#9. Lean Service Management

[dvbusinessconsulting]

The article discusses the importance of bridging the gap between strategy and execution in businesses, particularly for Small and Medium Enterprises (SMEs) and manufacturing facilities. It highlights the role of Performance Improvement Consulting Services, Business Process Excellence Consulting Services, and Manufacturing Consulting Services in helping companies achieve tangible results and sustainable growth. By leveraging these services, businesses can overcome common bottlenecks and achieve quantifiable success

[ghstyles]

Customer Service | His Angel

· · ───────────·────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 2.1k

Summary: As a dare, Harry works a normal job for a day

His Angel Masterlist

· · ───────────·────────── · ·

The morning sun filters through the windows of Book & Bean, the cozy café/bookshop where you've worked part-time throughout college. It's your sanctuary, a place of normalcy far removed from Harry's world of luxury penthouses and tense business meetings that end with people disappearing.

The dare had started as a joke during one of Harry's condescending rants about "civilian jobs" after you complained about a difficult customer. Your challenge, "I bet you couldn't last one day in my shoes", had been met with that dangerous smile that meant he'd accepted.

One extremely uncomfortable conversation with your manager later (during which you'd explained that your boyfriend was "interested in retail experience" and conveniently left out his actual occupation)

The bell above the door chimes at precisely 9:00 AM and every muscle in your body tenses in anticipation. Harry enters with the same commanding presence he brings to everything. Confident, borderline arrogant, surveying the space as if assessing territory rather than entering a workplace.

A smile curves his lips when he spots you with the genuine, warm expression reserved solely for you that still makes your heart skip after all this time. He crosses to where you stand behind the counter, leaning in to press a brief kiss to your lips.

"Morning, angel," he murmurs against your mouth before pulling away. "Ready to show me how the other half lives?"

The amusement dancing in his eyes tells you he's approaching this as entertainment rather than a serious challenge. A fact that does little to ease your growing apprehension. The truth is, you have absolutely no idea how Harry will handle taking orders rather than giving them, following someone else's rules rather than making his own. The only certainty is that it won't be boring.

"Harry, this is my manager, Ellie," you introduce quickly. "Ellie, this is Harry."

Ellie extends a slightly trembling hand, clearly intimidated despite Harry's relatively casual appearance. "Nice to meet you! Y/N’s told us...well, actually, very little about you."

Harry's smile doesn't reach his eyes as he shakes her hand briefly. "Has she now? Interesting."

"So, Harry, Y/N will show you the basics at the register first," she says, her usual authoritative tone notably subdued. "Just follow her lead."

Harry nods once, accepting the green apron Ellie holds out to him with obvious reluctance.

"I don't wear aprons," he states flatly, the garment dangling from his fingertips as if it's personally offensive.

Ellie blinks rapidly. "Oh, um, it's actually store policy for all employees to—"

The look Harry gives her makes the words die in her throat.

"Harry," you say, interrupting them. "Please"

.That 'please' and the little look in your eyes is exactly the reason you are now watching Harry Styles adjust the apron over his crisp white shirt, looking like he's preparing for battle rather than a shift serving coffee.

"The green apron clashes with your murderous aura," you tease quietly as you tie yours on.

He gives you a flat look. "I own businesses worth more than this entire block."

"And yet you've never made a latte," you counter with a smile. "Remember the deal, you have to actually try, and you have to follow the rules."

Harry's jaw tightens, but he nods once. "One shift. Then we never speak of this again."

The morning rush begins, and for the first hour, things go surprisingly well. Harry observes your interactions with customers, his expression neutral as he memorizes the point-of-sale system with unsettling speed. When you step aside to let him handle his first customer, you hold your breath.

"Welcome to Book & Bean," he says, his voice lacking the warmth you typically use but professionally neutral. "What can I get you?"

The middle-aged woman hesitates, studying the menu board. "Hmm, I'm not sure...what do you recommend?"

A flash of irritation crosses Harry's face. "Coffee."

The woman blinks. "Well, yes, but what kind, "

"The kind you want," Harry interrupts. "There are fifteen options on the board. Pick one."

You jump in quickly. "Our caramel macchiato is popular! Or the house blend is excellent."

The customer orders hastily, clearly unsettled by Harry's intensity, and you give him a warning look as you prepare her drink.

The next customer approaches cautiously, a businessman who takes an incoming call while standing at the register.

"One second," he mouths to Harry, holding up a finger while continuing his conversation.

Harry waits exactly five seconds before speaking. "Either order or move."

The man looks up, startled. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Harry says, his voice dropping to that quiet register that makes your stomach tighten with recognition. "Order. Or move."

The businessman ends his call immediately.

By mid-morning, a pattern emerges. Harry is surprisingly efficient, memorizing orders, handling money with practiced ease, and maintaining the precise, methodical movements of someone accustomed to control. But his customer service is...problematic.

When a college student complains that his americano isn't strong enough, Harry simply stares at him, unblinking, until the young man mumbles that it's "actually fine" and retreats to the farthest table.

A woman who changes her order three times finds herself on the receiving end of a smile that never reaches Harry's eyes as he says, "Are you certain? Because this is the last time you'll be able to change your mind."

Ellie approaches you as you're restocking cups. "Is your boyfriend always so...intense?"

"He's just taking it seriously," you offer weakly. "He's very...detail-oriented."

She glances over at Harry, who is precisely arranging pastries in the display case with the focus of someone disarming a bomb. "He's scaring the regulars."

