#they just keep going like that forever and ever

[nosyrobin]

Riding Pays

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Yandere!Batboys Highschool AU

Prologue | ii. The Gray Side

Hearing a bike rev up, you looked up at the gods who had sent you a curse with annoyance.

And here comes the devil with a white strike of hair and full black hair, although you knew he was a natural red head.

Jason pulls up infront of you, heaving as if he had rushed like hell itself. He takes off his helmet for you to see those blue eyes of his. Making eye contact with him always slightly gave you a shiver. And not a good one.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you missed the bus?” He says with a smug tone. He was smirking at you, knowing you were already irritated.

“Did your short little legs not make it for the bus?” You rolled your eyes and flip him off. Jason starts to laugh and flip you off as well. “Well? Cmon leprechaun.” He throws a helmet at you. You caught it and walked over to him, strapping it on your head.

As you sat behind the boy, he pats your thigh. “Arms around me. You know the drill.” He says lowly. You cringed, wrapping your arms around him as he smiles from your gaze. He puts his helmet on and speeds off.

You yelped, grabbing onto him tighter. The boy with the white strike of hair smirks feeling your arms wrapped around him tightly. He revs up his bike, zooming past cars. You grit your teeth as you accidentally squeezed his stomach. But your eyes widen feeling… toned abs.

“Woah…feeling a little handsy are we?” Jason responds as he makes it to a stop on a traffic light.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” You felt your face heat up, you really didn’t mean it! But you can tell this sly bastard is cheesing it up behind his helmet.

“I know, relax. But if you want to,” he puts your hand onto his stomach. Patting it. Your gaze went from his abdomen, to his face as you see those blue eyes behind the visor.

“You can.”

Before you could say anything, Jason rides off when the light turned green. Making it repeat to you grabbing onto him with all your might.

Minutes later of some silence, you both made it to the academy. Jason takes off his helmet after parking his bike infront of the school. You unstrapped the helmet from your head whilst Jason just stares at you. He ran his fingers through his hair before taking the helmet from you and putting it up.

“So what’s my payment for the ride leprechaun?” Jason says, staring at you like he does. But the stare is dark, but hidden with something else. You shrugged, awkwardly looking away from him. Jason could only chuckle as he gets in your face. Blue eyes staring into [color] eyes of yours.

You hated payment.

You gave Jason a kiss on his cheek. There Jason finally smiled a genuine smile and patted your head. “Thanks shorty.” You immediately got off his bike and rushed pass him. Ignoring his chuckles at you sprinting away.

Jason couldn’t help but stare til you were in the building. He lets out a sigh, he couldn’t help but close his eyes and clench his jaw. The feeling of you gripping onto him, the feeling of your chest pressed against his back.

He couldn’t help but love how small you are, and how easy it would be to just keep you in his arms.

Forever.

Making it in the building, you let out a sigh of relief. Ever since elementary, Jason was always the one to be the kind that wants Payment from you. All cause of stupid young you who gave him a kiss on his cheek when he gave you a teddy bear you wanted. And you said “That’s your payment Jay-jay.” You were in 4th grade, he was in 5th grade. You would’ve thought he might’ve forgotten that… but now you know..

He does.

You reached your locker, opening it and putting your phone and other things in it. As you go to close it, you feel strong arms wrapped around you. You let out yelp, a low chuckle reaches your ear before you sighed and turned to face the culprit.

Dick Grayson.

Taglist: @roryroro @elect1z @lil-isha @no-bishes @darkfaethedestroyer @nightblanc @cxcilla @winter-world @cim0nnin @yl90 @enjisthings @gwyneveire @ashleeytrx @nightwinglover101 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @caffeinatedvigilantewriter @red-phantom-0 @iriseros00 @zenyyyluvyuu @xen-blank @obsessedwithromance @loafersrs @devils-blackrose @not-herexo @nyxisdark @chiarasworldd @apelepikozume @bookwarm0-0 @daffy-the-duck @holyfishbailiffpeanut @kaylp-godly @cheriecelestial @helloitsmeeeeeee @khalinda-ev @vodkaredbullsblog @another-one-writer @tenswife @that-creepy-girl-000 @childofman12 @1jieka @tsuniio @melvin333 @lillian-morningstar

[modernquackfare]

How about Simon having a wife that is a toymaker and makes plushies. Wife!reader comes to the base and gives each of the tf 141 a plushie that looks like them. All of them gets one… except Ghost

Needles to say, he’s very upset, all day, that he didn’t get one.

Only when he gets home, he sees plushies of himself and the reader on the bed

A/N: okay omg i'm so so sorry this has taken forever but I've lost my draft three times 😭 luckily i wasn't TOO far along writing/had it copied but HERE U GO <33

Ghost x Fem!Reader - Toymaker Wife

For such a special day, you come prepared. It's the first time you're setting foot on Spec Gru's European base, thanks to your husband's insistence on security and containment—whatever that means. After much begging and many strategically missed video calls, Simon finally extends an invitation.

It's a cold, concrete world, Simon tells you. Nothing like you, love, or so he says. Does he think being a toymaker for work is synonymous with an inability to handle a few more military men than you already have? It's hard to believe that anyone on base could be more threatening or deadly than Simon himself.

Or Ghost, as they call him here. It's a little funny—reminiscent of middle schoolers that roleplay wolves named Luna or Rebel, but he'd have your head if you ever say such a thing, regardless of how true it might be. You've considered making him a wolf-ear headband just to prove a point and laugh at his furrowed expression. You're sure that his friends, those large men and women in the photo he let you keep, would find it equally funny.

"Sergeant Gaz, Captain Price, Sergeant Soap…” You count, knocking each handheld plush into your bag. It feels just a little childish, showing up to a military base with a pack full of toys-but in your defense, they're the product of your profession and adorable. Each is handmade to recreate the likeness of every member of Task Force 141. They'll probably like the gifts, if Simon's description of each's personality is accurate. Soap's boyish charm, Gaz's calm demeanor, and Price's warm, but dry sense of humor—that's something you can work with.

***

"It's—is this a mini me? This is braw, you've nailed it, lass." Soap lifts his plush into the air, as if holding a newborn babe to the sun. "Down to the scars. I'll be."

You can't help the ripple of a laugh when beside him, Gaz similarly examines his miniature self. "Not bad," he breathes, wiggling the doll's arms as if to make it dance. "Not bad at all. What a handsome fellow."

Soap lifts his doll, moving its head as if it were speaking for him in a poor attempt at ventriloquism "Finely crafted, maybe. Handsome? Well, that's up for—"

"Well, pass yours on over then, let's see that Yule log you call a mohawk," Gaz sneers back, matching Soap's doll's movements with his own.

It's a successful introduction, you think! Simon watches on in silence, loving warmth evident in his eyes as he does. He's not dragging you away and shipping you back home, so things must be going well—as silent and distant as he's being.

"Do you like them?” You ask, hands folded in your lap.

Price fidgets with his, admiring the tiny boonie hat that you've included, small strips of Velcro lining the bottom to adhere the hat to the head. "Never thought I'd ever be the owner of my own doll," he murmurs. "Got the hat just right, didn't you? Spot on."

"Aye, but don't leave it lying about," Soap grins, making his doll trot on over and speak in pitched up tones. “That hat of yours might just disappear. I've got hair too, Cap'."

"Yeah, hair that needs covering."

"Oh, bolt, ya dobber."

Amidst the light chatter of your newfound friends in Simon's comrades, you glance over at the man. There your husband stands, arms crossed tight against his chest. He's got that look—definitely pouting under that mask of his, as much as he protests, saying that it isn't pouting, it's brooding. The others seem to take notice of your wandering gaze, though, and suddenly all eyes are on Simon and his very obvious lack of a personalized doll.

"Don't look so solemn, Ghost," Gaz grins cheekily. "You've almost got me feeling bad for you. You're the one with the dollmaker for a wife, mate.

Simon doesn't respond. His dark gaze, gentle brown eyes hardened into rocks, finds Gaz. Shut it, he seems to say without even opening his mouth.

That grey cloud seems to follow him throughout the day. Convivial conversation with his other friends on base falls flat when the spotlight falls on him, his responses limited to a scant "Hmm," or "Uh-huh," or even a quiet look that verges on a glare. He'll pull away when you reach for his hand, casually enough to pass off as an accident or fault of imperceptibility. As if you didn't know him better—that his reflexes and peripheral vision weren't as sharp as blades.

"Stupid anyway," he mumbles to himself, catching your ears. "Stupid toys."

You frown. He knows better than to speak this way—you've discussed it before, about how much you treasured your work and hated having it dismissed by words like stupid and childish. “I don't think they're stupid," you interrupt, never too intimidated to speak up against him.

Simon immediately softens upon realizing that you've heard him. “It's not—that's not what I meant. You know I don't think they're stupid."

Right, but he's acting strange all day. Still, you can't find it within yourself to probe. "Something is, though. Right?"

"The way they play with them,” Simon immediately speaks, shoulders stiff. "Just…grown men, playing like children."

"Ah," you hum. Somehow, you can't bring yourself to believe it—but you don't ask. It's not as if it's even remotely big enough of an issue to need addressing, after all. You just hate to see Simon so withdrawn. At least, more so than usual.

***

Simon is absent from dinner in the mess hall later on, after giving you an extensive tour and dropping you off at one of the on-base cafes. That's how you know something's off. He would never normally give up an opportunity to share a meal with you, even in a noisy, crowded cafeteria like the one on base.

"Wasn't hungry," he only shrugs when you find him in his on-base unit, boots kicked up as he nurses a neat whiskey. Oh, he's pouting.

You can't help yourself. "Aww, baby," you coo, lingering closer. "Are you feeling alright? You've been gloomy all day…"

"Mmph," he shrugs, gaze flickering up to yours—and he can't help how he all but melts at the love in your eyes. "Just…tired. Go'n and get your shower done. Wanna snuggle."

And how could you say no to that? Your growing suspicion had been that Simon was feeling left out, or forgotten, not receiving a doll of his own. Little does he know, you giggle to yourself.

***

You're in the shower when Simon emerges from his brooding, lurching off the couch and trudging towards the room, where he'd made his bed with clean sheets and set up fluffy pillows for his wife's arrival. The bitterness of being left out of her sweet benevolence has largely faded. She is his wife, after all.

He nudges open his bedroom door, set on his dresser to shed the heavy layers of the day, the mask, and finally exist as Simon for the rest of the night. With you. No doll could ever distract him from you.

He's pulling a hoodie over his head when tiny figures catch in the corner of his vision. A hallucination? No. Dolls.

You and him, smiling and snuggled together. You in your favorite sundress, rosy cheeks and cute face. Him in his mask—which is removable, he discovers on closer inspection. Simon gently tugs off the cloth skull mask, curious to see his own likeness rendered in doll form.

"Handsome bugger," he mutters, thumb brushing over his doll's small face. Blond with stern brown eyes, but smiling. Soap was right about the scars—each placed with perfect accuracy. The one extending from the left corner of his lip up his cheek. The one across his eyebrow. You even got the one under his chin, tucked under the plushie's soft, round face.

On the right hands of both dolls, he realizes, there is a hidden circle of Velcro. So they can hold hands in any orientation. It's such a you thing to do that it hurts.

When you emerge from your shower, all three are gathered in the living room, watching TV. Simon with his legs up on the coffee table, and your miniatures holding hands in his lap. It's hard to help the beam that curls up on your lips—and why would you want to?

"Looks like someone's found the kids," you coo, swaying over and plopping down beside him. “I'm glad you like 'em. Did I do you justice?"

"More than," Simon rasps, scooting close, flush against your side. "They're better than that git, Soap's, that's for sure."

His words coax laughter out of you as you press your head to his chest and scoop up the two little toys into your arms. "Careful, Si. They might hear what you said and tell him.”

"They can go on and tell the whole base, for all I care. Your skill went as far as it could go, it's his face that's the problem." Simon snorts, tugging you close and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Better believe I'm showing this one off tomorrow. Might have to keep it in here, though. I'm not risking a theft."

"You say that every time," you laugh, snuggling close and shutting your eyes for the night as he wraps an arm around you—warm, solid, and safely his.

Request Archive

[iamgonnagetyouback-recs]

SIRIUS BLACK.ᐟ

a little list of my favorite stories ୨ৎ remember to be kind, reblog, and support the wonderful authors who share their magic with us.ᐟ

NOTE ಇ. none of these stories belong to me ♡ if you’d like your fic removed, just send me a message, and i’ll take care of it!

date by @sun-kissy

⁀➴༯ sirius for some reason thinks you have a crush on regulus

REVIEW ୨ৎ oh my god the tension in this had me actually holding my breath, san. sirius being all dramatic and broody while reader is just exhausted with potions?? perfect. but then the confrontation?? my heart hurt for both of them. sirius being jealous and insecure and reader being so confused but so soft when she realizes what's happening. and the james/regulus mention?? peak comedy. the ending was so sweet, i'm actually kicking my feet

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

forever by @/sun-kissy

⁀➴༯ you're cold, and you're in love with sirius

REVIEW ୨ৎ this was absolutely gorgeous. the tenderness, the pining, the way every little movement is soaked in love—it’s stunning. you have such a delicate way of writing sirius, san, i love it! the smoking detail was such a perfect addition—how he doesn’t put it out but still adjusts for you, how you bought an ashtray just for him. it’s intimate in the way that truly knowing someone is intimate. and that cuddle request??? i nearly stopped breathing. the way reader braces for rejection only to be met with sirius’ sure, get over here, babe—it wrecked me. and then the way he pulls her closer, holds her like it’s second nature? absolutely everything. “my arms have no curfew, sweetheart. they’re content to hold you as long as you please.” —i’m going to be thinking about that line for days. i’m in awe.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

right where i want to be by @appocalipse

⁀➴༯ it's only when lily accidentally spills amortentia on you and all you can smell is cigarettes and dog fur that you realize you're in love with sirius — probably the only person in the world you shouldn't be in love with

REVIEW ୨ৎ oh this hurts in the best way. the slow, creeping realization, the way sirius just knows and won’t let her run from it, the tension??? i’m actually losing my mind. the teasing, the softness, the way he says i want you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world??? i need to lie down. no one disturb me, except maybe you amy cause well you wrote this

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

shy!reader by @moonstruckme

⁀➴༯ bf!sirius teasing reader about something, and it actually hurts her feelings quite a lot? maybe she's always thought she's to shy for him, and he teases her about being quiet and it just hurts so much that he sees her just like everyone else does? like she thought he understood her, but instead he's teasing her about something she's really insecure about

REVIEW ୨ৎ this is so soft i could cry. sirius just knows her, and even when he messes up, he listens, he cares. the way he apologizes??? instantly, genuinely, with no ego—i’m in love. and the way he tucks her into his space so easily, so naturally, like she belongs there??? i’m melting. i now identify as a puddle of tears from all this fluffiness

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

clingy!sirius by @inkdrinkerworld

⁀➴༯ sirius being clingy and your friends teasing you guys

REVIEW ୨ৎ this is the most disgustingly adorable thing i’ve ever read. sirius is just so in love and unashamed about it, and everyone else is exasperated but also just accepting of his dramatics. like yeah, of course he buries himself under her shirt like a needy puppy, what else is new?? i am weak

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

kids by @/inkdrinkerworld

⁀➴༯ you are unsure about having kids

REVIEW ୨ৎ oh this is so soft i actually can’t breathe. the way they’re so open with each other and sirius just listens???? no judgment, just love???? and the way he reassures her without trying to change her mind??? “we can keep our family just like this” i’m actually going to cry. and then the stupid little “and a cat” moment like please. and him being like “i don’t think i could put someone over you” like sir. that is the most sirius black thing i’ve ever heard. i love them so much this fic is everything

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

i got you first by @thatdammchickennugget

⁀➴༯ "if i scare you tonight, you'll owe me a kiss." with sirius black but in the end he ends up getting scared

REVIEW ୨ৎ oh, this is delicious. sirius trying so hard to get a reaction out of her, only for her to completely turn the tables on him?? absolutely love. and that moment in the maze? when she flips the game on him, and he just folds under her touch?? yeah. that man is gone. completely and utterly wrecked by her. the way he just stares and then that lazy grin—i swear, i felt that in my soul. also, the fact that their first kiss isn't rushed or desperate, but soft and slow? sirius black, you are in love. and so am i with this fic

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

sober feelings by @lovemenotts

⁀➴༯ bsf!reader with him out of the blue suggesting 'what if we kiss but not in a dating way?'

