a little further ahead of the others so they wouldn’t overhear them over their own sighs and sniffles. “I am sorry I could not salvage any of your belongings as I could the others’, Leonardo…” he murmured. “I know some of those things were very dear to you.”

The fire surged right back up through his body at those words, head to toe. For a split second he desperately wanted to clamber into his father’s arms, hide his face away from the cold, wet, cruel world in his warm shoulder and just cry and cry and cry until he couldn’t catch his breath for even one more sob—maybe until even his brothers would forget their own sadness and care about him more, squeeze his hand and shush him gently and tell him it would be alright. His vision blurred and burned dangerously at the idea but that wasn’t their job. It was his. He should just be glad Papa was acknowledging his loss, when it mattered so little in the big picture. As far as Leo knew, he couldn’t be grateful and be sad at the same time so he kept his gaze down until it cleared again.

“It’s okay,” he assured softly, forcing a shrug so Splinter’s hand slipped off. It’s not.

Had he looked up, he would have seen the sorrow and uncertainty that crossed Splinter’s face at his reticence. “…Your brothers have already made their requests for my next scavenging trip. Is there anything you would like me to look for?” he ventured tentatively. “A new book, perhaps?”

More than anything he wanted his books back but no matter how empty the offer of a new one felt, it would be stupid of Leo to say no to the opportunity. “…Yes, please, Papa. Thank you.” The others hadn’t thanked their father for rescuing their things, he couldn’t help but notice, but they were not a part of this conversation so he said it on their behalf. Wordlessly Splinter put his paw back on his shoulder and Leo couldn’t bring himself to shrug away again.

Raphie would have new rocks, pennies and buttons to refill his boot bank and he would be satisfied. Leo would have new books in which to bury himself away from thinking about the old ones, even if he could never forget. He may not be satisfied but more importantly, he would be grateful.

It was better than nothing.

~~~~~~~~

A/N: *pats Leo's head* This bad boy can fit so much "Imposing responsibilities upon myself that I don't actually need to at this age because I too am a baby but I've misinterpreted the adult's words and don't know how to feel more than one emotion at once yet - because, again, I am but a baby - so I'll just get into the habit of deprioritizing how I feel because I consider myself just that teensy bit older and masking it all for the others' sake probably makes me better and stronger and more mature" in him :'D

[androcola]

i think sometime in '65 when mike and micky were living together , mike started to have somewhat of a spiritual crisis because he started feeling overly guilty about abandoning the religion he was raised with.

mostly just thinking about his family and more about the fact that he abandoned his family, but the feeling was kinda misplaced. so I think he tried going to a church in LA but got really scared and intimidated because it's hard to just Go to a new church, and also they're so much bigger than the one in his town he grew up going to. but I think he brought a bible home.

Micky is an atheist though so I think he kept the bible hidden becahse he felt like micky might make fun of him, or that he was disrespecting micky by bringing a bible into his home. I think he hid it Under mickys bed which he shared with him, cuz usually micky doesn't go under there for anything. but I think he found it one night after accidentally dropping his eyeglasses down there and mike was really embarrassed but micky was definitely cool about it. I think he really sympathized with mikes feelings of guilt, although I think he could tell that they were misplaced. I think he knew mikes guilt really came from feeling like he had abandoned his family, not his religion, but his religion was kinda mixed into his family deeply so it wasn't a hard landing to make.