The real trouble begins during your lunch rush. You're handling the espresso machine while Harry works the register, maintaining an uneasy efficiency, when Jake, a persistent grad student who's been asking you out despite your polite refusals, approaches the counter.

"Hey, Y/N," he calls over Harry's shoulder. "Looking good today. When are you finally going to let me take you to dinner?"

Before you can respond with your usual deflection, you sense the shift in Harry's posture, the subtle straightening that happens just before situations in his world turn dangerous.

"What can I get you?" Harry asks, his voice so deliberately controlled it raises alarm bells in your mind.

Jake finally focuses on Harry, taking in his cold expression with obvious confusion. "Uh, just a large cold brew. So anyway, Y/N, "

"$4.75," Harry interrupts.

Jake hands over a ten-dollar bill. "Keep the change if you give me five minutes to talk to your coworker here."

The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees as Harry pockets the ten without breaking eye contact.

"Your drink will be ready shortly," he says, making no move to provide change. "And she's not available for conversation."

Jake's confusion turns to indignation. "Dude, that's my change. And I'm talking to Y/N, not you."

Harry leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur that somehow carries to where you're standing. "Consider it a fee for wasting her time. She's not interested. She has a boyfriend."

"What kind of customer service is this?" Jake demands, looking around for support. "Where's the manager?"

Ellie emerges from the back room, sensing trouble. "Is there a problem here?"

"Yeah, your new guy stole my change and is being a complete, "

Harry cuts him off with a smile that makes you wince. "I was just explaining our new policy regarding harassment of staff."

Jake sputters, looking between Harry and Ellie. "I wasn't, "

"You've been told no six times in the past month," Harry states with terrifying precision. "Your drink is ready. I suggest you take it and leave."

The way he says "suggest" makes it clear it's not a suggestion at all.

Jake grabs his cold brew and exits quickly, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully in contrast to the tense atmosphere he leaves behind.

Ellie turns to Harry with a mixture of confusion and concern. "Harry, while I appreciate you looking out for staff, we have protocols for handling difficult customers. You can't just keep someone's change."

Harry's expression remains neutral, but you recognize the dangerous glint in his eyes. "Your 'protocols' haven't stopped him from bothering her weekly. My way worked."

"That's not the point," Ellie insists, finding her managerial voice. "As long as you're working here, you need to follow our procedures. I need you to–"

She falters as Harry turns his full attention to her, his gaze assessing in a way that makes her instinctively step back.

"Need me to what?" he asks softly.

You intervene quickly. "Harry, can you help me with something in the stockroom? Right now?"

In the privacy of the small stockroom, you confront him. "You can't intimidate my boss! Or steal from customers!"

Harry leans against a shelf, entirely unrepentant. "That wasn't stealing. It was a transaction. He paid for a lesson in respecting boundaries."

"This isn't your world," you remind him, keeping your voice low. "You can't run a coffee shop like you run your... business."

"Clearly," he agrees dryly. "Your operation is inefficient. Your manager lacks authority. And you've allowed that customer to harass you for weeks."

You sigh, recognizing the futility of explaining normal workplace dynamics to a man who handles disagreements with methods that don't bear thinking about.

"Just... try to finish the shift without traumatizing anyone else? Please? For me?"

His expression softens marginally at your plea, and he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face in a gesture that's surprisingly tender given the conversation.

"For you," he concedes.

The afternoon brings new challenges. When assigned to shelve books in the literary section, Harry reorganizes the entire display by what he deems "actual quality" rather than alphabetically. A teenager who knocks over a stack of books receives such a withering look that he frantically begins reshelving the entire fiction section.

Remarkably, despite, or perhaps because of, Harry's intimidating presence, the café runs with unprecedented efficiency. Customers order quickly, without dithering. Tables are vacated promptly after use. Even the usual gaggle of students who buy one coffee and occupy tables for hours pack up and leave after Harry casually stands near their table, silently watching them for an uncomfortable minute.

By closing time, the café is spotless, the inventory is meticulously organized, and Ellie approaches you both with an expression of conflicted admiration.

"I've never seen the closing duties completed so efficiently," she admits. "And sales were actually up today. Fewer lingerers meant more turnover."

Harry merely nods, as if this outcome was inevitable.

"However," she continues, her professional tone returning, "I think perhaps this isn't the right...fit."

"You're firing him after one day?" you ask, trying not to sound relieved.

"Not firing," Ellie clarifies hastily, glancing nervously at Harry. "Just...suggesting that his talents might be better utilized elsewhere."

Harry removes his apron with precise movements. "Agreed."

As you collect your things to leave, Ellie pulls you aside. "Y/N, your boyfriend is...intense. Is everything okay with you two?"

The concern in her eyes is genuine, and you realize how Harry must appear to normal people, controlling, intimidating, potentially dangerous.

"Everything's fine," you assure her with a smile. "He's just very protective. And not used to...customer service."

Ellie nods, though she doesn't look entirely convinced. "Well, just so you know, you're expressly forbidden from bringing him in again. Even as a customer, I'm not sure..."

You laugh, the sound slightly strained. "Trust me, he won't be volunteering again."

Outside, Harry holds the car door open for you, his expression unreadable in the fading light.

"So," you say as he slides into the driver's seat, "what did you learn from your day as a normal person?"

Harry starts the engine, the luxury car purring to life. "That 'normal' is inefficient. Your manager should have banned that Jake person months ago. Your pricing is too low. And people waste an inordinate amount of time deciding between essentially identical coffee drinks."