REVIEW ୨ৎ oh my god. oh my god. this was everything. the casual suggestion like it’s nothing while my heart is combusting?? sirius being all cocky but then immediately spiraling after??? the way he was so worried the next day i'm gonna cry. and then the confession??? i am on the floor. “we should’ve kissed as friends a long time ago” sirius please be serious about me next

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

yellow hearts by @nottswitch

⁀➴༯ the times you put yellow hearts around his name, and the times he put them around yours

REVIEW ୨ৎ this was so soft i’m actually going to cry. the progression from absolute mortification to comfort and love??? sirius teasing but also so gentle???? the yellow hearts showing up again and again??? and the honeymoon bit oh my god. their bickering is so stupid and adorable and so them. the fact that they get their little happy ending and it’s literally framed in yellow hearts. i’m unwell

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

bad dog by @lupinsversion

⁀➴༯ sirius has a bad habit of flirting with others, especially in front of his girlfriend. has she finally had enough?

REVIEW ୨ৎ oh he DESERVED that bonk on the head. “bad dog” is actually the funniest and most fitting reaction ever. like yes, he’s sirius black, of course he’s going to be a little shit about flirting, but also? he needs to learn. and i love that james and remus are calling him out too because yeah, it’s “harmless” but it’s also not harmless when it clearly hurts his girlfriend. sirius sulking about it and realizing he actually feels bad?? good. let him sit in his wrongness and learn from it. this was so well done, i loved it but ahem mak i think i speak for all when i say part is needed

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

a marauders guide to siblings by @ellecdc

REVIEW ୨ৎ this was absolutely delightful. james potter and his love for love, his pure dedication to making this triple date happen—it’s so him. the way he just won’t take no for an answer, and how everyone else is reluctantly dragged into his chaos, is peak marauders energy. and the dialogue? oh mama. i love how everyone interacts here, from sirius being completely against it because of the “googly eyes” problem, to remus and regulus just being exasperated with the entire situation. and the moment james finally gets what he wants, only to immediately start overthinking it and worrying about the sibling connections?? absolutely hilarious. and sirius being all soft for reader, saying she was worth the nonsense? perfect. this was so fun to read, i adored every second of it!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmain blog ￫ @iamgonnagetyouback

[tbaluver]

S/O With ADHD- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader requested: by a couple anonnies ♥︎ a/n: hihi my lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i just want to mention a disclaimer about this. while i do have adhd, everybody experiences things differently so what might be common for me, can be completely different to another person! these symptoms presented here are only what i’ve experienced and what my friends have experienced and what people have requested! do not refer to this to diagnose yourself. if you suspect you might have adhd, please refer to a professional! there will be a part two to this because theres more to add but anyways enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He didn’t fully grasp the idea when you tried to explain your adhd to him, your thoughts would jump from one thing to another and he tried to keep up. He would do his own research to understand better what you were going through. He would notice the little things, the way you would say you 're going to do something but never actually start or how tasks seem to take you forever to finish.

No worries about being late or rushing to go on dates or hangouts with him, there’s no set start time. Often times the dates and hangouts are flexible. He’ll wait until you’re ready as long as he gets to spend time with you and eat yummy food together, he’s happy

Indulges and learns your hyper fixations and your current obsessions. He’ll learn more about them on his own time so he can talk more about them with you

If you’re okay with it, he’ll join you whenever you need to rest and watch your comfort shows whenever you’re feeling drained or overstimulated. He’ll make the atmosphere in the room feel more cozy either by giving you space, adjusting the lighting and closing the curtains, tucking you in your blankets, so you can recharge

Praises your smallest victories even if it was just cleaning your room or finishing a simple task in under an hour without thinking or worrying about it. He knows that even the simplest tasks can feel overwhelming so when you manage to do something without thinking or bed rotting before doing something, he’s genuinely proud of you.

Zayne:

He would truly listen when you go off on a tangent of your hyperfixations, letting you ramble about them without interrupting you. Even if you branch off too many topics that you swear relates to the main topic, eventually forgetting what the point was, he patiently brings you back to the main point.

“..wait what was I talking about?”

“you were talking about how ___ and __”

He’s very organized, constantly tidying and rearranging things for you without needing to be asked. He doesn’t mind it at all. He organizes in a way that he knows would help you but if you ever forget where something is, he’s quick to help you. lost your keys? by the dining room table. your jacket? in the laundry basket. your phone? you’re holding it

Tries to keep his explanations short and easier to understand. He’ll give you just enough without getting lost in any unnecessary details

When he’s not around, he helps you by texting you on specific times to check up on you or to help shift your focus

Separate calm activities alone but together with him. You could be doing your own thing while he reads his book(s) or finishes up any medical reports

Calculates how long it usually takes you to get ready, so he’ll plan dates with reservation an hour or two ahead of time, sometimes maybe even more depending on the date, just to avoid overwhelming you. He’s always patient and understanding, sometimes he’ll help you get ready to take the weight off your shoulders

Rafayel:

In the beginning, he’ll notice you can run late to things but once you explain that it’s because of your adhd, he’ll be more understanding. Still, he can’t help but tease you just a little but he means well. He’ll just plan more hangouts that don’t require any set start time, just as long as you two are together at the end

Yap sessions with him take up an ungodly amount of hours. You both branch off to different topics, each one you both swear is just as important as the last, so the conversation goes in different directions. It takes forever to circle back to the original point.

He loves hearing about your hyper fixations. You can tell him everything, every little fact and he’ll ask you a million questions, indulging in your passion for it as well.

Loves to spend time with you but he is mindful and lets you have the space to unwind whenever you might feel overstimulated or just need to recharge

Shows so much encouragement whenever you show your creative and passionate side. He’ll recognize and appreciate the things you’re good at, even if you’re not able to see it in yourself

It’s canon that he sends you separate messages instead of big blocks of texts but its not because that’s how he feels more comfortable texting but also because he knows that long paragraphs can feel overwhelming. He doesn’t want you to miss anything or feel pressured to read through a lot at once

Sylus:

Lets you hold his hand whenever you want, no need to ask. He knows how much you fidget and he loves how you rub circles on the back of his hand, melting under your touch. If it helps you feel better, then go ahead. He’d even buy you rings to fidget with, ones that maybe match and also just so you can have something to twist and twirl when he’s not around

He adores listening to your obsessions and your hyper fixations, letting you ramble your latest interests or the new trinkets you’ve added to your collection. He’ll even surprise you with little trinkets he remembers from past conversations, knowing they would make you smile

Enjoys spending time with you even if you were focused on your own thing, whether it was hobby related or just unwinding in your own way while he’s also doing his own thing.

When you need help focusing and he’s not around, he’ll reach out at a certain time to check in and help refocus your attention

Doesn’t really send you paragraph lengths of text messages but sends you shorter messages so it doesn’t feel as overwhelming. He’ll mostly send voice messages that are short and the right length so it doesn’t let your mind drift away

Online shopping with him can help so you can control yourself from impulse buying so many things. He doesn’t mind you buying the entire world with his card but sometimes he has to stop you from buying things you absolutely don’t need

Caleb:

It’s easy for tasks to slip through or become overwhelming. You might start one thing but your mind jumps to something else and it takes a while before you can get back to what you were originally doing. Caleb would help by breaking down your chores one at a time or with more manageable steps or most of the time he’ll step in and take care of things for you so you don’t feel burdened.

If anything important was coming up the day after, he’ll leave little sticky notes for you all over the house, each one with a tiny apple doodles. They’ll be on your mirror, bedroom door, anywhere else he knows you’ll see them

Ever since you were a kid, he’ll still help you go over any of your works or anything you were unsure about when you feel like you missed any details. He’ll make sure you don’t miss anything

Never judgemental at all if you cut him off mid-sentence. He understands that you need to get your thoughts out quickly before they slip away so he lets you speak freely without worry

Sometimes you might forget to reply to a message or forget to come back to the conversation, so he’ll send a follow up message like, “whaddya think pipsqueak? :o” or he’ll send you a post to bring you back to the convo

If you’re struggling to focus on something, instead of pushing you to keep going, he’ll encourage you to take a break. He’ll help you ease back into it whether it’s breaking things down further or offering some encouragement

[lackadaisycats]

Hello Tracy, I've been a fan of Lackadaisy since the webcomic days and want to ask a quick question regarding Patreon. I'm also an indie creative myself and currently trying to raise funds for a show I'm working on. What are the best ways to market myself online, and what are some ways to obtain money for the production of merchandise that doesn't involve crowdfunding?

Any specific advice I could give about marketing oneself online at this point would be pretty outdated. I started making Lackadaisy years back, when the internet had a rather different geography and culture. DeviantArt was where all the art kids were. That is, of course, no longer the case.

My generalized advice, though, would be to start working on your project, start sharing it in some form, even if it's just concept art or experiments at this phase, and start building an audience. Nothing speaks to the quality and appeal of whatever it is you're making like the thing itself does. Pick your poisons, as far as social media goes, but probably don't focus solely on one. Platforms don't remain useful or pleasant places to be forever. Set up an avenue for viewers to support you (Patreon, Ko-fi, or something like it), but don't expect supporters to come flooding in all at once. The internet is awash with so many creators and shows and influencers and distractions, it's hard to make waves. Tenacity will be your ally, though. You are likely going to be pursuing your project on the side and possibly working at a loss for a while as you build. Keep things small scale, especially if you're working solo, or with a small team of people. Audience growth and support may eventually start allowing you to expand your ambitions. It's important to do the thing you're doing out of love for the art, for the project itself, for the experience of doing it, and not because you're expecting rounds of applause, accolades, and money to come rushing at you. There's no guarantee that last part will happen...so at least make sure you're having fun doing whatever you're doing.

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

About merchandise --

You can incur the upfront cost of producing, say, a small run of enamel pins. Sell them on your own shop storefront or offer them to supporters at certain tier levels and see how long it takes to earn back the production cost such that you start earning a little bit of profit. Get a feel for how well you can handle packaging and shipping things yourself. Test the waters before making any large merch orders, and don't order vast amounts of something that you don't have room to 'warehouse' in your own home.

You can go the print on demand route. It's got its drawbacks - like slim returns - but it allows you to offer an assortment of merch items without the huge risk of paying big manufacturing fees upfront. It can also do the fulfillment/shipping part for you. I did pretty okay selling prints this way for a time. (Research and be selective about what services you use here, though. Some have gotten markedly worse over the years.)

I know Patreon offers a subscription level for creators that includes some merch production and fulfillment. I haven't personally used it, though, so I'd ask around to see what other creators' experiences have been like with it.

One thing I would suggest relying more heavily on, especially at first, is digital/downloadable rewards, like PDF ebooks or digital sketchbooks - things like that. Shipping supplies and postage costs are ever-increasing and can easily end up putting you in the red. Also, if you have an international audience, it may be difficult to reach them with tangible merch items.

You might also check out some nearby conventions to see if they'd be a good fit for you and your project. Apply for artist alley space at one of them if that's appropriate, or investigate whether or not it'd be worth it to get a dealer table. You might even find someone willing to share dealer space with you for a trial-run.

At some point, when you have enough of an audience to warrant it, seek out a merch partner. Or, they might come scouting for you if they think you have something going that'd be soundly marketable.

[rainyraisin]

Blue Stray on the brain…

First of prolly like. A billion pieces of fanart I want to draw for @tumble-witch ‘s Bread Girl AU!!!! I wanted to post a bunch at one time but I am so impatient lmao ITS BLUE STRAY HOURSSSS‼️‼️

Gotta draw Golden Beetle next I am 3-1 on Marinette vs Adrien drawings my boy needs some love 🙏🙏 (Im just a sucker for angst)

Went. Insane in the tags bc that’s the best way to yap 💖🌸

[mistyshane30]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 9)

Synopsis: A night out with friends turns into something far more complicated as emotions run high and unspoken tensions linger. You tried to keep your distance, but some things are impossible to ignore. 

Word count: 5.1K 

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Angst, Unspoken emotions, Lingering tension, Mild language 

The room is quiet, except for the soft, steady breathing of your friends. The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a faint golden glow through the sheer curtains. It’s peaceful—until you stir slightly, shifting in your sleep, and realize something feels…off. 

Your arm. 

It’s draped over someone. Warm. Comfortable. 

You blink, still groggy, but as your vision clears, the realization slams into you like a truck. 

It’s Agatha. 

Your breath catches in your throat. WTF? Your pulse picks up, your whole body going rigid as the weight of the situation sinks in. 

When the hell did this happen? You don’t even remember moving in your sleep, let alone ending up in this position. 

You need to move. Now. 

Very, very slowly, you start to retract your arm, making sure not to make any sudden movements. But then—Agatha shifts. 

Your entire body locks up as she turns ever so slightly toward you, her face now just inches from yours. Her breathing remains soft, steady, oblivious to your internal crisis. But you? You’re completely frozen, hyper-aware of the way her lips are barely parted, of the faint scent of lavender and something deeper, something distinctly her lingering between you. 

You swallow hard. She’s still asleep. It’s fine. Just move—carefully. 

Your eyes flick to the others—Wanda, still curled up on her side, completely knocked out. Jen, Alice and Lilia, equally dead to the world. No one saw. No one knows. Good. 

You take a slow, careful breath and start again, inching your arm away, moving like you’re defusing a bomb. 

Finally, after what feels like forever, you pull back completely. You don’t dare look at Agatha again as you carefully, so carefully, shift away from her warmth and push yourself upright. 

The second you’re free, you slip out of the mattress and quietly make your way toward the bathroom, your heart still hammering in your chest. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. 

You brace yourself against the sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair’s a mess, your face is flushed, and your mind is racing. 

What the hell was that? 

Shaking your head, you reach for the faucet, splashing cool water onto your face, trying—desperately—to get it together. 

When everyone finally wakes up, you do everything in your power to avoid looking at Agatha. You keep your head down, focusing on your food, trying to act as normal as possible. But inside? You’re spiraling. 

Your mind keeps replaying the morning over and over. How long had your arm been around her? Did you move in your sleep, or—God, what if she had been the one to move closer? No. No, that’s insane. Right? You shake the thought away, stabbing at your scrambled eggs like they personally offended you. 

Meanwhile, Agatha is just casually eating pancakes, completely unbothered. Because of course she is. She doesn’t even know about it. Meanwhile, you’re sitting here, losing your damn mind. 

Wanda, ever perceptive, narrows her eyes at you from across the table. “You good?” she asks, sipping her coffee. 

You blink at her, then quickly nod. “Yeah. Just… head hurts. Probably a hangover.” 

It’s not a complete lie. Your head does feel kind of heavy, but that’s not really the problem. The real problem is the fact that you woke up cuddling Agatha-fucking-Harkness and now you have to act like everything is fine. 

The conversation at the table continues, and you do your best to stay quiet, to blend in. But then Lilia, ever the social butterfly, claps her hands together. “Okay, so. I was thinking—since we had a cute little slumber party last night, why not go all out and hit the town tonight?” 

“Oh, I’m so down for that,” Alice chimes in immediately. “It’s been forever since we had a real night out.” 

Wanda nods. “I could use some dancing.” 

You, however, tense at the idea. The last thing you want is another night of potential chaos, not when you’re still recovering from this morning’s crisis. “I don’t know…” you start hesitantly, but before you can even finish, Alice is already rolling her eyes. 

“Oh, come on. We’re all going,” she insists, nudging you. “Don’t be lame.” 

Jen raises a brow at you. “Yeah, don’t be lame.” 

You sigh, already knowing you’ve lost this battle. “Fine.” 

Jen grins. “Great! Then pre-game at my villa. Be there at six.” 

And just like that, your fate for the night is sealed. After breakfast, you retreat to your villa, hoping—praying—that you can shake off whatever this morning was before the sun sets. 

The time passes quickly, and before you know it, the sun has dipped below the horizon, casting deep hues of orange and purple across the sky. You stand before the mirror, putting the final touches on your outfit—a black satin slip dress with a high thigh slit, paired with Bottega Veneta Spritz Strap Pumps. The thin diamond tennis bracelet on your wrist catches the light as you adjust your RCJ 14K Yellow Gold Long Polished Teardrop Dangling Earrings. Your hair is sleek and straight, every strand perfectly in place, and your makeup is soft glam—sultry but effortless. You throw on your Black Saint Laurent Le 5 à 7 Mini bag, taking one last glance at your reflection. 

You’re putting in extra effort tonight, not that you’d ever admit why. 

With a deep breath, you head out and make your way to Jen’s villa for pre-game. Music hums through the space, laughter fills the air, and the energy is already buzzing. You keep your distance from Agatha, making it a point to steer clear whenever possible. Not that anyone notices—after all, you and Agatha aren’t exactly known for being close. Just two people existing in the same space. That’s all. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

Drinks are poured, shots are taken, and the group is in high spirits by the time you all pile into the van heading to the club. The moment you step inside, you quickly drag Wanda to sit beside you, using her as a barrier between you and Agatha. You don’t even glance in her direction, focusing instead on the road ahead. 

Tonight, you’re determined to have fun. To forget. 

Or at least, try to. 

At the club, the music is pounding, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. Neon lights flash in dizzying patterns over the dance floor, illuminating the crowd as they move in sync with the heavy bass. The energy inside is infectious—an intoxicating blend of excitement and chaos, like anything could happen tonight. 