You can't help but laugh. "That's your takeaway? Not 'I should be nicer to people' or 'retail is hard work'?"

He glances at you, a rare genuine smile softening his features. "I also learned that watching you work, being kind to people who don't deserve it, remembering orders, making everyone feel welcome, is somewhat impressive."

The admission, small as it is, warms you unexpectedly.

"However," he continues, his hand finding yours across the console, "if that Jake approaches you again, I'll be handling it my way, not Book & Bean's way."

The threat should alarm you, but after months with Harry, you've learned to distinguish between his casual intimidation and genuine intent. This, fortunately, sounds like the former.

"No need," you assure him. "I think your 'customer service' scared him off permanently."

As Harry drives you home, you can't help but reflect on the strange day, how the man beside you, who commands an empire built on fear and power, had momentarily stepped into your world and, predictably, refused to adapt to it. Instead, he'd bent it to his will, just as he does everything else.

The thought should probably concern you more than it does.

"So," you say lightly, "I'm thinking next we should try you at a daycare center."

The look he gives you could freeze fire, but you catch the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

"Push your luck, angel," he warns softly, "and I'll have you working in my world for a day. See how you handle that."

The challenge hangs between you, half-serious, wholly dangerous, and entirely tempting.

But that's a dare for another day.

· · ───────────·────────── · ·

A/N: A little short, I know, but I wanted to get something out today. I hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @silastylesswift @babegoals @harryssunflower17 @puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

[cosmopretty]

Please do one where Paige finds out the reader has a praise kink and it’s gets hot. Do whatever you want with the plot

Good Girl

Paige Bueckers x fem smut

✦•〰〰〰〰〰〰•★•〰〰〰〰〰〰•✦

You’ve been dating Paige for almost a year now, she was the sweetest most caring girlfriend you have ever had in the bedroom and out of it. She is so protective and caring for you, she is always doing things for you as an act of service.

You’re sitting in the living room with Paige and a few of her teammates watching Scream five together. Azzi looks at you pouting “Can you please get me some water? Please” she asks you before Paige slaps her shoulder “Get it yourself lazy bum” she says.

You shrug “I’ll get it lazy Azzi” you get up going to the fridge grabbing a bottle of water for Azzi, and some coke for Paige. You hope down on the couch and hand them their drinks “Your so sweet” Paige says kissing you head before wrapping her arm around you like before. Her words went straight down to your core, you always had a thing for being praised but you didn’t tell Paige you thought it was embarrassing.

KK groans “This is boring let’s watch something else” she complains for the thousandth time. Everyone looks at her and you shrug “Yeah it is I’ve watched it before like twice” you say aloud. KK points at your shaking her head “See let’s go play basketball a game losers have to clean the whole dorm” she says shrugging her shoulders. Everyone looks at each other nodding “Okay but we have two captains I say it’s Paige and KK since it was KK’s idea for this” Ice says.

Both Paige and KK stand up and do rock paper scissors to see who gets first pick. Kamora wins and points at Azzi “Your on my team Az” she smirks as Azzi walks up next to her. Paige immediately looks at you and grabs your hand pulling you into her side “My girl on my team” she states. You look at her shocked and move away from her “I don’t play basketball I manage the team I’m not bouta get crushed when one of you giraffes fall on top of me” you state before crossing your arms shaking your head. Paige shrugs “Nope you’re playing” she says dragging you next to her while KK choses her next pick. The teams are Team 1, which is KK, Azzi, Ice, Yanna, and Team 2 is Paige , you, Nika, Jana.

You all go down to the court and you sigh and look up at Paige “Come on please I don’t wanna play” you whine. She kisses your forehead “Please do it for me” she puts and you nod slowly, still not sure of this. She cheers and drags you towards her team, KK raises her arms and yells “FIRST TEAM TO TEN POINTS WINS” everyone nods agreeing with her.

The game starts and Paige gets the ball dribbling back and forth before throwing it to Nika who shoots a two pointer. The team cheers as KK groans, the serve is the ball and Jana dribbles before Azzi steals the ball from her and shoots a three after a minute of dribbling back and forth while Paige tries to steal the ball from her. The game goes on for a while before it’s 9 to 9 next point wins the game. You haven’t really done anything but watch and run back and forth. KK dribbles the ball before you steal it from her and hold it not moving “What do I do?” you ask scared. Paige yell from across the court “Just shoot baby” you nod and shoot and somehow score a three against everyone’s expectations.

Paige yells and grabs you holding your up in the air spinning your around before putting you back “Good girl baby” she whispers. You look down a blush covering your cheeks and she squints her eyes “What?” She asks. You shrug and walk away leaving her confused KK groans and leans on you “This is not fair you don’t even play” she complains before groaning.

Everyone starts walking down to the dorm room and KK, Azzi, Ice and Yanna start cleaning the living room complaining every five minutes.

You sit on Paige’s bed playing with your fingers while she changes, she turns and looks at you “What happened why you get all shy on me?” she says walking up to you tilting your chin to look up at her. You shrug “No reason Paige forget it” you say sternly.

Paige pushes you down on the bed and starts kissing your neck “Nuh uh tell me baby” she says kissing right under your ear softly. Your thighs squeeze together under her while she counties her assault on your neck “Is it cuz I said you’re a good girl huh baby you like that” you accidentally let out a noah at her words. She moves her head from your neck and looks at you “You like being praised? That makes so much sense now” she says smiling ear to ear.

This is one of the most embarrassing things that have happened, you cover your with your hands “Shut up” you mumble. Paige shakes her head no “It’s okay baby I promise wanna be good girl for me” she teases you.