You and your friends weave through the crowd, heading straight for the bar. The bartender barely acknowledges you as he pours drinks with practiced efficiency. Once everyone has their orders, you settle into a booth across from the bar section. The conversation flows effortlessly, laughter mixing with the pounding music and occasional cheers from the crowd. It’s comfortable, fun—until your glass is empty, and you find yourself hyper-aware of a certain presence nearby. 

Agatha. 

You refuse to glance in her direction, even though you know she’s there, sitting with the others. It’s ridiculous, really—acting like avoiding eye contact will make the morning’s incident disappear. But the memory of waking up with your arm draped over her is still seared into your mind, making your pulse quicken despite your best efforts to act normal. 

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you announce, standing up. 

No one pays much attention as you weave through the crowd back to the bar. You slide onto a barstool, signaling the bartender. 

“Whiskey, neat.” 

As you wait, a figure slides into the seat next to you. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” a familiar voice says smoothly. 

You turn, and there she is—Rio Vidal. 

Your brain momentarily short-circuits. 

“Uh… hi,” you stutter, caught off guard. 

Rio smirks, clearly amused by your reaction. Her white silk shirt is unbuttoned just enough to be distracting, tucked into black tailored pants that accentuate her frame. Her hair is in a messy bun, and somehow, that only makes her look more put together. She looks effortlessly hot. 

“You were at my flower shop yesterday. And now here you are,” she muses, tilting her head. 

“Wow, fate,” you tease, mirroring her smirk. 

Your whiskey arrives, and you take a sip, feeling bolder under the influence of alcohol and Rio’s presence. 

“My friends are here, too,” you say, nodding toward your booth. 

Rio follows your gaze, then turns back to you with a raised brow. “And yet, you’re over here. With me.” 

“What can I say? I like good company,” you quip. 

The conversation flows easily. You tell her what you actually do for a living, and Rio raises an eyebrow, setting her drink down with a quiet clink. 

"Wait, you’re a CEO? Of a tech company?" she repeats, clearly impressed, but there’s also a hint of amusement in her tone, like she’s reevaluating you. 

“You don’t believe me?” you challenge, feigning offense, tilting your head slightly. 

“Oh, I believe you." She studies you for a second, then smirks. "It just wasn’t what I was expecting." She takes a sip of her own drink, her gaze lingering on you over the rim of her glass. "Guess I should stop underestimating you, huh?" 

Somehow, you find yourself bringing up last night’s dare. 

“So, funny story,” you start, grinning, “I actually texted you last night.” 

Rio tilts her head. “What?” 

“My friends dared me to text you. Just a ‘hey~’ but, um, yeah… you kinda blocked me,” you admit, laughing. 

Rio chuckles, shaking her head. “That was you? I thought it was some random prank. Guess I should unblock you, huh?” 

Before you can respond, Wanda approaches. She glances between you and Rio, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. 

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” she teases, but her eyes gleam with amusement. 

“Wanda,” you warn. 

“Rio,” Wanda greets, offering a polite nod. 

“Wanda,” Rio acknowledges smoothly. 

Wanda shoots you one last smirk before sauntering off, leaving you with Rio again. 

As the drinks keep flowing, you grow bolder, a little more reckless. Your fingers brush Rio’s arm when you laugh, the warmth of her skin lingering against yours. You lean in just a little too close, your faces inches apart, her cologne mixing with the scent of whiskey on your breath. And Rio—she doesn’t move away. Instead, she smirks, tilting her head slightly, eyes flickering to your lips before meeting your gaze again. The moment stretches, charged and unspoken, the club's music pulsing around you like a heartbeat. 

The conversation shifts into deeper territory. Rio talks about her work, her passions—the way she started her flower shop, how she loves the artistry behind arranging bouquets, how she finds peace in the quiet moments before the shop opens. She speaks with a quiet intensity, her hands moving as she describes the feeling of working with something alive, something delicate. 

You find yourself listening closely, watching the way her brows furrow when she talks about the struggles of running a business, how her voice softens when she mentions the flowers her mother used to love. There's something deeply personal about the way she shares these things, as if she’s not used to talking about herself like this. 

The way she gestures with her hands when she speaks, the intelligence in her eyes—it’s familiar. Too familiar. 

She reminds you of Agatha. 

That realization sits uneasily in your stomach, a whisper of something you don’t want to examine too closely. 

“Come dance with me,” Rio suddenly says, extending a hand. 

“Oh, I don’t really—” 

“Come on,” she insists, grabbing your hand before you can protest further. 

You let her pull you onto the dance floor, the alcohol buzzing in your veins. She’s a good dancer—confident, fluid. The way she moves her hips, the way her brown eyes lock onto yours—it’s hypnotic. 

And yet, as you sway to the music, as Rio pulls you closer, your mind betrays you. 

For a split second, you imagine Agatha in her place. 

That thought snaps you back to reality. 

“I— I need to go to the bathroom,” you blurt out, pulling away. 

Before Rio can respond, you slip through the crowd, your heart pounding as you make your way to the restroom, desperate to catch your breath. 

While you’re inside the cubicle, trying to steady your breathing, the bathroom door swings open with a loud creak, followed by the sharp click of heels against the tile floor. You freeze. Then, you hear it—that voice. 

Agatha. 

She’s on the phone. 

Your stomach tightens as you strain to listen, her words clipped, her tone sharp. At first, it sounds like she’s instructing Ralph to find something in their house, but the irritation in her voice grows quickly. 

“What do you mean you can’t find it?” she snaps. 

A pause. You imagine Ralph giving some lazy excuse on the other end. 

A scoff. “Are you serious right now?” 

Then, her voice changes—lower, colder. “I left you alone for two weeks. Two. Weeks. And you still can’t handle basic responsibilities?” 

There’s another pause. Then Agatha actually lets out a bitter laugh, sharp and humorless. "Must be nice to just sit back and have a good time while I’m the one keeping everything from falling apart." 

Your breath catches. 

She sounds nothing like the Agatha you’re used to—calm, in control, always with a teasing edge. No, this is different. This is raw, her voice trembling with frustration, exhaustion. Like she’s at the end of her rope. 

Ralph must say something that makes it worse because her voice turns even more bitter. 

“Real problems?” she repeats, disbelief dripping from her words. “What do you even know about real problems, Ralph?” 

Her footsteps pace across the bathroom floor, the sharp tap of her heels echoing in the quiet space. 

“You have no job. No responsibilities. You just sit in a house that I pay for, acting like you’re the one suffering.” 

Silence. Then, a sharp inhale—like she’s trying to hold something back. 

“You don’t even care, do you?” she asks, softer this time. But there’s something broken in her voice now, something she can’t hide anymore. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. 

It’s not your business. You shouldn’t be listening. But you can’t move. You can’t stop hearing it. 

Then, the final blow comes. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Agatha says, and her voice isn’t raised, isn’t full of anger—it’s just… final. “We’re done, Ralph. It’s over.” 

Silence stretches. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. 

Then, a quiet, “Okay then.” 

And the call ends. 

For a long moment, there’s nothing but heavy breathing. Then, the unmistakable sound of a quiet sob. 

Your chest tightens. 

You stay frozen in the stall, hands gripping your own arms, feeling like an intruder in a moment that wasn’t meant for anyone else to witness. 

Then, Agatha moves. You hear the creak of another cubicle door opening, then the soft click of it closing. 

Now’s your chance. 

You push the door open as quietly as possible, stepping out on light feet, careful not to make a sound. You glance once at the closed cubicle where Agatha is, then slip out of the bathroom, the air outside feeling heavier than before. 

You make your way back to the bar section, swallowing hard. When you reach Rio, she gives you a curious look, brow slightly furrowed. 

“Everything okay?” she asks, studying you. 

You force a smile, shaking off the weight in your chest. “Yeah. Just—needed a moment.” 

Rio doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press. 

You pick up your drink, taking a longer sip than necessary, forcing yourself to focus back on her. It’s fine. You’re fine. 

But out of the corner of your eye, you see Agatha walk out of the bathroom, heading toward the booth seating. She looks composed, but there’s something in her eyes—something not quite put together. 

And you know. 

She’s not okay. 

After some time, Jen walks over to you, looking a little uneasy. She sighs, rubbing her temple before speaking. "Hey, we’re heading out early. Lilia’s not feeling well—her stomach is killing her. And Alice… well, she’s a little too drunk right now." 

You glance over at Alice, who is giggling at something Wanda is saying, her head resting lazily against Lilia’s shoulder. Wanda looks like she’s already bracing herself for the chaos of getting them both back to their villas. 

"Do you need help?" you ask, already preparing to get up. 

Jen shakes her head. "No, we got it. But…" She hesitates, then nods in Agatha’s direction. "She doesn’t want to leave. Said she wants to drink more. Can you keep an eye on her?"  

Your stomach twists. Yeah, you do know why. 

You glance toward Agatha, sitting alone at the booth, swirling the last of her drink, her eyes distant. You swallow, forcing down the hesitance rising in your chest. 

"Yeah," you say finally. "I got her." 

Jen offers a grateful smile and squeezes your arm lightly. "Thanks. I owe you one." 

She turns back to Alice and Lilia, helping Wanda guide them toward the exit. You watch them leave, then exhale slowly, glancing back at Agatha. 

You’re still talking to Rio, but your attention keeps drifting. You steal glances toward Agatha, watching the way she nurses her drink, her fingers idly tracing the rim of the glass. There’s something heavy in her posture, something resigned. You know why she’s like this, and it breaks you a little to see her like that. It takes everything in you not to go to her immediately, to fix whatever’s weighing her down. 

Rio notices. 

She nudges your arm, her eyes flickering to Agatha. "Hey, I was thinking of staying a bit longer, but…" She trails off, tilting her head slightly toward the woman sitting alone. "Your friend needs you tonight." 

You shift uncomfortably, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You don’t want Rio to go—not yet. But at the same time, you don’t want to stay put either—you want to go to Agatha. But she’s right. 

"You sure?" you ask, glancing at her. 

Rio smiles, an easy, knowing look in her eyes. "Yeah. You got this?" 

You hesitate for a moment, looking back at Agatha. There’s something about the way she’s sitting, like the weight of the world is pressing down on her shoulders. 

You nod. "Yeah. I got this." 

Rio gives you a small smile and squeezes your shoulder briefly before stepping back. As she turns to leave, you call out, "Unblock me and give me a call, okay?" 

She glances back over her shoulder, smirks, and nods. "We’ll see." 

And just like that, she’s gone. 

You stand up from the bar stool and head toward the booth where Agatha is sitting. She’s slouched against the seat, swirling the last of her drink, eyes distant. You hesitate for a second before sliding in beside her, leaving just enough space to not feel intrusive. 

There’s a beat of silence before Agatha speaks, her voice laced with something unreadable. "So… is the date over?" 

You huff a quiet laugh, picking up your whiskey. "It wasn’t a date." 

She hums, taking a long sip of her drink like it’s water. "Could’ve fooled me." 

Something about her tone makes you pause, but before you can figure it out, Agatha lets out a shaky breath—and then, just like that, she breaks. 

Tears slip down her cheeks, silent at first. Then, her shoulders shake, and she quickly wipes at her face like she’s ashamed to be seen like this. Your chest tightens at the sight. 

You inch closer, hesitating only for a moment before placing a gentle hand on her back. She leans into the touch ever so slightly. 

"Are you okay?" Your voice is quiet, careful. 

Agatha swallows hard, staring at the table. It takes her a few seconds before she finally speaks, voice barely above a whisper. "What did I do wrong?" 

She keeps going, her words spilling out faster than she can catch them. "I tried, you know? I really did. But it was never enough. It’s like… no matter what I did, he always had one foot out the door." 

You don’t say anything—just let her talk, let her get it all out. 

"It’s over, Y/N," she says, voice breaking. "Like, really over." 

You knew this already, but hearing her say it still twists something deep inside you. You squeeze her arm gently. "I’m sorry, Agatha. I know this… I know this hurts." 

She sniffles, laughing bitterly. "You don’t have to do that." 

"Do what?" 

"Act like you care. We both know I’ve been nothing but a pain in your ass." 

You roll your eyes, exhaling sharply. "Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You think you’re the only one? We’ve both been a pain in each other’s ass." 

Agatha lets out a dry chuckle, wiping at her cheek. "Fair point." 

You soften just a little, tilting your head at her. "But I do care, Agatha. More than you think." 

Agatha turns to look at you then, eyes glossy and searching. For a moment, you think she might say something, but instead, she reaches for her drink and downs the rest of it in one go. 

Eventually, the two of you move to the bar. The crowd has thinned out, leaving just a few stragglers nursing their drinks. You don’t drink anymore, but Agatha does. She’s still crying, though it’s quieter now, more subdued. 

She nudges you with her elbow, a small smirk playing on her lips. "You’re actually a good listener. Who would’ve thought?" 

You chuckle. "I have my moments." 

"Mm." She rests her chin on her palm, studying you. "I guess you’re not so bad." 

"High praise." 

The night stretches on, and before you know it, Agatha is completely drunk. You don’t hesitate to call an Uber. When it arrives, you help her up, but she stumbles against you, unable to walk straight. 

"Alright, come on," you murmur, wrapping an arm around her waist to guide her outside. She leans heavily against you, her breath warm against your shoulder. 

You place her inside the passenger seat and slide in beside her. The driver doesn’t say anything, used to late-night drunks, but you keep talking to Agatha, making sure she doesn’t fall asleep. 

"We’re almost there," you whisper as the car pulls up to the resort. 

She suddenly perks up, a drowsy smile on her lips, her head lolling slightly to the side. "You know what?" she slurs, blinking up at you like she’s just had the most brilliant idea. 

You tilt your head, amused. "What?" 

And then, completely out of nowhere, she starts singing, voice hushed and syrupy. "Can’t take my eyes off of you…" 

You blink, caught entirely off guard. "Agatha—" 

She points a wobbly finger at you, her expression serious despite the alcohol in her system. "You’d be like heaven to touch…" 

Your face is on fire, but you can’t stop the small chuckle that escapes. "Oh my god." 

She keeps going, her voice lilting unevenly, slightly out of tune but full of feeling. "I wanna hold you so much…" Her eyes meet yours, and for a second, something flickers between you. Something dangerous. Something you don’t have the strength to analyze right now. 

You shake your head, breathless in disbelief. "Alright, Frankie Valli, let’s get you to bed." 

She giggles but doesn’t stop singing, leaning into you as you guide her toward her villa. "At long last, love has arrived…" 

"Oh, for the love of—" You sigh dramatically, but there’s no real frustration behind it. 

She clings to your arm, her grip surprisingly firm. "And I thank God I’m alive…" Her voice hitches, and there’s a moment—just a fleeting second—where she looks at you like she means every word she’s singing. 

Your throat tightens. You pretend not to notice. 

By the time you get her to the door, her voice is softer, the words slurring together. "Can’t take my eyes off of you…" 

You sigh, unlocking the door with some difficulty. "Alright, Agatha. Time to sleep." 

She hums, resting her head against your shoulder for just a moment before murmuring, "Mmm. You’re warm." 

You swallow hard, ignoring the way your heart stumbles over itself. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, inside." 

And even though she’s drunk, and this whole situation is ridiculous, you can’t help but feel your heart clench at the sight of her like this—so vulnerable, so utterly unlike the Agatha Harkness you once knew. 

You guide Agatha upstairs to her bedroom, careful with every step as she leans heavily against you. When you finally reach her bed, you help her sit down gently, her body swaying slightly. Her eyes are glassy, lost in thoughts you can’t quite reach. 

“I’ll be right back,” you murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear without thinking. She doesn’t respond, just stares at the floor. 

You hurry downstairs, filling a glass of water and grabbing some Advil from the kitchen. When you return, she’s not lying down like you expected. Instead, she’s still sitting at the edge of the bed, her shoulders shaking, quiet sobs wracking her frame. 

Your stomach twists. 

“Agatha?” You set the glass and the Advil down on the nightstand and immediately sit beside her. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

She lets out a shuddering breath, wiping at her face. “Whatever I do… I’ll never be enough.” 

Her voice is so small, so broken, it nearly shatters you. 

Your heart clenches as you reach for her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leans into you, her body warm despite the chill in her words. “That’s not true,” you say firmly. “You are enough, Agatha. Ralph is just too damn stupid to see it.” 

She laughs wetly, shaking her head. “You don’t mean that.” 

“I do.” You pull back slightly, looking at her. “You are brilliant. You’re sharp, funny in that mean, sarcastic way. You care about the people you love, even if you pretend not to. You have this way of making people feel… seen.” 

Your throat tightens as you speak. You don’t even realize you’re getting emotional until your voice cracks slightly on the last word. You blink rapidly, trying to hold it together. 

Agatha notices. 

She gently pulls away from the hug, and when you meet her gaze, there’s something intense in the way she looks at you. Her eyes are searching, tracing every part of your face like she’s trying to memorize it, like she’s grasping onto something unspoken between you. 

Then, so softly, she whispers your name, her voice barely above a breath, like it holds the weight of everything she can’t say out loud. 