“Yeah I’ll be so good for you Paige” you say and she smirks flipping you both over so your straddling her waist. You bite your lip and look at her “What do you want Paigey?” you ask her. She smirks pushing your body down so your laying on top of her “Put that mouth to good use baby” she says before grabbing the back of you head. You move down her body kissing her abs before moving down to her legs and pulling her shorts and boxers down.

You kiss the inside of her thighs before licking a stripe up her folds. She groans and pulls on your hair you take that as a sign to start licking at her clit. You lick up and down her clit as she moans “Your doing so good baby” she praises you. You slide your tongue inside of her and she moan gripping your hair harder. You move your hand to slide two fingers inside of her. Paige’s other hand squeezes the bed frame as she moans, her abs flexing as the feeling of her stomach that she is going to cum comes back.

You move your fingers inside of her still licking and biting at her clit “Good girl you’re so good my best girl” she moans out squeezing around your fingers.

Curling your fingers inside of her she moans looking down at you as you lift your head from her pussy. You kiss and bite all over her abs as your fingers speed up inside of her. She grabs your chin bringing you to kiss her as she moans “I’m gonna cum baby” she says after pulling away from the kiss.

“Come on Paigey come for me” you tell her curling your fingers once more inside of her as she comes all over them. She moans out of breath and you slide your fingers out of her and bring them to your mouth sucking her juices off of them.

Paige laughs and brings one of her hands to pet your head “You did so good such a good girl” she smirks seeing your blush at her words.

You shove her and lay your head on her chest “Stop Paige” you say your voice soft. Paige laughs again “Fuck no I’m using this against you all the time if it means you fuck me like that” she smirks and you lift your head to look at her rolling your eyes. Before pulling her into a long kiss.

[tacobacoyeet]

“JEALOUS JAKE PERALTA” 🗣️🗣️we all shout in unison. maybe a detective from another precinct hitting on Jake’s girl. Something like the 9-8 episode yknow?? I lovvveeddd the the story from the other day you did. It was so cutie

not-girlfriend | jake peralta x reader

a/n: short and stupid and sweet but i hope you like it! warnings: not my usual writing style, really short, not proofread

The briefing room is louder than usual.

The overlap of night shift and day shift has brought double the cops and triple the ego, and Captain Holt looks about one more sarcastic comment away from walking into traffic.

“Let’s try this again,” he says, tone clipped as always. “The precinct is short-staffed due to the commissioner’s inexplicable decision to approve simultaneous leave requests, so the night shift and day shift will be operating as one until further notice. That means cooperation, communication, and no turf wars.”

A hand shoots up.

“No, Detective Boyle, this is not an opportunity to suggest ‘team-building lasagna.’”

Boyle lowers his hand slowly. “Copy that, sir.”

Jake leans back in his chair, trying to look casual. He nudges your knee under the table.

“You know this is gonna be a disaster, right?” he whispers. “Night shift people are weird. They’re like raccoons. Shifty, unpredictable, probably hiding trash in their lockers.”

You grin. “They’re not that bad. And you have trash in your locker.”

Just then, the door swings open.

And in strolls Detective Cole.

Night shift. Leather jacket. Perfectly gelled hair. The kind of smile that knows it’s been complimented before. He scans the room and lands squarely on you.

“Well,” he says, voice like he thinks it’s charming, “day shift just got a whole lot more interesting.”

Jake chokes on his coffee.

Boyle pats his back.

“I got you, buddy.”

Cole ignores the commotion entirely and slides into the empty seat beside you—your usual spot next to Jake now inconveniently blocked by smirking smugness and cologne.

“So,” Cole says, turning to you with that same perfectly polished grin. “You got a name, or should I just keep calling you 'trouble'?”

You blink. You’ve barely spoken to the guy, and already he’s laying it on thick.

“Uh—Y/N. Detective Y/L/N,” you manage, trying to sound neutral. “Day shift.”

Jake snorts from behind his coffee cup. “Yeah, she’s not in the market for whatever noir fantasy you’ve got going on, man.”

Cole doesn’t miss a beat. “Relax, Peralta. Just being friendly.”

Boyle leans toward Rosa. “This feels illegal. Should we tase him?”

Rosa nods, deadpan. “Let’s give him five more minutes.”

Amy whispers to Holt, “Should we intervene?”

Holt, without looking up from his notes, replies, “Only if someone dies. Or worse, makes a pun.”

You shoot Jake a glance. He looks… not mad. Just slightly feral. Like he’s trying to figure out if 'accidentally' spilling hot coffee on Cole would be considered assault or a workplace hazard.

You turn back to  Detective Cole. “Appreciate the enthusiasm,” you say. “But maybe let’s focus on the briefing?”

Jake mouths 'thank you' at you.

Cole just smiles wider.

When the meeting finally ends, Holt dismisses everyone with a dry “Do not disappoint me,” and the room scatters.

You stand to stretch, and before you can even grab your notepad, Cole’s already hovering.

“So, Y/L/N,” he says, leaning just a little too close. “You got any plans after shift? Because I know a diner down the block with terrible service and excellent pie.”

Jake is behind you in a second.

“She does have plans,” he says cheerfully. “With me. We’re watching Die Hard and making aggressively mediocre spaghetti. Very romantic.”

You glance at Jake, confused but amused. “Since when?”

“Since… now,” Jake says, voice going high-pitched at the end. “Right now.”

Cole raises an eyebrow. “Ah. Got it. Work partners and dinner dates. Cute.”