Your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat as the moment stretches, fragile and heavy all at once. 

Before you can fully process what’s happening, she cups your cheek, her touch warm, grounding. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, your mind screaming— 

And then she leans in. 

Her lips meet yours, gentle and soft, everything you’ve ever wanted—except not like this. Not when she’s vulnerable, not when she’s breaking right in front of you. 

You freeze for a second, torn between every part of you that has dreamed of this moment and the part of you that knows it isn’t right. 

With every ounce of willpower, you gently pull away, your hands on her shoulders. “Agatha…” 

She blinks at you, confused, her lips still parted. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing right now,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. 

A flicker of something passes through her eyes—hurt, maybe, or realization. But you don’t let yourself look too closely. You stand up, stepping back. “You need to sleep, Agatha.” 

She doesn’t argue, just watches you with something unreadable in her gaze. And then, just like that, you turn, walking to the door. 

You close it softly behind you as you leave her villa, your heart pounding, your mind an absolute mess. 

When you get to your villa, you head straight to your bedroom. The silence is suffocating. After the noise of the club, the villa feels too quiet. Too empty. But your mind is loud. The moment you close the door behind you, it all crashes down at once. 

You drop your keys onto the table with a shaky breath, your fingers lingering on the cool surface as if grounding yourself will stop the spiraling thoughts. You stumble toward the bed, collapsing onto it without bothering to change. Your dress clings to your skin, the faint scent of perfume and alcohol mixing with something heavier—something painful. 

You replay the kiss over and over again. Not just the kiss itself, but the way Agatha looked at you before it happened—the glassiness in her eyes, the slight tremble in her lips, the way she whispered your name like it meant something. Like you meant something. 

Your heart clenches as you remember how she leaned in, like you were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. And for a second, you let yourself believe it. For a second, you let yourself want it. But now, in the quiet of your room, the reality is sharp, cutting through any illusion you might have entertained. 

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. What else is there to do? Cry? Maybe. But what good would that do? 

If this kiss had meant something, Agatha wouldn’t have done it like this. She wouldn’t have done it drunk, desperate, tangled in the mess of her failing marriage. You know it wasn’t about you. It was about escaping, about numbing whatever pain she was feeling. And you were just there. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to sleep, to forget—but how could you? Every time you close your eyes, you see her again. Feel the ghost of her lips, the heat of her breath, the way she fit against you like she belonged there. 

Your fingers brush against your lips as if trying to erase the feeling, but it lingers. It sinks into your skin, into your chest, into every part of you, refusing to let go. 

With a frustrated sigh, you press a pillow over your face, trying to drown out the ache, the longing, the stupid, unrelenting hope that still clings to the edges of your heart. But it doesn’t help. Nothing does. 

Because even with your eyes open, even with the distance between you, Agatha is still there. And that’s the cruelest part of all. 

Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06 @aboutcustardcreams @crescendoofstars @neverfindmegone @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi 

[magiturge]

notes for happy hank, both lore and design. start lore :

with my iteration of happy hank, he is a result of auditor being slightly more competent than in canon. instead of forming an entire agency to halt the violent force of nature that hank is, they instead dug deep into the code that hank embodies and flipped a switch.

now instead of being a violent force of nature of which killing was easy as breathing, it is now an overly friendly and welcoming force of nature that sticks out like a sore thumb, both in the crowd and in your business. hank takes a backseat in terms of being our protagonist. in this version and now instead acts as a reoccurring background character whose actions, intentional or not, push the story forward. they are not exclusive to being an ice cream man, it is just the main design to follow. happy hank will show up in different clothing based on the occupation or role they are filling for that event.

hank still maintains their insolvency, it is integral to who they are.

note that auditor is specifically mentioned to be slightly more competent in their job, mainly because they did not consider the ramifications of creating an annoying friendly pacifist that now throws a wrench in nevada's daily operations in a different way, that is arguably more detrimental.

other stuff.. mainly design and other stuff

as written above, i follow a small but strict ruleset in designing hank or iterations of him. i say iterations but i doubt i will ever tackle pank or wank, they hold no weight to me.

by clothing being loud, i mean that hank in all iterations will have a loud sense of fashion that speaks for itself. with regular hank as a baseline, you can glimpse that it likes to diy some of its outfit. patches, ludicrous amounts of belts for no reason other than to look cool. because hank hardly speaks, it talks with the looks.

this carries to happy hank where their clothes shout of a world or mindset that cant exist. its an emphasis on peace, on friendliness, on bright saturated colors that while they exist in nevada are not common and are usually meant to compliment dull, grey colors.

mentioned above, happy hank will dress differently based on the occupation or role they are filling. this is meant to be a more subtle yet obvious mirroring of hank as a transient individual or concept. always changing, forever and ever, even in the slightest way, it cant remain the same.

happy hank is also not any weaker due to their passive attitude. as the world progresses and the machine rends apart, they do still get stronger to keep up with the increasing craziness going on. instead of fighting, they utilize this improved physique they've worked on ( and were supposed to use to lend to their formerly violent nature ) to defend themselves, disarm opponents and diffuse situations.

in contrast to hank that deals with situations often with brute force and technique in combat, happy hank excels in analyzing a situation quickly in how to diffuse of it quickly. they initially immediately offered gifts as showing kindness is often a way to soften the edges but theyve found being completely defenseless and leaving themselves vulnerable to attack is detrimental to their mission.

[averysmolkirbo]

i keep seeing people talk about AZ in the new trailer and be like "imagine being immortal and going from basically a king and a warlord to running a holiday inn like wow downgrade much"

and i keep wanting to say stuff like, 'well have you considered maybe thats what he WANTS to do. did you ever consider that?' Did you consider that this is like the first time he's looked happy in like forever?

maybe he doesnt WANT ultimate power and he just wants to run a small business with his floette. that sounds pretty good to me. i dont know what you people are talking about.

[gold-onthe-inside]

with love, from reid

who? spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader summary: after a case ruins spencer's carefully planned valentine's date, he does his best to make up for it. but all you needed was him. and all the gifts in the world are nothing compared to yours. word count: 3.3k based on: Valentine’s Day Request - Spencer and his partner are separated for Valentines Day (maybe he went to go visit his mom or he was on a special assignment like in Minimal Loss and a storm grounded flights) but he uses every method possible to give his partner the most amazing Valentines Day ever. a/n: i'm so sorry for sitting on this request forever, but inspiration struck today i guess. hope you like it anon.

Spencer’s not like other guys. It’s the mantra you have to keep using to keep your head on straight. But being cheated on by someone you had been about to marry changes your whole perspective on things. Makes it harder to trust, even the most angelic man you’ve ever met. You have to take a deep breath every time he gets a call from JJ or Penelope, have to remind yourself that there’s a valid reason for every missed date, every morning you wake up without him. Because it’s scary how much you like him, how often you think about him.

The scarce amount of time you both get makes the little moments more important, and he knows it. In his head, he’s been building it up, down to the cardigan he would wear on the 14th. He’s calculated the exact amount of time it takes to get from Quantico to your hospital, chosen a restaurant within walking distance — something right up your alley with exotic food and a quiet atmosphere. He knows how many footsteps it’ll take to get there, how many topics you can cover, all of it, down to miniscule details. The flower arrangements that would wait for you both. The menu he had memorised in his head, knowing exactly what you would order. The average time it would take for you both to finish eating while talking. The train back to his apartment, where your favourite movie would be waiting.

If only he could control this unsub the same way. But they were no closer to finding the unsub on the 13th as they were two days ago. He’d been putting off the call all day, staring at his phone until Alex had pointed it out, unravelling the first stitch of his sealed lips. The seam split and he told her everything — the date he’d planned, the flowers he’d bought in advance, the reservation that was waiting for you. He receives the pat on the knee he’d been expecting from Alex, the promise that you’d be understanding (who would know better than her, really?), and her stern voice telling him to call you.

You can hear the regret in his voice when he calls, the tired fatigue that makes you smile sympathetically. “Did you get home okay?” he asked, scuffing the back of his sneakers against the floor, standing right outside the precinct, stars glittering above him, much brighter in Tennessee than in DC. It’s a whole nother date on his bucket list — going star-gazing with you.

“Yeah, just now,” you replied, and he can see you in his mind’s eye, taking off your boots and neatly arranging them in your rack, keys in a clay dish that an 8 year old had made for you, the crick in your neck that he wants to massage for you. “How about you? Any closer to finding your strangler?”

“No,” he huffs, leaning against the railing. There’s a slight chill in the air, but he can’t feel it, not right now. He just wants to hear your voice. “But that’s not important — I just wanted to make sure you made it home safe.”

You huffed a small laugh, and he can hear you bustling around over the call, maybe changing into your pyjamas, or hunting for ingredients to make a quick dinner for one, and a frustrated ache builds behind his eyes. He wants to be there, with you, listening to old jazz music and making dinner and small talk. “I think I’m in less danger than the FBI agent hunting down a serial killer, honey.”

“You’re always in less danger than I am,” he grumbles, the beginnings of a smile playing at his lip. He closes his eyes, tilting his head back and picturing the dimly lit kitchen in your apartment, the scent of spices and the warmth of old vinyl records. “I miss you,” he confesses in a soft, almost broken tone.

He hears you pause, a palpable beat passing before you murmured, “I miss you too.”

“I wish I could be there,” he says. He wants to run a hand down your back, trace his knuckles over your cheek to feel the softness of your skin. “I had a whole night planned for us tonight.”

"I know, lovely," you murmured, leaning on the kitchen counter, phone pressed to your ear. "There'll be other nights."

He sighs. He hates having to cancel on you, especially now, when they’re already so rare. “Not like this one,” he mutters, and he knows you can probably tell by his tone that he’s pouting like a child.

“Why, because tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day?” you asked, talking while making a quick pasta.

He’s quiet for a second. Then — “Yes,” he admits in a near-whine. “It was going to be a special night.”

"Spence... Every day is Valentine's Day with you," you said, knowing exactly how cheesy you sound and running with it anyway.

Spencer’s just grateful you can’t see his face right now, because he knows he’s blushing a little, that he has an adorably smitten smile on his lips and he’s sure it would only embarrass him if you could see. “Sap,” he accuses lovingly.

"Said the man who collects ticket stubs of every movie we see," you retorted, grinning into the phone.

He sputters. “That’s — that’s — you’re not supposed to know about those,” he complained. “I keep those for myself, they’re a private collection for a reason.“

“Wow, what happened to what’s yours is mine?” you teased him, watching the pasta boil, and Christ, you felt like a lovestruck teenager right now, like those sickly sweet couples in Hallmark movies.

“That’s — there’s exceptions to that rule,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t you dare touch those. I’ve sorted them in chronological order, by the way — if one is out of place, I’ll know it was you messing around, looking over my things.”

You laughed into the phone, bright even with how tired you felt, because he brought it out of you, a glowing feeling in your chest that made the ache in your feet hurt a little less. It’s a sound that never fails to make his heart skip — the softest, most wonderful noise he’s ever heard. “I wish I was there,” he says again, his voice suddenly quiet and heavy with want.

"I know," you said quietly, watching the water grow cloudy as your pasta cooks. "But those women need you more than I do right now, Spence."

“Stop using logic on me,” he says, only half-joking, his expression serious even though you can’t see it. “I want to be selfish with you tonight.”

"Sweetheart, you don't have a selfish bone in your body," you replied affectionately.

“It’s not fair,” he complains, still playing the part of the pouting child in his mind, just whining and grumpy because he wants to be with you. “I was going to give you flowers, and take you out to dinner, and I was going to drive you home and kiss you so much—”

"We can still do that," you said, cutting him off before he could fill your head with ideas and then you could say goodbye to sleeping peacefully tonight.

“Not tomorrow,” he says. He’s almost definitely pouting right now, staring down at the pavement, his eyes dark under his lashes. “And it’s only Valentine’s once a year, I wanted it to be perfect.”

You fretted as you turned the gas off, putting off straining the pasta as you turned into the phone. “Why’s this so important to you, angel?” you asked softly.

It’s one of the things he loves about you — the gentleness with which you handle him, the way you ooze with care and curiosity instead of coddling concern. “This is our first Valentine’s,” he replies, slightly petulant. “And I wanted it to be good. Something you could look back on. I had it all planned out.”

Christ, you could cry with how much Spencer cared about you. You couldn’t remember anyone, boyfriend or not, who loved you this much. “You know it would’ve been perfect, regardless, right?” you asked gently. “You and me, that’s all I need. Even if it’s over a phone line.”

He’s quiet for a moment, just listening to you speak. “You deserve the best,” he says eventually. “You deserve flowers. And an elegant restaurant. And a movie. And a home cooked meal.” And me, he wants to add, but he doesn’t. “Not a phone call and the knowledge that your boyfriend is across the country.”

"Sweetheart, I get all of that from you even when it isn't Valentine's," you said, in that same gentle tone. "Besides, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you were here when you could be catching a killer."

“Why do you have to be reasonable?” Spencer groaned, rubbing a hand over his face again because you’re being entirely too logical for him to fight with right now. “That’s not fair.”

You chuckled, crossing your arms and leaning on the counter. "We'll have a make-up date, I promise," you said. "Just how you planned it."

That seems to pacify him a little bit, because he lets out a soft sigh. “Okay,” he agrees, slightly begrudgingly. “But I’m in charge of planning. You don’t get a say in the matter.”

You fake a tsk, as if planning mattered at all to you. "Fine. Whatever you decide."

That makes a soft, contented sound form in his throat — one bordering on possessive. “That’s what I thought,” he says, and you can all but envision the smirk on his lips.

"Go find your killer," you chided him, grinning stupidly, but there's no bite in it.

He lets out an amused huff. “Yes ma’am,” he teases, before his tone softens again. “I miss you. I’ll try to come home as soon as I can, okay?”

"Okay," you replied. "Stay safe, please."

“I will,” he promises, because he knows how much the thought of him getting hurt scares you. “Don’t worry about me.”

You snorted quietly, like it was possibly to not worry about him on cases. "Bye."

“Bye,” he responds quietly, and he wishes he could kiss you goodbye, trace the line of your lips with his fingers and feel the pulse in your neck against his fingers. “Sweet dreams.”

"You too," you whispered before hanging up. Spencer stands there for another moment after the call ends, his phone still in his hand and his heart heavy, and he wonders if it’s possible for someone to actually ache from missing someone this much.

And then Morgan’s calling him inside with his newly minted nickname since dating you — ‘lover boy’ — to adjust the geographic profile and he’s unwillingly dragged back into the vortex that is his job. And he has to shove any thoughts of you to the back of his mind for the time being, the lingering ache at the edge of his chest a constant, nagging thing that he has to continuously push past to focus on the case.

The whole team is working hard to try and solve this, but progress is slow. Somewhere between analysing blood spatter patterns and doing his own research to figure out their unsub’s deal, he does his best to plan your make-up date, paranoid that someone would see him looking for places to take you and make his day worse. Eventually, tired of having to look over his shoulder, he bites the bullet and calls Garcia for help, even if it would no doubt get back to Morgan and the rest of the team.

And then he has to deal with Garcia’s excited squealing, her incessant questions about you both, her comments about how cute he is and how she needs to meet you. He keeps his head down and grits his teeth, because he knows she means no harm, and it’s a small price to suffer through just to have this night be perfect.

The first thing to arrive was a bouquet of tulips with your morning paper waiting outside your door, a pretty arrangement of red and pink that matched the outfit you were going to wear to work — the whole department had agreed to come in red, white, and pink colours — and you can’t stop smiling as you go to put in a vase with water.

He gets the picture texted to him in the middle of a briefing with Hotch and the team, barely able to restrain his smile as he checked his phone under the table.

You: They’re beautiful, thank you.

He’s oblivious to Morgan giving him an odd look as he texted you back:

Spencer: Only the best for the most beautiful girl in the world.

Spencer tucks his phone back into his pocket when the meeting ends, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Morgan. He knows he’s going to get bombarded with questions he doesn’t feel like answering, and for once he’s glad they have a case to work on so he can use that as an excuse not to interact with him.

The second arrival was a package sent to your office, because of course he had your shift schedule memorised, and you signed for it, grasping the brown paper package that was obviously a book back to your desk. There’s no reason for you to hide it, not in the sanctity of your own office, but it’s as if you’re back in school, your crush sending you a note that you unfurl under your desk, finding a hardbound copy of Persuasion, arguably your favourite Austen novel.

You do your best not to blush, picking up your phone to text him, chewing on your lip before flipping to the right chapter and sending him a direct quote.

You: There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison.

Spencer’s in the middle of examining a body when you sent him the text. But as soon as he feels his phone vibrate, he pulls it out without a second thought, uncaring of the fact that Morgan and Rossi are looking his way. He has to hold back a smile because no, he won’t give Morgan any ammunition.

Spencer: You have my whole heart.

“You two are sickening, I hope you know that,” Morgan told him, a smirk on his lips.