He walks off, finally, and you turn to Jake, who is absolutely not making eye contact.

“Jake?” you say slowly.

“Hmm?” he replies, inspecting a nearby pencil like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“You okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine. Not jealous at all. That guy’s hair is definitely not better than mine. Why would I be jealous?”

Boyle strolls past with perfect timing. “He’s extremely jealous.”

The rest of the day only gets worse—for Jake, anyway.

Cole is everywhere. At the vending machine when you’re getting your usual afternoon candy bar. Offering to carry files that don’t even belong to him. Laughing too hard at your jokes, even the terrible ones. He even volunteers to accompany you to the evidence locker, which makes Jake nearly implode.

"I'll go too," Jake blurts. "You know. For backup. Because some of those boxes are heavy. And emotionally unstable. Like me."

Rosa watches him tail the both of you down the hallway and mutters, "This is either going to end in a fistfight or a kiss."

By the time night falls, Jake’s nerves are frayed. He’s pacing in the break room, talking mostly to himself while Boyle nods encouragingly.

"I mean, maybe she's into that stupid hair gel. Maybe I’m just her coworker-slash-Die-Hard-buddy. Maybe I hallucinated that time she touched my arm for like three seconds straight."

Boyle hums. “You should probably just tell her how you feel, man.”

Jake stops. “No. No way. That’s ridiculous.”

But the traveling sound of you laughing at something Detective Cole said is starting to convince him otherwise.

Jake storms out of the break room, marches over, and inserts himself right between the two of you.

"Hey. Quick question," he says. "Are you hitting on my not-girlfriend? Because if you are, I have a very long and very unnecessary PowerPoint explaining why that’s not allowed."

Cole raises both brows. "Your what?"

Jake turns to you, cheeks a little pink. "My not-girlfriend. Who I maybe—definitely—like. A lot. And have for a while. And maybe want to take on a real date. If she's into that. Which she might not be. And that’s okay. Unless it’s not."

You blink at him.

Then smile.

"Jake."

"Yeah?"

"You’re an idiot. But yes."

You grab him by his stupid collar and pull him into a kiss.

Across the bullpen, Amy silently high-fives Rosa, who then walks over and slips Cole a twenty.

Boyle blinks. "What’s that for?"

"I asked him to do it," Rosa says, not looking up from her report. "Told him to flirt with Y/L/N until Jake cracked. Honestly thought it’d take longer."

Cole chuckles, folding the bill. “Glad to help. You’re welcome for the emotional growth.”

Jake gapes. "You set me up?"

Rosa smirks. “And you’re welcome.”

-----

tagging: @glennussy @larasreality

[writeonwhiskey]

act like you love me: ch 9

a/n: ahhh, it's finally here! lots happening this chapter, buckle tf up! word count: 5.3k tracklist: Behind the Light [ fic master list ]

9 - Picture This, Picture That

WEEK 9

Today’s schedule is light—just some shots for the intro sequence and a round of promotional photos in the afternoon. You’re in the hair and makeup trailer with Felix—Yuna, Minho and Han left to scrounge up some snacks from craft services.

“I have a weird, kind of lame question…” you say.

“What’s up?” he asks, dabbing at the corner of your eye with a sponge.

“Can we take a picture together? I’m supposed to start building my social media more and I’m not permitted to share stuff from set…but I think I could get away with something of you and I.”

Felix blinks, then smirks. “Insignificant Felix to the rescue?”

Your heart sinks. “Oh, God. That came out wrong. That’s not what I meant, I—”

He rests a reassuring hand on your shoulder, catching your eyes in the mirror. “I’m messing with you. Where’s your phone?”

You pass it to him, and he angles it for a quick selfie. He grins wide, you manage something natural enough, and then the shutter clicks. He proceeds to move around you in the chair, snapping pictures from different angles until you loosen up. By the end of the impromptu photoshoot, you’re shaking your head and covering your face as you laugh.

“There,” Felix says when you’re done, handing your phone back. “You’re welcome.”

“I owe you one,” you reply.

Yuna, Minho and Han return and Yuna gets straight to work on your hair. You browse through the pictures, scanning for a few your agency may approve of. As your agent said, the vibe of your socials is meant to be authenticity and relatability, and what could be more relatable than goofing around with your co-worker?

“When are we all going to go out again?” Yuna asks, glancing at Han and Minho. “That night was so much fun!”

“Our schedules have been all over the place,” Han says.

“But we could try to plan something soon,” Minho continues, while Felix touches up his makeup. “Like a pre-wrap party.”

“All of us from last time?” Yuna asks.

“Why?” Minho pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Who do you want to be there specifically?”

“Seungmin? Jeongin? Hyunjin?” Han follows up.

You keep your expression unreadable at the mention of Hyunjin. You hope it’s not him she wants to see again. But is that a thing you’re allowed to hope for? He’s not even yours to claim.

And the idea of hoping other girls don’t like him isn’t a reasonable thought. So, you couldn’t blame her if she did. He’s Hwang fucking Hyunjin. Hundreds of thousands if not millions already do.

Fuck. That’s daunting.

“I bet it’s Seungmin,” Minho continues, causing Yuna to blush. “You both disappeared when we were dancing for a long time.”

You relax a little. Maybe that night at the club was the start of something more for them too. Part of you wants to ask for more details, but knowing what you’re hiding, it doesn’t feel right to pry.

“We’ll invite him…” Han trails off, a mischievous smile taking over his features, “If you tell us what happened.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Don’t let them bully you.” You come to her defense. “I’ll make sure everyone from last time is there.”

Minho glares. “Way to ruin the fun, y/n.”

“Whatever,” you shrug. “I’m a good wingman. You guys are being jerks.”

Minho opens his mouth to reply when the trailer door swings open, dragging everyone’s attention to it. Hyunjin leans in, dressed as Jae-hoon was the day he arrived at the inn—a white shirt tucked into black slacks, collar open, sunglasses hanging from his shirt.

“You guys planning to keep me waiting all day?” He addresses the room, sparing a fleeting glance at the others, then his gaze snaps right to you.

“About five more minutes, your highness,” Felix says.

Hyunjin’s smile quirks, and he gives a small nod. As he steps back out, the door swinging closed behind him, you realize your heart’s beating faster than it should be.

Five minutes later, you make your way to set with Han and Minho. The inn is picture-perfect as usual in the morning. The crew is already bustling about, adjusting reflectors, setting tracks for the camera, shouting for equipment like the well-oiled, chaotic machine it always is.

You spot Hyunjin and Chan standing near the front entrance. Chan waves you over. Hyunjin’s lips curve into a grin the second his eyes land on you. You shoot him a look, willing him to behave in front of your boss. And he does.

The last few days have been a blur, but not in the way you expected. After that night with the supplies and the way Hyunjin held you until you fell asleep—you’ve been caught in this strange in between. A space where it almost feels safe. Like maybe you can balance on this tightrope without falling. Every glance, every touch, every shared smile weaves the fantasy tighter.

Chan starts briefing you all on the shots for the intro sequence. No dialogue. Just mood and chemistry.

You listen—you try to listen—but your thoughts keep drifting. You just want to touch Hyunjin. It’s ridiculous. Fifteen hours since you last saw him and it feels like an eternity. How did it get to this point in less than three weeks?

You start walking toward your mark with Minho and Han trailing behind you, ready to get the ball rolling.

You can’t wait for this day to end.

You can’t wait to have his lips on yours again.

After lunch, the courtyard of the inn becomes the backdrop for the photoshoot. You, Minho, and Han are scheduled for the first round, and they sit you down for solo shots to start. Soft music plays in the background, helping to settle your nerves and giving the shoot a more relaxed, easy vibe.

You pose. Turn. Smile when prompted—all while trying your best to ignore the ridiculous faces and poses Minho and Han are doing behind the photographer.

Hyunjin arrives just as Minho wraps. You watch him work, still a little in awe at how effortlessly he commands the space, how precisely he controls every feature of his face to give the camera exactly what it wants. He’s annoyingly good at this.

But it no longer irritates you. It makes you feel proud.

When the photographer claps and calls your name, you barely register it. “y/n, let’s get some of you two together.”

You head toward the table where Hyunjin’s sitting. He rises immediately, offering you the seat. You’re torn between slipping into professional mode and the temptation to reach for him.

He doesn’t speak—just moves into place behind you, one hand settling lightly on your shoulder. You graciously welcome the warmth that radiates throughout your body from his touch.

You shift poses—standing, sitting, one where you’re angled on his lap, your hand resting on the back of his neck.

“Closer,” the photographer instructs. “You’re lovers from different worlds. Let that tension breathe between you.”

He doesn’t know how accurate he is.

Hyunjin’s grip tightens on your waist. His breath brushes the shell of your ear as he leans in, murmuring, “It’s driving me crazy this is the most I’ve got to touch you all day.”

You bite back a smile, trying not to let it reach your eyes.

“Beautiful,” the photographer coos. “Give me more of that.”

You struggle to refocus, but Hyunjin keeps pushing the edge. He’s brushing your hair back, his thumb grazing your jaw as he subtly adjusts your angle for the camera, under the pretense of helping.

You glance over to check the others—Minho and Han are distracted, scrolling through their phones. Good.

But then something catches your eye. A figure near the monitors.

You freeze.

Your agent.

You knew she was supposed to come at some point this week, but not today. Not now.

Your pulse spikes.

Shit.

Her phone is in her hand, snapping photos of the shoot—of you and Hyunjin.

You sit straighter, putting a sliver of space between you.

“My place or yours tonight?” Hyunjin teases, oblivious as he closes the distance almost as soon as you created it.

You don’t answer—you can’t. Because your agent is watching. Her eyes on you. And Hyunjin. And you don’t know how much she’s seen already.

You shift away from his touch.

Hyunjin stills, brow furrowing in confusion. He doesn’t push the issue—but you can feel him pulling back too.

The group shots begin, and you welcome the distance. Anything to slow your racing thoughts. But the damage is done. Where there was anticipation, now there’s dread coiling tight in your stomach. There’s no telling what she’ll do with the pictures on her phone—you have no control over those.

The moment the photographer calls a wrap, you make eye contact with your agent and nod in the direction of your trailer. You don’t even look behind you to see if she’s following, but she steps inside moments after you.

She’s bearing a wide grin, holding up her phone.

“I got some great shots of you and Hyunjin. You’re a very photogenic pairing.”

Her words immediately put you on edge.

“I thought you weren’t coming until the weekend,” you say, keeping your voice level.

“Schedule changed. Plus, I wanted to bring the KBS contract.” She reaches into her messenger bag and produces the documents. “You looked good out there.”

Before you can reply, another knock sounds. You open the door to find Hyunjin—he’s changed out of Jae-hoon’s costume and is now wearing jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. He clocks your agent instantly but doesn’t skip a beat.