Spencer’s head snaps up in alarm at the sound of his voice, and he quickly drops his phone in his pocket, face flushing. He’s silent for a minute, trying to regain his composure and come up with something to defend himself. “No idea what you’re talking about,” he replied weakly.

"Uh-huh," Rossi replied, masking a smile. "Can we look at the body now, or does your girlfriend have more input?" He wouldn’t be surprised if you did, to be honest, but he’d rather keep you out of this part of his world. He just shook his head, stepping closer to the slab.

Your last gift came in just as Valentine’s Day was about to come to an end, Spencer silently tracking into your apartment, 5 minutes away from midnight, cringing as he opened the bedroom door as quietly as possible. You’re asleep, your breathing soft and deep, the soft, soothing sound filling the room. He kneels by your side of the bed for a moment, just looking at you: all loose-limbed and relaxed, your face soft and sweet against the pillow. He can’t help the little smile that tugs the corner of his mouth up, and he wonders how he got so lucky. Softly, he reaches out, fingertips gentle as he brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

You flinched, startled awake, until you recognise Spencer's eyes blinking back at you. "Jesus Christ, you scared me," you breathed out. "You should have told me you were coming."

“I was trying to be quiet,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so only you would hear. His hand brushed the curve of your jaw, a soft, almost reverent motion. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You sink back into your pillows, shifting inside so he can sit on the edge. "I would have waited up for you if you'd called first," you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hip right against your knee, his fingers still trailing along your face, then resting on your thigh over the covers. “I tried to get home earlier,” he said, and he sounded exhausted, the stress of the case weighing on him. “But the team was debating something. And then paperwork...”

"You don't have to explain," you said softly, shaking your head, making a mess of your hair.

He watches you, his gaze lingering on the mussed locks on your head, the sleepy bleariness to your eyes, the pinkness to your cheeks, and he feels a surge of longing so strong it borders on painful for a moment. He loves you like this — soft and sweet and rumpled with sleep, and he wants nothing more than to curl up next to you right here and now. “I hate being away from you for so long,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you so much.”

"Should've caught your guy faster then," you said, shifting up to meet his lips with yours. "Happy Valentine's."

He returned your kiss, his fingers trailing up to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Happy Valentine’s,” he murmured against your lips, before he was kissing you again, harder this time, and you could tell he was tired by the urgency with which he held onto you.

"I realised something when you were away, you know," you murmured against his lips.

He pulled back slightly so he could look at you, his fingers still trailing along the back of your neck. “Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and studying your face with those sharp, intelligent eyes of his.

You nodded, looking at him with your own fond gaze. "I love you," you said softly. Plain and uncomplicated.

He had heard those words plenty of times in his life, but he’d never tire of hearing them from your lips. He felt his heart stutter in his chest, and he moved his hand to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Say it again?” he whispered.

"I love you," you repeated, your smile glowing in the dark, streetlights dancing over your ceiling.

He felt something in his chest settle at the words, at the reassurance that you really were here, and you were his. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your nose, the. corner of your mouth, then the underside of your jaw. “I love you,” he murmured against your skin. “God, I love you so much.”

Your arms winded around him, his face burying itself in your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin, his arms wrapped around your waist. His hands slipped up under your sleep shirt, his touch warm and soft against your back, and he practically sunk into you, needing the closeness, needing to be surrounded by you.

"I know the day didn't go to plan," you murmured, "but this is the best Valentine's Day I've ever had."

His arms wrapped around you a little tighter, like he couldn’t get enough of having you pressed against him, and he pulled his head back from your neck so he could look at you properly. “Me too,” he said, then reconsidered. “Well, the whole day was hell, but this… this is perfect.”

"Yeah?" you asked, pecking his lips.

He chased your mouth, kissing you again, lingering on your lips for longer. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “Being with you is all I need.”

[ghostinthetumbchine]

VANCE: Have you said thank you once?

ZELENSKYY: You think if you speak very loudly—

TRUMP: He’s not speaking loudly. You’ve done a lot of talking. You’re not winning this.

ZELENSKYY: Mr. Trump, you are increasing the volume of your voice, but not the logic of your argument. Ukraine is still standing. We are still fighting.

HEGSETH: Look, we have to be realistic. America can’t fund this war forever.

ZELENSKYY: Realistic? Like when your Defense Secretary Hasgeth refusing to even say Russia invaded Ukraine? You couldn’t admit the truth, and now you want to lecture me on reality?

HEGSETH: This is about diplomacy. We need a negotiated settlement.

ZELENSKYY: Diplomacy? Putin broke every ceasefire, every treaty, every promise. What kind of deal do you think he wants? One where Ukraine still exists?

TRUMP: You don’t have the leverage. You don’t have the cards.

ZELENSKYY: Because you keep taking them away—blocking aid, repeating Putin’s lies, pretending this war is already lost.

VANCE: You should be grateful. The U.S. has given you a lot.

ZELENSKYY: Grateful? My people are dying while you sit here demanding I smile and shake hands with my enemy? Gratitude will come when Russia is defeated.

HEGSETH: But Ukraine needs to be realistic. There are limits to what America can provide.

ZELENSKYY: And are there limits to what Russia can take? Or do you just let them redraw borders by force?

TRUMP: It’s going to be very hard to do business like this, Volodymyr.

ZELENSKYY: Ukraine is not a business deal. We do not trade away our sovereignty. We fight for it.

VANCE: But for how long? What’s the endgame?

ZELENSKYY: For us, there is no exit. We win, or we cease to exist. The only question is whether America stands with us

__________________________________________

USA doesnt even pretend to stand for anything but profit anymore. At least some morbid satisfaction for some that it couldnt be clearer

Casually breaking international agreements like this creates a really shitty precedent for you all. If i were you i'd be getting people on all the streets to try to stop this - and since some of you apparently dont even know, usa already signed a deal to respect ukraines sovereignty in the agreed borders in exchange for it giving up nukes, in 1994

Zelensky actually has a spine of steel after all. I admit it gives me chills to hear him say in real time what we read about our leaders once having to say, decades ago, in similiar situations - and to throw up at the fact he is now in this position

I want every ukrainian to know that you are not alone. Yes, i understand that you are the only one in there, living this nightmare right now, even with all the support in the world. But we know what you're going through, all of us who have ever been in that position and we will keep fighting for you every step of the way no matter what happens now

Thank GOD he didnt sign anything

[ivyues]

Puppy Love | 5 | - Seungmin

Seungmin x Lee Know's sister

Seungmin's quiet day with his girlfriend is ruined when the rest of Stray Kids had other plans – and Lee Know got suspicious. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Seungmin had been looking forward to spending the day with you, just the two of you, away from the chaos of the dorms and the playful interruptions of the other members. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them – of course he did – but having uninterrupted time with his girlfriend was a rare luxury. And he wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

Unfortunately, the rest of Stray Kids had different plans.

“Hyung, let’s all go out!” I.N had practically begged over the phone, his voice carrying child-like enthusiasm. “It’s been forever since we’ve hung out with Y/Nnie.”

Seungmin sighed, shooting you a glance from across the couch, where you were curled up in a cozy blanket. He wanted to decline, but you, ever the peacemaker, smiled and shrugged. “It could be fun,” you said, though you sounded just as content to stay in.

Seungmin grumbled something about how he had other plans (meaning he wanted to keep you all to himself), but ultimately, he had a soft spot for you and agreed. “Fine,” he muttered. “Then come pick us up.”

The call ended, and you giggled as you leaned into him. “You’re sulking.”

“I am not,” he retorted, wrapping his arm around you anyway.

You laughed, reaching up to fix his slightly tousled hair, smoothing it down with gentle fingers. He instantly melted under your touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into your hand, much like a puppy basking in affection. A soft, content hum escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help but smile at how easy it was to get him to relax.

“We still have some time before they come,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder. “Might as well relax.”

The warmth of each other, the quiet apartment, and the lingering anticipation between you made for the perfect moment. One glance at each other was all it took before your lips met in a series of soft, lingering kisses. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek as your fingers tangled in his hair. Time slipped away as the two of you became completely engrossed in each other, so lost in the moment that you didn’t hear the front door open.

When the members arrived, they expected to find you both ready to go. Instead, they were greeted with the sight of you and Seungmin caught in an intimate embrace, lips still brushing against each other, completely unaware of your audience. The sight was enough to render them all frozen in shock – until Hyunjin’s barely stifled gasp broke the silence, forcing you to shoot apart.

Felix’s eyes widened, his hands immediately covering his mouth in excitement. “Oh my god.”

Han elbowed Changbin. “Dude. They’re actually making out.”

Changbin blinked, then snorted. “And look at Seungmin’s face—he’s got Y/N’s lipstick all over him.”

Indeed, faint traces of your lipstick now marked the corner of Seungmin’s lips, and even a smudge on his jawline. You had a similar tint on your own skin, a clear indication of just how engrossed you both had been.

You gasped softly, eyes widening as your hand flew to your lips. “Oh my god.”

Seungmin immediately lifted his sleeve to wipe at his face, but the action only smudged the lipstick further. “Why didn’t you knock?!” he groaned, voice still thick with embarrassment.

Felix laughed, shaking his head. “I live here too! We thought you’d be ready to go.”

You buried your face in Seungmin’s shoulder, groaning. “This is so embarrassing.”

Meanwhile, the members barely had time to process the scene before the real problem arrived.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened in panic. “Minho-hyung is coming in behind us!”

Thinking fast, I.N grabbed Lee Know’s arm as soon as he stepped inside. “Hyung! Wait, wait, wait! I forgot to show you this thing outside – come with me real quick!”

Lee Know raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious. “Can’t it wait?”

Felix jumped in, pushing him back towards the door. “Nope! It’s really important! Super important! Life-changing, even.”

Lee Know narrowed his eyes, glancing past them, trying to figure out what was going on. “Why are you all acting weird?”

“Because we’re always weird,” Han said smoothly, flashing his usual cheeky grin. “C’mon, let’s go see whatever Innie wants to show you.”

Meanwhile, the remaining members turned their attention back to Seungmin, who was still frantically trying to rid himself of the lipstick evidence.

Chan smirked. “You might want to clean up before Lee Know actually sees you.”

Felix giggled. “Yeah, we don’t want you getting in trouble, Minnie.”

Han, grinned. “Or maybe we do.”

Seungmin groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “You guys are the worst.”

Changbin, watching from the side, chuckled and nudged Seungmin with his elbow, an approving glint in his eyes. “Hey, at least you’re finally getting it,” he teased with an older brother's smirk.

Flustered, Seungmin quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you into the bathroom. He huffed, looking at his reflection, reaching for a makeup wipe.

You simply smiled, gently taking the wipe from his hand. “Let me.”

He hesitated for a moment before sighing, giving in. He sat across from you, his eyes meeting yours as you carefully wiped away the lipstick stains. One hand held his chin gently, tilting his face to get every last smudge. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and he gazed at you with soft eyes, letting you take care of him.

Once his face was clean, you smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “There. Good as new.”

Seungmin’s lips curled into a small smile as he nudged his forehead against yours. “You just got lipstick on me again, didn’t you?.”

You laughed, wiping the fresh mark away. “Oops.”

-----

Out with the group, Seungmin trailed behind you like a lost, lovesick puppy. No matter where you went, he was just a step behind, his gaze lingering on you with a fondness that did not go unnoticed by the others. The members teased him relentlessly, but Seungmin hardly seemed to care – he was too busy staying as close to you as possible.

Later, when you found yourself alone with Lee Know, he smirked at you knowingly. "You’ve trained your dog well, huh?" he teased, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. "Doesn’t even need a leash the way he was practically glued to you the whole time.”

You grinned, crossing your arms in return. “And you were watching me the whole time, huh? You know, I didn't think you were the type to play the protective older brother.”

Lee Know scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please. As if I’d waste my time.”

“I mean, it’s already been close to a year, and you’re still like that,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

He huffed, looking away for a moment before shooting you a pointed look. “Yeah, and somehow, it still hasn’t gotten any less pathetic.”

Laughing, you nudged him playfully. “Sure, Minho. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

-----

The drive home was peaceful, the occasional soft laughter from the guys the only disruption. By the time they pulled up in front of the dorms, the others had already taken note of yours and Seungmin’s position. It was a familiar sight – the two of you tangled in quiet slumber his head resting against the headrest, while yours rested on his shoulder and his jacket still draped over the two of you.

Hyunjin turned in his seat and groaned playfully. “Again? You two are tangled up in each other again?”

Just as he said it, the car door opened, as Lee Know was walking past, having missed the earlier part of the conversation. His eyes flickered between you and Seungmin, who was groggily stirring awake, and then back to the guys, his expression shifting instantly.

“What?” Lee Know’s voice was sharp, his gaze narrowing as he processed Hyunjin’s words.

Seungmin stiffened beside you as realization dawned on him. You, still half-asleep, blinked in confusion as you felt the sudden tension in the air. The rest of the guys instantly scrambled to fix their mistake.

“Wait—no! Not like that!” Han waved his hands frantically, his face contorted in panic.

“They were just sleeping! On each other! Not—Not like that!” Felix added, eyes wide.

“Literally just heads on shoulders! With a jacket!” Hyunjin exclaimed, as if that would make everything better.

You groaned, before shooting him a glare. "Hyunjin, use your pabo brain before speaking next time!"

Changbin snickered from the side. “Bro, I swear, Seungmin just saw his entire life flash before his eyes.”

“Not funny,” Seungmin muttered, though his ears were burning red.

Glazing at your brother, you mumbled quietly, “If you’d know…” as your fingers traced the fabric over the covered love bite below your collarbone.

Getting an idea, you leaned forward with a smirk. "Seungmin, is your sister single? Maybe he would stop bugging us if he—"

Seungmin, who had just taken a sip of water, choked immediately. His eyes widened in sheer panic.

"NO!" he blurted out, before shaking his head frantically while pointing a finger at you. "No no no no no!"

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 | masterlist

[undiagnosedcruelty]

“You Talk in Your Sleep”

Pairing: Bf!HanJisung x GenderNeutral!Reader

Summary: Jisung has always known you had weird habits, but nothing prepared him for the absolute nonsense you muttered in your sleep. Tonight, however, your sleepy confessions give him some unexpected entertainment.

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Genre: Fluff | Comedy | Slight Romance

Content warning: teasing, domestic, Jisung being a menace

Word Count: 781

A/N: I just knew that I needed to write something crack related to jisung🙏

────────────────────────────────────────

EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION───NOTHING DIRECTLY RELATES TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

Jisung never considered himself a light sleeper. If anything, he could pass out in the middle of an earthquake if he was tired enough.

But lately, you had been keeping him awake at night.

It wasn’t intentional, of course. It’s not like you were kicking him in your sleep (at least, not tonight), or stealing all the blankets (which, okay, was a recurring problem, but he’d long accepted his fate). No, the real issue?

You talked in your sleep.

The first time it happened, he thought he imagined it. He had been drifting off when you suddenly rolled over and muttered, “The ducks are planning something…” before nuzzling into his shoulder like you hadn’t just said the most suspicious thing ever.

Jisung, half-asleep, had blinked at the ceiling and whispered, “What.”

You didn’t respond, obviously, because you were asleep.

He had to physically hold himself back from shaking you awake and demanding an explanation.

After that, it became a pattern. Sometimes, it was just soft murmurs that he couldn’t quite catch, but other times, it was crystal clear nonsense.

“Why do giraffes have such judgmental eyes?”

“If I had a superpower, I’d want unlimited pancakes.”

“You ever think about how weird elbows are?”

Each time, Jisung desperately wanted to know what you were dreaming about. And each time, he resisted the urge to wake you—though it was really difficult.

But tonight? Tonight was different.

Tonight, he was casually scrolling through his phone in bed when he heard you shift beside him. He barely glanced up, used to your restless movements.

Then, clear as day, you sighed in your sleep and whispered:

“Han Jisung is so hot.”

Jisung’s phone slipped out of his hand and smacked him right in the face.

He froze. Blinked. Processed.

Did you just—?

He whipped his head toward you, but you were completely knocked out, breathing softly, oblivious to the earth-shattering revelation you had just bestowed upon him.

A slow, mischievous grin spread across his lips.

“Oh?” he whispered, voice dripping with amusement. “Is that so?”

He turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His gaze flickered to his phone, a brilliant idea forming.

Carefully—stealthily—he reached for it and opened the voice recorder. He hit record, holding it close to you.

“Go on, my love,” he murmured dramatically, fighting back laughter. “Tell me more about this incredibly handsome and talented Han Jisung.”

For a moment, you were silent. Jisung pouted. Maybe it was a one-time thing—maybe he wouldn’t get any more gold.

Then, in the softest voice, you mumbled:

“…ugh, I love him so much.”

Jisung’s soul left his body.

His heart combusted into a thousand tiny, happy pieces. His brain? Malfunctioning. His entire existence? Changed forever.