“Some of us were gonna grab dinner,” he says. His voice is easy, casual, but his eyes are locked on you as always. “You coming?”

“Uhm…I’m not hungry. But thank you.”

He must see the hesitation written across your face.

“Later?” he asks quietly, just for you.

You glance once at your agent—she’s leaning against the counter, looking at her phone but most definitely listening—then back to him.

You give him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

He smiles softly and returns your nod before walking away.

“Cute,” your agent says without looking up. “You two have good, natural chemistry. You should capitalize on that.”

You don’t respond, instead reaching for the contract folder sitting on the counter. You flip it open, eyes skimming over the offer and schedule, but your brain won’t settle.

“We have to wait until after the premiere but sharing those photos of you and Hyunjin from the shoot will be engagement gold,” she says casually.

“I don’t want to use him like that,” you say, more firmly than you expect.

That gets her attention. She raises an eyebrow. “It’s not using him. It’s called leveraging the moment. That’s the game, y/n. You’d be doing yourself a disservice pretending you two aren’t working magic together.”

You set the contract down and take a breath.

You can’t tell her it’s more than that.

“Where do I sign?” you change the subject.

She flips through each page of the contract where you need to initial and/or sign.

“y/n,” she begins, as she’s putting the folder back in her bag. “I’m not the enemy here. I just want to remind you of that. I work for you.”

She’s right. But it’s easy to forget that when you’re more focused on keeping this secret from seeing the light of day.

“If you don’t want to post anything with Hyunjin, you don’t have to,” she continues. “Posting nothing but the two of you could be mistaken as clout chasing or spark dating rumors, sure, and I understand that’s not what you want. I don’t think posting once or twice will have a negative impact, though. But if you don’t share anything with him at all…have you considered how that will look too? Would people speculate about tension on set?”

You sigh, plopping down on the couch. You hadn’t considered that alternative.

“This is your first time going through something like this. It’s bound to feel conflicting.”

“It really is,” you murmur.

“I’m not here to tell you how to live your private life. But just…give me the heads up if I need to get PR out ahead of any groundbreaking news so we can help you navigate it, alright?”

You nod, forcing a smile as she waves and exits the trailer.

She was hinting at something very specific. If she could spot that after only an hour or so…what must everyone else on set be thinking about how close you and Hyunjin have gotten?

And what was all that about getting PR involved? That’s exactly what you didn’t want to happen, having hands dipping into the pot of your…whatever this is with Hyunjin.

This was so much easier when you loathed him.

You barely have five minutes of silence before the door swings open again.

It’s him.

“What are you doing?” you ask, already standing. Your heart kicks up as you peek out the window.

“What are you doing?” he tosses back, stepping inside like he owns the place, watching your frantic behavior. “She’s gone. I watched her leave.”

“I thought you left…were you waiting outside my trailer?”

He shrugs. “It seemed like you were ready to blow a gasket after she showed up. Your agent, right?”

You nod.

“Everything okay?”

You hesitate, your voice quiet when you finally speak, “Hyunjin…I think we really need to end this.”

He stills; confusion etched across his perfect face. “What? Why?”

“Because…you and I don’t make sense outside of this bubble,” you spout the first reasonable thing that comes to mind. “It feels fine, for now…but when filming ends?”

“What happens?” he asks, moving closer.

You lower your gaze. “We fall apart.”

He slides a hand around your waist, not at all put off by your pessimism. “Does your agency allow you to date?”

You exhale through your nose. “Yes. But I’m afraid they’d use this—use you—to build up my career.”

“And you won’t let them,” he says, already knowing the answer.

“Of course not. I don’t want to use you for anything.”

“You could use me for some stuff,” he teases, leaning down to kiss you.

You stop him with a hand on his chest. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He brushes a thumb down your arm. “But I don’t care what anyone says.”

“You do care. About your career.”

He watches you for a moment. “So what—what do you want me to do? Pretend I don’t want you?”

“I don’t know…maybe stop looking at me like no other woman on this planet exists.”

“They don’t.”

The sincerity in his voice guts you. You curl your fingers in his shirt.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he says softly, reading you like a book. “You riding back with me?”

“I shouldn’t…”

“But you will?”

You sigh. “You’re making this really hard.”

“You thought breaking up with me would be easy?”

“There’s nothing to break up,” you whisper.

He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

And then he’s gone.

You change into your clothes, drop off the innkeeper’s costume at wardrobe, and head to the car that’s been your ride for weeks now. Changbin’s in the driver’s seat, Hyunjin already in the back, waiting.

You slip in beside him; he pulls you in without asking, and you let him.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“We can order in,” you say, settling into this familiar routine with far too much ease for someone who had just tried to end it a few minutes ago. “Changbin, did you eat?”

Changbin glances up at you through the rearview mirror. “Yes…but I can eat again—if the boss will allow it.”

“Yeah, but you’re going home as soon as you’re full.”

“That’s my secret, Cap. I’m never full.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself, letting their banter fill the silence in your mind. You lean into Hyunjin’s chest, resting your forehead there, eyes closed.

Today was a whirlwind—the photos, your agent, the crowding pressure of a future you can’t predict. And Hyunjin is the perfect calm to your inner storm.

Why does pursuing your career mean having to shut the door on something else you want?

It’s not fair.

You know you should stop this, but how can you when it feels so good to be held by him? To be cared for and looked after? To be needed.

But if you were to consider trying to have something serious with Hyunjin, it would have to be a secret for who knows how long. And when you’re both back in Seoul, it will be a hell of a lot harder to sneak around. Especially when the series finally airs.