“Oh my god.” His voice came out in a hushed wheeze. “Did I win in life? Is this my reward for all my suffering?”

He grinned down at you like an idiot, barely able to contain himself. His heart felt so full, like it might actually burst.

But then—

“…but he’s kind of a loser.”

Jisung gasped, physically clutched his chest, and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling in pure betrayal.

“What the—EXCUSE ME?!” he whisper-shouted, shaking your shoulder lightly. “Wake up right now and explain yourself!”

You groaned in response, shifting slightly but not fully waking.

Jisung huffed dramatically. ���No, no, no, you don’t get to just roast me in your sleep after confessing your love. That’s illegal.”

You cracked one eye open, squinting at him blearily. “Huh?”

Jisung wasted no time, shoving his phone in front of your face. “I have receipts.”

You blinked at the screen, still half-asleep. “What?”

“I caught you red-handed,” he said, waving the phone. “You called me hot, admitted you love me, and then immediately disrespected me.”

You frowned. “I… what?”

“I recorded it.” He tapped the screen. “So don’t even try to deny it.”

Your brain, still booting up, took a solid five seconds to process the situation. Then, realization dawned on your face, and your entire body tensed.

“…Oh my god.”

Jisung cackled. “Oh, now you’re awake.”

You groaned, flopping back onto your pillow and covering your face with your hands. “I hate myself.”

“Well, I love you,” Jisung said cheerfully, flopping down beside you and wrapping his arms around you. “Even if you slander me in your sleep.”

You peeked out at him through your fingers. “…Can I bribe you to delete that recording?”

He gasped dramatically. “Bribe? Do you think my love is for sale?”

“Yes.”

“…Okay, yeah, fair,” he admitted. “But! This is too valuable. I have to keep it.”

You groaned again, rolling onto your side to bury your face in his chest. “I regret everything.”

Jisung just laughed, holding you closer. “Nah, don’t regret it. You just confirmed what I already knew—deep down, you’re absolutely smitten with me.”

You sighed. “You’re still a loser, though.”

Jisung kissed the top of your head, grinning. “Yeah, but I’m your loser.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[callikari]

WHiTE FERRARi — lee heeseung .𖥔 ݁ ˖

SYNOPSIS — "i'm sure we're taller in another dimension, you say we're small and not worth the mention"

PAIRING — bf! lee heeseung x gf!fem reader

GENRE(S) — angst, heartbreak, nostalgia, romance (with a gut wrenching twist) fluff in one scene if u squint ...

WARNING(S) — emotional distress, angst, unresolved feelings, unspoken love, unrequited love, grief, nostalgia, sad/bittersweet ending, emotional PAIN,

WORDCOUNT — 1.7k

the hum of the engine filled the car, but the quiet between you and heeseung was deafening. he drove with the same rhythm as always, but it wasn’t the same. not anymore. the road stretched out before you both, a reminder of how far you’d come—and how far you had left to go, with or without him.

you glanced at him briefly. his face was stiff, like he was holding onto something, or maybe like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. maybe you were too.

“do you ever think about what we used to be?” you asked softly.

heeseung didn’t respond immediately. his eyes stayed fixed on the road, his hands gripping the wheel. but you knew the answer, and it cut deeper than you wanted it to.

“yeah,” he finally said, his voice quiet.

you took a deep breath. “me too.”

the silence that followed was heavier than before, and in that moment, everything you had avoided hit you full force.

a flash of a memory surfaced in your mind, sharp and clear, a time when you were both happy, when everything felt so simple.

—

it was late one summer evening, just after the sun had dipped behind the horizon. you and heeseung were sitting on the roof of his apartment building, the city lights below flickering like a thousand tiny stars. he had his arm around you, and you had your head resting against his shoulder, watching as the sky bled into darker shades of blue and purple.

“this is nice,” you murmured.

“yeah,” heeseung said, voice soft, content. he turned to you, his lips quirking up at the corners. “it’s just us.”

you looked up at him, your heart swelling with something warm and unexplainable. back then, you thought this was forever.

“just us,” you repeated, and everything felt like it was falling into place.

heeseung looked at you, his gaze gentle, but there was something else in his eyes—a depth you couldn’t quite read. something that felt fragile, like it could slip through your fingers if you weren’t careful.

“i never want to forget this,” he said quietly, his voice serious for the first time.

you smiled, brushing your thumb against his hand. “you won’t. i won’t let you.”

—

the memory faded just as quickly as it had come, leaving only the ache of its absence.

you blinked, the present crashing back into focus. the car, the night, the unspoken words between you and heeseung.

heeseung cleared his throat, his eyes flicking to you for a moment before quickly looking away. “i thought we’d be different,” he said. “i thought we’d find a way back.”

“i thought so too,” you whispered, staring out the window. you wished you could reach out, say something to ease the weight that had settled between you both. but it felt too late for that now.

"we were different back then,” heeseung continued, his voice raw. “i thought… i thought maybe if i let go, if i gave you space, you’d be okay. but i didn’t know how to fix it.”

you let the tears fall then, quietly, no sobs, just a steady stream of hurt you couldn’t hold back anymore. you thought you’d moved past this. thought you could exist in the same room with him without falling apart.

“why didn’t you come back?” you whispered, voice cracking.

heeseung didn’t answer right away. you could feel the hesitation in the way he gripped the wheel. the car slowed as he took a breath.

"i don’t know,” he said finally, voice barely audible. “i thought i lost you the second i let you go. and i couldn’t… i couldn’t fix it. not after everything that happened.”

you turned to look at him then, the tears clouding your vision, but his face was unreadable, like he was trying to hold everything together, trying not to break.

“i was waiting,” you said quietly, voice trembling. “i was waiting for you to come back. to fight for us.”

heeseung’s face twisted, a flash of pain flickering across it. “i know. and i’m sorry.”

but the words were hollow. empty. he wasn’t sorry enough. he hadn’t fought for you when it mattered.

you wiped away the tear that escaped down your cheek and let out a shaky breath. “i’m not the same person anymore, heeseung. i don’t know if i can go back to how we were.”

heeseung’s grip on the wheel tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might say something else, something to make this make sense. but he didn’t.

the rest of the drive passed in silence, and you both stayed locked in your own pain. the road stretched on ahead, but you both knew there was no going back.

AUTHORS NOTE — what came out after listening to white ferrari for the first time in like 10 months.. also lowkey thinking of doing something inspired from that one scene in the notebook where allie was reading the letter in the car !!! idk lmk what u guys think 😛😛

© callikari -- all rights reserved

[ankababy]

A Home (part 10)

Part 1 Part 9 Part 11

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

Stay in, get better, get worse, go out, the cycle fucking continues.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the kitchen as you moved around, quietly humming to yourself. You felt good.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t dragging yourself out of bed, weighed down by guilt and exhaustion. You weren’t thinking about blood on your hands, about the way the man’s body had hit the floor, about the sound that still echoed in your skull if you thought too hard about it.

No.

It had passed. It was behind you now. A thing that happened, a moment you had to get through, a mistake maybe—but not one you’d ever make again. It didn’t define you.

And you were fine.

You smelled good, perfume that worked like a love spell clinging to your skin, soft and sweet. Your hair was up, all cute and what the fuck not, and the clothes you wore were comfortable, warm, making you feel safe in your own skin. Pretty.

It felt nice to feel pretty again.

You moved easily, reaching for ingredients, making something simple, something warm. Maybe they’d eat, maybe they wouldn’t. You were still making it anyway. You wanted to.

And it was funny, wasn’t it? How easily you fell back into the habit of giving to them.

Chishiya. You understood him better now—or maybe you just thought you did. Either way, you accepted it. He didn’t just keep things to himself, he hoarded them. His knowledge, his emotions, his attachment to you—because that’s what it was, even if he’d never say it.

And Niragi. Niragi.

He wanted so much, all the time. Craved everything, touch, praise, you. He wanted to drown in you, sink his fingers into your warmth and take and take, but he never wanted to admit it. No, that would make him weak. That would mean he needed something outside of himself. And Niragi didn’t need—he won. He claimed.

You let both of them.

That’s what this was, wasn’t it? You believed them now. That you were fine. That this was fine. That they were fine.

Maybe they were cruel, maybe they were manipulative, maybe they were monsters—but they kept you. Protected you. Gave you something no one else could in this world.

And you didn’t have it in you to resist.

So, you just kept moving, pouring tea, all that.

And you didn’t realize just how lost you were until you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you—and the warmth that bloomed in your chest was instant.

Chishiya was never loud.

You glanced over your shoulder as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over you. The way you moved, the way your hair fell, the way your perfume lingered in the air between you.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

“Good morning.” you greeted softly, finishing what you were doing before turning to face him fully. “Did you sleep?”

His brow lifted just slightly, like the question was funny. “Would it make a difference?”

Your lips pressed together, and you sighed. “It would if you actually did it.”

“I function fine without it.”

“That’s not the point.”

Chishiya just tilted his head slightly, like the conversation was already boring him. But you weren’t deterred. You knew him better now. Knew that just because he acted indifferent didn’t mean he was.

“…Want some?” you finally asked, gesturing vaguely to what you’d been making.

He didn’t answer right away, gaze flicking to the food, then back to you. Considering. Like he was deciding whether he wanted to accept something from you or not.

“Sure.”

You smiled at that. Just a little. Just enough.

And then—of course—Niragi.

Heavy footsteps down the hall, groggy grumbling, and then he was there, slumping into the doorway, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You’re loud as fuck.” he complained, voice rough with sleep.

You blinked at him. “I was barely talking.”

He squinted at you, then at Chishiya. “Yeah, well, my ears are too fucking good.”

Chishiya just snorted as he reached for the mug you’d set down for him. “Maybe shooting guns all the time should’ve made you deaf.” he mused, taking a sip. “Shame it didn’t.”

Niragi flipped him off, still half-asleep, then turned his attention fully to you.

And just like that, his annoyance faded. Just like that, he switched gears, all smooth and lazy as he pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer, gaze flicking over you, taking in how pretty you looked, how soft you seemed.

“…You smell good, beautiful.”

“Thank you.” you said, voice light, casual, like it wasn’t a thing at all. You didn’t look away, didn’t shy away, just smiled a little, eyes warm, soft.

His lips quirked into something smug, something self-satisfied, because of course you thanked him, of course you looked at him with those big, pretty eyes and that easy little smile.

He had you.

And Chishiya knew it, too.

From where he leaned against the counter, still sipping from his mug, still watching. Observing. Taking in the subtle shifts, the way you held yourself, the way you carried yourself now.

You were glowing.

Not just from the morning light filtering through the window, not just from the warmth of the kitchen—but from yourself.

From the way you felt in your own skin, from the way you moved now.

Sexy wasn’t just about looks, wasn’t just about the way you dressed or did your hair or wore your perfume. Sexy was mindset. It was energy.

You knew how good you looked, knew how sweet you smelled, knew how you had both of them wrapped around your pretty little finger without even trying.

It was in the way you carried yourself, in the way you let them look at you.

And that was something Chishiya noticed. Because it wasn’t just that you looked good—it was that you knew you did.

“Something’s different about you today.” Niragi mused, eyes sharp, raking over you like he could pick you apart and figure out exactly what had changed.

You just tilted your head slightly, all teasing, playful. “Is it?”

Chishiya snorted softly at that, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

Because, oh yeah. Something was definitely different.

And they both knew exactly what it was.

It wasn’t just that you were feeling better.

It was that you were feeling closer to them.

More attached.

And wasn’t that exactly what they wanted?

What they had worked for?

Niragi leaned in a little closer, hands slipping into his pockets, voice dropping just slightly. “You got a little confidence back, huh, baby?”

You just smiled, small, warm, completely unaffected. “Maybe.”

And fuck, that was good.

That was so good.

Because that meant it was working. What they had done to you, what they had given you—it worked.

They were there when you needed them. When you were at your lowest, when you were breaking, they were there.

And now that you were putting yourself back together?

You were putting them in the pieces, too.

It wasn’t even something you realized. Wasn’t something you thought about. It just happened. They were there, and now you wanted them to be there.

And they wanted to be there, too.

Niragi stretched, arms above his head, rolling his shoulders back. He gave you one last once-over before turning away, casual.

“Wake me up when it’s done.” he muttered, already walking off, hands slipping into the pockets of his pants, heading back toward his room without a care in the world.

Like he hadn’t just been sizing you up, drinking you in, taking note of the way you stood, the way you spoke, the way you felt now.

And then it was just you and Chishiya. The kitchen felt quieter now. Not tense, not uncomfortable, just… different. He hadn’t moved much, still leaning against the counter, mug loose in his fingers. But his eyes hadn’t left you.

And they weren’t leaving now.

You glanced at him briefly before turning back to what you were doing, flipping something in the pan, focused. But you felt him watching you.

“Are you going to ask, or just stare at me all morning?” you asked lightly, not looking up.

There was a small pause, just a second or two of silence.

“What was that banging on your door in the middle of the night?”

“It was Niragi.”

“Coming to scream at you some more?” he asked dryly, tilting his head slightly, like he was already predicting the answer.

You smiled, shaking your head, flipping something else on the stove, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

“No.” you said, still soft, light. “He apologized.”

“And you forgave him.” It wasn’t a question.

You shrugged a little, stirring something, keeping your hands busy.

“I mean… yeah.” you said, as if it was obvious, as if it wasn’t even something to question.

Chishiya hummed, and you knew he was thinking. Picking this apart.

Because you had forgiven Niragi. Without even really thinking about it.

Because he had come back.

Because he had come crawling.

Because he had stood there at your door, talking, apologizing, actually trying, in his own messy, chaotic, Niragi way.

You had been spoiled. Had been taken care of all your life. Had been surrounded by love. But even in a perfect world, even with perfect parents, perfect family—people still messed up.

But love meant forgiveness.

Love meant coming back.

And Niragi had.

So you forgave him. Without a second thought.

Chishiya knew that about you now. Knew you were easy to forgive, easy to accept, easy to let things go as long as someone wanted to be better.

And Niragi had figured it out, too.

Even if he didn’t deserve it, you still gave it.

“You’re too nice to him.”

And you just smiled softly, shaking your head a little. “You’ll always say that.” you murmured.

And Chishiya didn’t argue. Because you weren’t wrong. Because it will be always the truth. But he also knew you weren’t going to change.

And that? That was exactly why you were perfect for this.

~

Now you were two seconds away from tearing the entire fucking place apart.

It wasn’t even about one thing. It was everything. The way the furniture wasn’t where you wanted it to be. The way the fucking blanket on the couch wouldn’t fold right. The way your favorite book had been moved—not lost, just not where you had put it. The way the light in the living room was too bright, too yellow, not as dim as it’s supposed to be. The way you were too short to reach the shelf where Niragi had put something, even when you stretched up on your toes, even when you jumped.

It was stupid. It was ridiculous.

But you were furious.

And then, of course, Niragi had to come out, because god forbid you make too much noise without him getting involved.

“You good over there, baby?”

You huffed, still stretching, fingertips barely grazing the edge of what you wanted to grab. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

Which was unfair. But everything was setting you off.

Niragi, naturally, noticed.

And loved it.

Because you never snapped at him. Because even when you were upset, even when you were mad, you were still sweet, still soft, still you. But this? This was new.

He let out a low chuckle, pushing off the doorframe, walking over.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he teased, reaching up easily—so easily—grabbing what you were struggling to get, dangling it just above your head, just out of reach.

You glared at him. “Give it.”

He grinned. “What, this?” He held it higher. “This thing you’ve been jumping around like a fucking squirrel for?”

Your jaw clenched, hands curling into fists at your sides, because he wasn’t taking you seriously.

At all.

And that only made you more pissed off.

“Yes.” you bit out. “Give it to me.”

Niragi’s smirk widened, because, fuck, this was fun. He was used to you looking at him with warmth, with patience, even when he was being an ass.

He was not used to you looking at him like you wanted to rip him apart.

And he liked it.

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Say please.”

That almost made you throw something at his fucking face.

“Niragi—”

But before you could lunge at him—and you were about to lunge at him—Chishiya’s voice cut through the room.

“I’d give it to her before she actually kills you.”

Both you and Niragi turned.

There he was, standing in the entrance of the hallway, arms crossed, looking between the two of you like this was nothing but mildly entertaining.

Niragi clicked his tongue, but relented, finally dropping the item into your waiting hands.

“There.” he said, grinning as he watched you snatch it away, clutching it tightly like a prize. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

You glared at him again, but you didn’t say anything, just turned on your heel and went back to what you were doing, your mood still terrible, still storming.

Chishiya watched as Niragi plopped down onto the couch, stretching out, entirely too pleased with himself. Then he looked back at you, gaze scanning over your tense shoulders, the tightness in your jaw. With a small sigh, he walked over and sat down, too.

You were going to explode.

You were already this close to losing it, already wound so tight you could snap at anything, and these two? These two assholes? They were having the time of their fucking lives.

“What is your problem?” you snapped, turning around so fast your hair whipped over your shoulder, eyes flashing, arms crossed so tightly over your chest it was a miracle you could still breathe.

Niragi was sprawled on the couch like he had nothing better to do, stretching his arms out over the backrest, one knee propped up, watching you with that fucking grin. Chishiya, on the other hand, was sitting more properly, at least him.

But it was worse. Because Niragi liked pissing you off. Chishiya was just observing. Like this was a science experiment, and you were some wild animal on the verge of a meltdown.

And neither of them cared.

“I don’t have a problem.” Niragi drawled, tilting his head. “You’re the one stomping around the house like a pissed-off little gremlin.”

You inhaled sharply.

That was not what you wanted to hear.

“I’m not stomping.” you snapped.

“You are.” Chishiya said, finally speaking up, voice flat, unaffected. “You have been for the past ten minutes.”

Your eye twitched.

“You guys are so fucking—” You cut yourself off, exhaling, trying to calm yourself down, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Oh my god.”

You could feel Niragi’s grin widen.

“What’s the deal, huh?” he asked, stretching his legs out, watching you struggle like this was the best show he had seen all week. “You on your period or something?”

You grabbed the nearest thing—a cushion—and threw it at his face.

Hard.

Really hard.

Hard enough that it actually hit him, smacking against his cheek before falling onto his lap.

For a second, there was silence.

Then Niragi burst into laughter.

Chishiya just sighed, rubbing his temple, like this was too exhausting for him to be a part of.

And you? You just stood there, fuming. “You are just insufferable—”

“See?” Niragi cut in, grinning. “That’s exactly what someone on their period would say.”

You let out an actual growl of frustration.

You wanted to hit him again. You needed to hit him again. But he was too fast. He jumped up from the couch before you could grab anything else, laughing, dodging around the coffee table, stepping just out of your reach as you swung at him.

You lunged—he stepped back.

You grabbed another cushion—he ducked.

“Stay still, you little shit!”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” He was still laughing. “You’re so mad. Look at you—puffing your cheeks like a little chihuahua—”

“I hate you—”

“No, you don’t.”

And that? That was the worst part. Because you didn’t. Because no matter how much you wanted to be angry, to stay mad, to keep up this storm of irritation brewing inside of you—they were hilarious.

And they knew it.

Because Niragi wasn’t even running from you anymore. He was just circling the coffee table, grinning, arms up in a mock surrender, staying just far enough away so you couldn’t reach him.

Chishiya was just watching.

You huffed.

This was stupid. This was so stupid. You should have ignored them. You should have kept moving your stuff around, kept sulking, kept doing whatever you wanted to do without their dumbass interference—

But you were already smiling.

Just a little.

That was exactly what they wanted.

“I’m going out.” you announced, pushing away from the table, brushing imaginary dust off your clothes. “Leave me alone.”

You barely made it a step toward the door before Niragi let out a gasp. “What?” He pressed a hand to his chest like you’d just shot him. “You’re leaving? Just like that? Not even a goodbye kiss?”

You turned so fast.

“Are you—” You inhaled sharply, pressing your fingers to your temple. “You are so fucking annoying—”

“You love it.” he shot back immediately, rocking back on his heels like he was thriving off your frustration.

You threw up your hands. “Oh my god, you can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?”

His grin widened.

“You always have to be talking.” you continued, pointing at him, taking a step back. “And you can’t even keep your tongue in your mouth for five seconds.”

He flicked it out immediately, proving your point.

You groaned.

“See?” You gestured at him wildly. “That’s what I’m talking about! You’re so predictable! I knew you were going to do that.”

“Yeah?” Niragi cocked his head. “And you? What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You do this thing.” he started, grinning now, motioning in your direction.

You squinted. “What thing?”

“This thing.” he repeated, stepping forward, moving his hands like he was trying to physically shape the idea. “When you’re mad, you get all—huffy. Like, so huffy.”

“I do not—”

“And your nose scrunches up.” he continued, completely ignoring you, watching your face. “And you make this little noise—”

“I do not—”

“You just did it.” he grinned.

“I—” You paused, blinking. Did you?

No. No, you weren’t going to let him get in your head.

“You’re insufferable.” you muttered, stepping back, reaching for the doorknob.

“I know.” he practically purred, looking so pleased with himself.

You groaned again, swinging the door open. “Asshole.”

“Bitch.” he called after you, voice teasing, following you to the doorway like he was going to make sure you left.

You took one more deep breath, then stepped outside, slamming the door behind you before he could throw another comment at you.

Silence.

For maybe two seconds.

“Come back soon, sweetheart!”

You actually laughed as you walked away.

Fucking Niragi.

~

The house was quiet when you returned. Unusually quiet.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, adjusting to the silence, shifting the weight of the bag in your hands. No sign of them. Your eyes trailed across the living room, locking onto the objects you had thrown earlier. They were… back in place.

Your brows furrowed slightly. You hadn’t expected them to clean up after you. If anything, you had expected Niragi to leave them scattered just to piss you off more.

Huh.

Pushing the thought aside, you moved toward the kitchen, rolling your shoulders. You had filled your time outside productively, collecting what you could. Now, your hands were full, the bags stretching between your fingers as you set them onto the counter. You moved around, unpacking, putting things away.

You didn’t even realize how much you’d adjusted until this moment—until you caught yourself thinking about them.

Chishiya would notice it immediately. He was always quietly aware of these things. Niragi would take advantage of it, pretending like it had nothing to do with you, but he’d still grab something first thing in the morning like it was just conveniently there.

You sighed, closing the last cabinet. Your feet led you before your mind even fully decided, taking you down the hall, stopping at Chishiya’s door.

You knocked—lightly, politely. When no answer, you pushed the door open gently, peeking inside.

Chishiya was in his usual spot, sitting, leaning slightly back like he had been there for hours. He didn’t look surprised to see you. He rarely ever did. His gaze flickered to you, then back to whatever he had been thinking about before.

You stepped inside hesitantly, lingering by the door. “Do you want something?”

Chishiya’s eyes slid back to you, observing, assessing. And then, after a brief moment—“No.”

You nodded, not at all put off by the blunt response. “Okay.”

You lingered for a second longer before stepping back, moving to leave.

But before you could fully turn away—

“You stocked the kitchen.”

A statement, not a question.

You glanced at him, nodding. “Yeah.” You pulled Chishiya’s door shut gently behind you, letting the quiet click settle in the hallway.

Then, without much thought, you turned and made your way to Niragi’s room.

You knocked.

Silence.

Again.

Nothing.

You tested the doorknob, turning it, letting the door creak open just a bit. The room was dark. Empty. No sign of him.

But what caught your eye wasn’t that.

It was the mess.

More specifically—your mess.

Your shirt—your shirt—draped over the edge of his bed like it had been carelessly thrown there. A pair of leggings pooled near the floor by his dresser. A hoodie—yours—half-folded, half-crumpled by his chair.

Your stomach twisted in a way you couldn’t quite place.

His bathroom door was open, the light off, but even from here, you could see something of yours in there, too. A hair tie on the sink. A towel you’d used before, hung over the shower like it belonged there.

Like you belonged there.

You swallowed, stepping back.

Not home.

Okay.

You didn’t think too hard about it. Not now. Instead, you walked back to your room, closing the door behind you. The air in here felt different. Yours. Safe.

A shower. That’s what you needed.

You peeled off your clothes slowly, tossing them into the hamper. The moment you stepped under the water, the heat soothed your muscles, melting into your skin.

Your mind should’ve been blank. But instead, it drifted.

Niragi, your clothes. Not even wearing them, just… having them. Chishiya, watching you, just the thought itself.

You’d been thinking about them too much. Maybe this was just normal now. The thought didn’t scare you as much as it should.

The guy. The one you killed.

Oh, him.

Yeah, that was a fun thought.

Your stomach twisted in that sick, awful way, and suddenly the water didn’t feel so nice anymore.

God. Why did you do that? Like, actually, why? Okay, sure. You knew why. But—

Ugh.

Your fingers pressed against your temples, dragging down your face. You killed someone. Like, actually ended a whole-ass life. Snuffed him out like a candle.

And what made it worse? You couldn’t even remember his face properly.

Was that bad? That was bad, right?

You had one job. One job. If you were going to be traumatized about this, you could at least remember the guy.

But no.

Great.

All you got was flashes. A body. A noise. Blood. The blood part? Vivid. Oh, yeah, no problem remembering that part.

God, why was your brain like this?

You let your head thud against the shower wall.

You were fine. You were fine.

It happened. It passed.

Right?

…Right?

The worst part? The part that made your stomach lurch in this guilty, sick, wrong way? It wasn’t even that you killed him. It was that, when you really thought about it—when you really let your mind wander—you weren’t sure if you’d even care if you remembered his face.

Fuck.

You needed to get out of this shower.

But the heat was too nice, seeping into your skin, melting into your muscles, keeping you there, as if it could wash away the thoughts clawing at the back of your skull.

Except, it didn’t.

Your thoughts were stubborn little things, and they stuck to you like wet clothes, clinging even as you tried to shake them off.

First, there was him. The dead guy. The one you killed. But then, as if your mind needed a break from that particularly awful line of thinking, it veered sharply into another direction—

Your clothes.

In Niragi’s room.

Oh.

Oh.

That was. Interesting.

Because, sure, you’d known for a while that he wore your things sometimes—your oversized sweaters, things that smelled like you—and yeah, it was weird, but it was Niragi.

Weird was kind of his whole thing.

But leggings?

Leggings?

What the fuck did he need leggings for?

Your stomach twisted in this awful, humiliating, almost thrilling way. You had thoughts. And they were bad. Very, very bad.

Y/N, stop.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead against the tile.

This was so not the time to be thinking about Niragi jerking off.

Like, literally, at all. But the thought wouldn’t leave you alone. It just sat there, smug and taunting, until your brain did the worst thing it could possibly do—

You could see it. Could see him, sprawled out in that stupidly comfortable chair in his room, your leggings clutched in his fists, his head tipped back, mouth slack, breathing ragged—

STOP.

You actually let out a strangled noise, face burning hotter than the water, and you hated it.

Hated that you were thinking about this. Hated that you could picture it so well. Hated that, deep down, buried under layers of shame, under all the embarrassment and why are you like this—you didn’t even mind it. And wasn’t that just the worst fucking part?

You were done. Done with this shower, done with your thoughts, done with everything.

You sighed, eyes fluttering open, staring at nothing in particular before finally—finally—shutting the water off. The loss of warmth made you shiver, goosebumps prickling across your arms as you reached for a towel.

Okay. Okay.

You were fine.

Ignoring your reflection—because not dealing with that right now—you padded across the bathroom, wrapped up all nice in your towel, steam rolling past your ankles as you stepped into your room.

The air was cool against your damp skin, sending another shiver up your spine as you rubbed the towel over your arms.

Your bed looked so inviting. Fluffy blankets, pillows stacked just how you liked them.

You needed to get dressed first. So, reluctantly, you made your way to your dresser. You slipped the clothes on slowly, still warm from the shower, still thinking too much.

You hated when your brain did this. When it latched onto something and wouldn’t let go. You weren’t even thinking about him anymore. Not really. You were just thinking. About everything. And it was exhausting. So, you did the only thing you could do.

You threw yourself into bed.

Face first.

Let out a breath.

Tried to clear your mind.

…Hm.

Okay.

~

Knock, knock, knock.

You groaned into your pillow, eyes squeezing shut again.

Who the fuck—

The door.

It was your door.

Your brain was still in that half-asleep, half-awake place, limbs heavy, body sluggish as you barely lifted your head.

Another knock. A little firmer this time.

“Hey.” Niragi’s voice was muffled through the door. “Get up.”

You sighed, rolling onto your side, still unwilling to fully open your eyes.

No.

You weren’t ready for him.

Another knock. “Y/N.”

Fine. Fine.

You sat up with another sigh, stretching as you dragged yourself to the door, switching the light switch on as you did.

The second you pulled it open, you blinked.

Because Niragi was standing there.

Holding flowers.

Some wildflowers, a few random ones that looked like he had just grabbed whatever he thought looked nice, some with dirt still clinging to the roots, all bunched together in his fist, a little crumpled, a little messy—

Your sleepy brain short-circuited for a second.

And Niragi, standing there, stared at you expectantly. Like he wasn’t holding fucking flowers at your doorstep.

You stared at them.

Then at him.

Then at them again.

And when you didn’t say anything, Niragi rolled his eyes, shoving them forward.

“Take ‘em.”

You blinked again, slowly lifting your hands to take them from him. They were warm. Had he been holding them this whole time?

Still staring, still processing, you glanced back up at him. “…You picked these?”

Niragi scoffed. “Yeah, no shit. You like flowers, don’t you?”

You did.

“But why?”

He rolled his eyes again. “Because.”

“…Because what?”

“Because—” He scowled, looking away for half a second, before sighing. “Because you were pissy earlier, and I don’t wanna hear you bitch about it all day, alright?”

You blinked again. Then—against your will—your lips twitched. Because that was so Niragi. Even when he was being nice, he had to be an asshole about it. Still, your fingers curled around the stems, brushing over the petals as you finally let yourself smile.

“…Thank you.”

Niragi just tched, looking anywhere but at you, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t go all emotional on me about it, yeah?”

A little beaten up, a little wild, but—they were yours.

And Niragi picked them for you.

…Huh.

He was still standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes flicking anywhere but at you. A little tense, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now. Like he had just realized what he’d done—bringing you flowers like some lovesick idiot—and now he didn’t know how to play it off.

And you—you—with your little crumpled bouquet in your hands, with your sleepy voice and warm skin and that soft, soft smile—you just tilted your head at him.

Then, without a word, you lifted up on your tippy toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Niragi fucking froze.

It was instant—his entire body going stiff, his breath catching in his throat, his fingers curling into fists in his pockets, like he physically stopped functioning for a moment.

And you? Completely unaware. Because you were already stepping back, already smiling at him, already clutching the flowers like some sweet little angel as you murmured “Good night, Niragi.”

Click.

The door shut.

Just like that.

Like you didn’t just press your soft little lips against his fucking cheek like it was nothing.

Niragi was still standing there. Blinking. Processing. Hand twitching at his side, itching to reach up, to touch where you’d—he exhaled, jaw clenching, rolling his shoulders back before turning around.

Fine.

Fine.

He could deal with this later. For now, he needed a fucking cigarette.

(If evil why so bbg!!)

~

The next day, you moved around the apartment like a little bird, flitting from one thing to another, chattering sweetly as you went.

“You both leave your mugs everywhere.” you sighed, picking up a half-empty cup from the coffee table. “One of these days, I’m gonna stop cleaning up after you. You’ll just wake up surrounded by your own mess.”

Chishiya just hummed in response from his place on the couch, watching you with that cat-like expression.

Niragi stretched out, lazy and unbothered, arms draped over the back of the couch as he snorted. “Yeah, right. You like cleaning up after us.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “I don’t.”

“You do.” he insisted, smirking. “You like taking care of people. You’re like a little housewife.”

You scoffed, but your cheeks warmed. “I’m not—”

“Where’s my breakfast, then?” Niragi teased, tilting his head. “What kind of housewife doesn’t have breakfast ready for her man?”

You threw the dish towel you were holding straight at his face.

Chishiya let out a soft little huff.

And you—god, you were just radiant. There was something so sweet about you like this. Still soft, still warm, still delicate—but now bright, now talkative, now glowing.

And they noticed. They definitely noticed. Because this—this—was exactly what they wanted.

This was why they did what they did.

They broke you, and now, look at you. Smiling. Happy. Clinging to them like they were your fucking saviors.

Chishiya, watching you with his knowing eyes, tilted his head slightly.

Perfect.

You had no idea.

No idea how narcissistic he truly was. How he liked being needed. How he liked being the one you turned to. How he liked knowing that he had successfully rewired you, whether you realized it or not.

Because now, you weren’t just surviving. Now, you were surviving with them. You weren’t pulling away anymore. You weren’t shutting down, weren’t drowning in guilt, weren’t resisting their hold.

You were falling.

Falling right into their arms.

And they were so fucking selfish, both of them. Because they were keeping you there. Because they wanted you there. Because they needed you there.

Niragi, sprawled across the couch, let his dark eyes flick over you as he watched you move.

Like this, you were even prettier.

Like this, you weren’t just their little doll—you were their sunshine.

“You’re getting cocky.” you said, flicking a glance at Niragi as you continued tidying up.

“Getting cocky?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Babe, I was born this way.”

You snorted. “Born an asshole, then?”

“Born perfect.” he replied smoothly, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up slightly, flashing a sliver of his stomach. A move that was so intentional, so practiced, that it should’ve been nothing.

Just another game. Just another way to get under your skin.

Flirting was second nature to him. He knew how to use his mouth, his face, his lean body like a weapon. He didn’t have to try—it was just who he was.

It never meant anything.

But now something felt… different.

He’d sleep with you in a heartbeat, no fucking doubt about that. Hell, he’d make you cry on his cock just for fun if you let him. He was still Niragi, still a twisted fuck, still selfish to his core.

But—

Ugh.

Something about this whole thing was weird.

Because normally, he wouldn’t give a fuck what happened after.

He’d take what he wanted and move the fuck on.

But with you, the thought of after was… sticking. Like an annoying little itch in the back of his brain.

Because what if he did get you in his bed? What if he did make you fall apart under him?

Would you still look at him like this in the morning? Would you still smile at him, call him cute names, get on your little tippy toes to kiss his cheek? Would you still make him breakfast? Would you still—

He stopped himself there.

No.

That wasn’t how he thought. That wasn’t how he worked.

He wasn’t some loser fuck. He wasn’t some lover boy.

He just liked playing with his food before he ate it.

That was all.

That was all.

And yet—hr shifted slightly, eyes flicking toward Chishiya, who was still watching you with that knowing stare.

Fucker.

Chishiya had already figured out that something was off. Of course he had. Because Chishiya noticed everything. He was watching you like he was actually invested.

Which was… different.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to care. Not that he’d ever admit it, not that he’d ever let it show—but Niragi wasn’t fucking stupid.

Chishiya had his own thoughts, his own little attachment issues that he was clearly keeping quiet about.

Because as much as Niragi liked playing with his food before he ate it—Chishiya didn’t eat at all. He collected. He kept.

And you—you were starting to look an awful lot like something Chishiya wanted to keep.

Niragi pulled a cigarette from his pocket, tapping it against his wrist, when you plucked it from his fingers.

“Hey—” His head snapped to you.

You turned the cigarette in your hand, studying it like it was some kind of puzzle. Then, casually, you brought it up and snapped it in half between your fingers.“That shit’s unhealthy.”

“Are you my mother now?” he teased, watching as you tossed the broken cigarette onto the coffee table like you made the rules.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you need one?”

Chishiya huffed a quiet laugh from his place on the couch, his arms still crossed as he leaned back. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Niragi, on the other hand, tilted his head, watching you with narrowed eyes. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, gaze dragging lazily over your face.

“Not really my kink.” he mused. “But, you know, I wouldn’t mind you bossing me around in a different setting—”

Your hand shot out, pressing over his mouth before he could finish that thought.

“Enough.”

His lips parted under your palm, his sharp teeth flashing in something that could’ve been a grin or a bite. You yanked your hand back before you could find out.

He laughed. “Pussy.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t rise to the bait, already turning your attention elsewhere. Your hand found Chishiya’s head instead, fingers slipping into his soft, ridiculously fluffy hair as you absently smoothed it down.

His eyes lifted to you, something unreadable flickering across them as he allowed the touch without protest.

“At least you don’t have disgusting habits.” you murmured, your thumb brushing against the side of his head as if to soothe him instead of yourself.

Chishiya didn’t respond, didn’t even move. But his gaze lingered on you—assessing, observing, collecting little bits of you like they were his to keep.

Because of course he did. Because of course he’d just sit there, letting you stroke his hair like some cat, letting himself pretend—

What, exactly? That he liked it? That he wanted it? That it meant something? That he was capable of feeling anything at all?

“Look at you.” Niragi said, smirking. “So motherly today.”

You flicked your gaze back to him, unimpressed.

“You wish I was your mom, don’t you?” you said dryly. “Explains why you always act out for attention.”

Niragi let out a loud, mocked gasp. “Damn, baby.” he drawled. “Are you tryna fix me now?”

You sighed dramatically. “No, Niragi. You are far beyond saving.”

“Aw.” He grinned, leaning in slightl. “Good. I’d hate to lose all this.”

You shot him a look before your fingers gave one last, gentle sweep through Chishiya’s hair, then finally withdrew your hands from it.

Chishiya let out a small exhale, but nothing changed in his expression. If anything, he looked bored.

Like you hadn’t just been stroking his hair like you cared for him. Like it hadn’t even registered.

Niragi watched the whole exchange with a look—like a fucking sassy one(for an example, the clip of him in the background when Ann is talking, first season eighth episode I think?? Not sure don’t listen to me)—before shaking his head with a scoff.

“Anyway.” he muttered, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “Back to more important matters—someone owes me a cigarette.”

You didn’t even glance at him as you grabbed another cigarette from his pocket, crushed it in your palm, then dropped it onto the table with the first one.

Then, without a word, you stood and left the room.

Niragi stared.

Chishiya chuckled.

You reappeared barely a minute later, a hoodie in your hand. Without a word, you tossed it straight at Niragi, hitting him square in the face.

“The fuck?” He yanked it off his head, glaring at you.

“You can smoke,” you said sweetly. “outside.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

“Not kicking you out.” you corrected, tilting your head. “Just strongly encouraging fresh air. You know, for your lungs.”

Niragi scoffed, tossing the hoodie over one shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

You smiled. “Yeah? So will I. With the windows closed.”

At that, he laughed, resting his elbow on the couch as he gave you a look.

“You do realize,” he said. “that this apartment has massive fucking windows, right?”

You waved a hand. “That’s not the same.”

He smirked. “It’s exactly the same.”

“Niragi.” you said patiently. “Go outside.”

He sighed, dramatically standing up, pulling on the hoodie. “Man, you’re no fun.”

You smiled sweetly. “I just love you too much to let you ruin your pretty lungs.”

He only chuckled, heading for the door, but not before turning back and sticking his pierced tongue out at you before he left.

Then you turned, only to find Chishiya watching you.

“What?”

Chishiya’s lips curled at the corners, just slightly. “Nothing.” he said. And yet, he kept looking.

You hummed as you continued to move around the apartment, picking things up and setting them back down in different places, even if they didn’t necessarily need to be moved. It was just something to do, something to keep your hands busy.

“You like taking care of him.” he said casually.

You blinked, glancing over. “Who?”

Chishiya just looked at you.

You exhaled a small laugh. “Oh. Niragi.”

He tilted his head, noncommittal.

You smiled faintly, fixing a little decorative bowl on the table. “Well… someone has to.”

Chishiya huffed a soft breath through his nose, like he found that funny. “Not really.”

You turned to face him, crossing your arms. “What?”

“You don’t have to take care of him.” he said simply. “He’s survived just fine without you.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shrugging lightly. “now he has me.”

Chishiya’s lips curled at the corners, but it wasn’t exactly a smile. “And what does he do for you?”

Your brows pulled together slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Chishiya said, leaning back against the couch. “you’re always so good to him. You check on him, make him food, worry about him. But what does he do for you?”

You opened your mouth. Then hesitated.

“I mean, he’s—” You faltered. “He’s nice to me.”

Chishiya’s expression didn’t change.

“Sometimes.” you added quietly.

He tilted his head. “So you like him because he’s sometimes nice?”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “That’s not—”

Chishiya hummed. “You have low standards.”

You gasped a laugh, staring at him. “Excuse me?”

He just shrugged, like it was fact.

“Chishiya,” you said, exasperated. “he’s my friend.”

“Sure.” Chishiya murmured. “If you can call that a friendship.”

You sighed, dropping onto the couch beside him. “What’s your problem?”

Chishiya exhaled a small breath, tipping his head back against the cushion. “No problem.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t like him.” you pointed out.

Chishiya’s lips twitched. “That’s not a secret.”

You huffed. “You don’t have to like each other.”

“Good.” he said lightly. “Because I don’t.”

You rolled your eyes.

Chishiya shifted slightly, watching you again. “Just seems unfair.”

You frowned. “What does?”

Chishiya lifted a shoulder. “You give so much.” he murmured, gaze flickering over your face, like he was searching for something. “What does he give you?”

You hesitated.

“He apologizes.” you said finally.

Chishiya huffed a quiet breath, like that only proved his point.

“And I like talking to him.” you added, almost defensive now.

Chishiya studied you for a moment. He was an observer. He had always been. It was easy to sit back, watch people, study them, and learn how to manipulate them without ever having to lift a finger. People were simple. Predictable. They wanted comfort, validation, love—all things he had no real interest in, except when it suited him. He didn’t care to be loved, nor did he particularly need anyone, but he did enjoy being chosen.

That was why you fascinated him. You were soft, emotional, easy to read—and yet, you had a way of making people want to take care of you, even if they didn’t deserve you. It wasn’t just Niragi. Chishiya had seen it from the moment he met you. The way you tilted your head when you listened, the way you smiled when you spoke, the way you looked at someone like they were important. It was a power all on its own, one you didn’t even seem aware of.

And Niragi? Of course he latched onto you.

Chishiya had seen it coming from a mile away.

What bothered him was that you let him. That you let Niragi hover close, let him spew his manipulative little games, let him turn soft just to reel you back in. Chishiya recognized the behavior well—he did it himself. The only difference was, he wasn’t sloppy about it. Niragi was obvious. Desperate. Chishiya preferred patience.

And that was why he was winning.

Because despite everything, despite how much you liked Niragi, it was Chishiya you sat next to. It was Chishiya you told things to, the one you confided in.

The one you came to.

He knew how to make people rely on him.

It was easy.

And he was so fucking good at it.

“Good thing I’m a better conversationalist.” he murmured.

You narrowed your eyes at him, playful. “That’s debatable.”

He huffed a quiet chuckle, amused. “Is it?”

You sighed sharply, shaking your head, but you were smiling.

He noticed the way you did that now. Smiled more. Looked happier. The cracks were still there, deep beneath the surface, but you weren’t breaking anymore.

He and Niragi had made sure of that.

And now, they got to keep you.

You heard Niragi before you saw him—his footsteps were always loud, like he wanted people to know he was there. It was the exact opposite of Chishiya, who moved like a shadow. Niragi, though, was presence.

“Miss me?” he drawled, stepping back into the apartment.

You looked up from where you were sitting on the couch next to Chishiya, watching as Niragi shook off the hoodie you gave him. His hair was a little damp at the ends, strands sticking to his forehead from the humidity outside.

“Not really.” you hummed, tilting your head with a teasing smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Liar.”

You shrugged, standing up and stepping closer, glancing at the cigarette still tucked between his fingers. “Did you at least enjoy your little smoke break?”

“Not really.” he mimicked you, grinning.

You reached out without thinking, plucking the cigarette from his hand and snuffing it out in the nearby ashtray—what you only had for decoration until now. “Then I guess we both missed out on something.”

He watched you, the piercing on his tongue swiping across his lip. “Yeah? And what did you miss out on?”

You ignored him, just rolled your eyes at him before heading toward the kitchen.

“Want anything?” you asked over your shoulder.

Niragi let his gaze linger on you for a moment before shaking his head. “Later.”

You nodded and moved to grab a glass of water for yourself, ignoring the feeling of Chishiya’s gaze burning into the back of your head. He had been watching—he always watched, but something about the way he was looking now felt different.

When you turned around, Niragi was already making his way toward his room.

And then, it was just you and Chishiya again.

You sighed, flopping back onto the couch beside him, sipping your water. He didn’t say anything right away, just observed you, as he always did.

“You’re easy to please.” he said.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He gestured lazily toward the hallway where Niragi had disappeared. “He walks in with a few flowers and suddenly, all is forgiven.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “I don’t think I was mad at him.”

“That’s not the point.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then what is?”

He gave you a slow, knowing smile. “You.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but of course—he didn’t. That was just how Chishiya worked. He never explained anything, he just said things that made you think, things that lingered in your head long after the conversation was over.

And this time, you weren’t sure you wanted to think about it. So, instead, you just huffed, looking away. “You don’t bring me flowers.”

“You don’t need them from me.”

And for some reason, that made your stomach flip. Chishiya always said things like that—things that meant nothing and everything at the same time. And maybe, deep down, you knew what he was doing. The way he talked, the way he looked at you, the way he made sure you knew he was different from Niragi.

It was all intentional.

Because at the end of the day, Chishiya didn’t fight for things—he just made sure they came to him.

And you were already falling right into place.

(Y’all I know there’s a lot more Niragi interactions compared to Chishiya and it’s on purpose. I’m not picking favorites, it will add up I promise. I have shit planned.)

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter @enhasrii

[agentlizardofowca]

"Bubbles"

May I get a drabble about Perry having to kiss Heinz to either protect his identity or just keep Heinz quiet?

Thanks for reading! Feel free to delete for whatever reason ♡

Hiiiii, Thanks for the nice asks and thank you for your patience. That time Perry and Doofenshmirtz bumped into Major Monogram and Carl in the supermarket was bad enough. Now, imagine Perry’s frustration when Heinz dragged him along to the supermarket again, this time to buy nougat and toothpaste. He was just minding his own business, trying to convince Heinz to buy a nicer shampoo than the cheapest one, and reading the ingredients on a bottle when a very familiar voice rang out behind him.

“Perry?” 

It was Linda.

Perry turned, lightning-quick, and came face to face with Linda and Candace, who were looking at him in surprise. 

“Hi.” She continued, eyeing him up and down in his work outfit. “My, don’t you look professional today.” 

He barely had enough time to do a nervous little wave before Heinz caught on to the conversation behind him, and he turned.

“Perry? Do you know these people?” Heinz asked, and Perry turned to him vaguely aware that he was PANICKING. NOT GOOD. HEINZ AND FAMILY. BAD. VERY BAD.

“Hello?” Linda said politely. “Do you know Perry?” 

Candace hadn’t seemed interested in the situation initially, but her uncle didn’t seem to know anybody. Him being in the supermarket with a stranger was perhaps the most exciting thing Perry had ever done in his miserable and boring life.

“Do I know Perry?” Heinz repeated thoughtfully, unaware that his nemesis had stopped breathing. “Yeah, of course I do.”

“Oh, well. Nice to meet you,” Linda said, extending one hand for Heinz to shake. “Although.” She looked at Heinz curiously. “Have we met before?”

Heinz accepted the gesture and shook Linda’s hand. “I have to be super honest with you. I am horrible with faces.” He explained. “I even forget Perry’s face sometimes. Only very rarely! But it has happened once or twice.

Despite his shock, Perry couldn’t help but crack a little smile. One of twice, his secretive ass.

“And how do you know Perry?” Linda asked conversationally, but she and her daughter both had matching curious expressions.

“Oh, you know,” Heinz explained happily, not aware that was was about to ruin Perry’s life forever. “Perry the Platypus is my secret-” Agent. The next word was going to be agent, Perry realized. He had to do something and he had to do something NOW! There was no time for a plan, he had to act. So, Perry prepared himself and followed his instincts.

Perry jolted as he suddenly sprang to action as if he had been shocked by a bolt of lightning. With both hands, he grabbed Heinz’s face, pulled him down to his level and firmly and confidently smushed their mouths together right there in the middle of the super food stuff mart.

In a sudden wave of clarity, Perry remembered that sometimes INSTINCT. BAD. Like right now. There he was, mouth to mouth with his nemesis with no further plan. He could release Heinz, but then there would be many, many questions from Candace, Linda AND HEINZ.

So, since his instinct got him into this mess, his instinct could get him out.

Still kissing, Perry dragged Heinz around the corner to the next aisle, leaving Candace and Linda right there. 

Stupified, they watched him go.

Over in the deodorant aisle, Perry released Heinz’s lips with a smack and placed him upright as Heinz stammered and stumbled, too confused by everything to speak coherently.

“I- eeh? Oh? Uh! aa.” He exclaimed.

Perry took Heinz by his slanted shoulders and shook him lightly.

“This is the weirdest dream I’ve had since that time I dreamt a tiny alien force-fed me watermelons. No. Wait. This is still stranger. Perry the platypus what was that about?!”

At least Heinz seemed to be coming back to his senses. Perry, unsure of how to explain, dug through his pockets and pulled out a pamphlet with the title “So you’ve found out your uncle is a secret agent. What now?” and pushed it into Heinz’s hand. 「Read that.」And off he went, back to the toothpaste aisle.

Linda and Candace were exactly where he had left them. Their mouths were still vaguely open in shock.

Perry smiled as innocently as he could as he jogged up to them. 「Whoopie」 He gestured at them.

Linda stared at his hands and blinked. “Whoopsie?” she repeated.

“What did you just do?!” Candace shouted. “And with him!” she gestured at the end of the aisle, where he had dragged Doof off to.

「Couldn’t help myself.」 Perry replied hysterically. 「What a stud, right?」

“... Right,” Linda replied, confused but supportive.

“NO!” Candace replied, because she was 15, always honest, and convinced something was wrong with Perry.

「Got to go!」Before he left, he grabbed a tube of toothpaste, and then he ran. Luckily for him, they didn’t even try to follow him.

Heinz was still busy reading the pamphlet when Perry returned and snatched it back. He presented him with the toothpaste, forced him into the next aisle, and refused to explain anything.

By the time he returned home to the Flynn-Fletcher residency, Perry was exhausted. But when he stepped into the kitchen he came face to face with Lawrence and Linda, who seemed to have been waiting for him.

“Oh, there you are Perry,” Linda said, and she turned to him. “Me and Lawrence are a bit worried about you.”