His behavior, his reactions to everything you’ve said and done to push him away only make this harder. It’s fucking exhausting being the only one who’s always bracing for impact while he’s choosing to live in La La Land. Because he can. He’s not stressing the same way that you are, he’s not paranoid that one wrong decision could detonate everything he’s worked for.

His phone buzzes on his lap. He glances down at the screen, and, unfortunately, so do you.

Alessia [5:35 PM]: Dinner still on? 👀 You better not flake, Romeo.

You both tense.

The words on the screen close around your throat like a fist.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I forgot about this dinner thing. My agent set it up with the stylist for that concept shoot in a few weeks.”

You nod, slowly sitting up. “Yeah, no worries. Work’s work.”

But Romeo and dinner won’t stop echoing in your mind.

If it’s just a meeting…why would she call him Romeo?

Is that just her personality? Some flirty, casual nickname?

Or has he been hiding something?

What, then, was all of that moments ago about you being the only woman that exists?

Your stomach churns and suddenly you can’t breathe right. Your chest tightens, like your ribs are closing in on your lungs. You’ve been telling yourself for days that this isn’t real—that it can’t be. But what if he was counting on that?

You wouldn’t be the first naïve actress to fall in this kind of trap.

You start to feel nauseous as the car slows to a stop outside the hotel. Hyunjin shifts beside you, but you don’t look at him.

“I’ll text you later?”

You busy yourself with picking up your bag, fingers moving too fast, heart thudding in your ears. Something as small as a name on a screen shouldn’t feel like betrayal. But it does.

And as much as it fucking hurts, maybe this is exactly what you needed to get your head on straight.

“Sure,” you manage, and move to open the door.

He catches your arm, gently pulling you back. He hooks a finger under your chin to turn your face to him. He leans forward and presses his lips to yours.

You don’t kiss him back. You can’t. You’re currently imprisoned in the words of that text message.

He leans back slowly, eyes scanning your face like he’s looking for a way in. You won’t give him one this time.

“This is just a work thing,” he repeats.

“Even if it’s not…” You look at your hands, your lap, anywhere but him. “It’s fine. We’re not dating, Hyunjin. We can’t.”

You slip out before he can say anything else.

“Have a good time,” you add to drive your point home and shut the door behind you.

You walk toward the hotel entrance without looking back, and it’s for the best. Because if you did, everything inside you that’s falling apart may come spilling out.

You wake the next morning alone in bed. It’s been a while since that happened, and it feels a little strange. You pick up your phone to silence the alarm, blinking at the slew of notifications on your screen—including a few missed texts and calls from Hyunjin, and your heart involuntarily skips a beat.

Hyunjin [12:12 AM]: you up? i wanna see you

You opt not to reply. You have a long day ahead of you and don’t want the mess of last night to distract you from work.

Once on set, you go about your usual routine—makeup, wardrobe, a quick breakfast. You film some filler shots of your character walking into the inn, at the desk, in her office, etc. It’s magical to you, how they’ll take these snippets and thread them through the full tapestry of the series.

After the last solo shot, you return to your trailer to go over your lines for the scene you’re filming with Minho next when your phone buzzes. It’s a message from Yuna.

Yuna [11:05 AM]: OMG. Have you seen the article?

Your eyes widen, pulse increasing.

You [11:07 AM]: I don’t think so…what article?

She replies with a link.

You hesitate, wracking your brain for anything you could have been caught doing recently, but there’s nothing. Eventually, curiosity wins, and you tap on it.

📸 Caught on Camera: Hyunjin Seen Kissing Unknown Woman Outside Geongju Hotspot! Is Hyunjin off the market? The star was spotted outside Nox this weekend, a cozy, romantic restaurant, in what appears to be a steamy moment with an unidentified woman. The two were seen leaving through a side exit before sharing what eyewitnesses describe as a "quick but unmistakable kiss." While the woman’s identity remains unknown, fans and gossip accounts are already in overdrive. Is she a new flame? A close friend? Or something more scandalous? Neither Hyunjin nor his agency has responded to the photos circulating online.

Your stomach drops. That’s not you in the photo.

At first, it feels like a relief. But then it hits you. Hard.

Your eyes key in on a specific detail of the picture—the shirt she’s wearing. It’s the dark green plaid t-shirt Hyunjin had on yesterday.

You can practically feel yourself sinking into the couch in your trailer. You’re replaying every moment with him, tainting them with doubt, coloring in red flags you must have ignored.

How often did Hyunjin have to leave for ‘work’?

The late-night texts asking to come over?

Are you just the option that’s most regularly convenient?

Had you just never connected those dots before?

And that text you saw last night—the one with Romeo. You wanted so badly to use it to put some distance between the two of you.

But this?

This makes you feel like a fucking fool.

“y/n,” Jeongin’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts from the other side of your door. “You’re needed back on set.”

“Coming,” you call out to him.

You toss your phone onto the couch, not daring to bring it to set with you. You don’t want any other alarming texts to throw you off. You take a deep breath and meet him outside your trailer.

Once in front of the camera, you square your shoulders, push back the chaos, and force yourself into character. You have to. It’s the only way to get through the rest of today.

Your scene with Minho is short but draining. When it’s over, you collapse into a seat beside him, watching him eat while you stare blankly ahead.

“You okay?” he asks, mouth full of rice.

“Just tired,” you say.

“You sure?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He sees through it—he’s not easy to fool. But thankfully, he lets it drop.

You can’t talk to him about this. There’s only one person you can talk to, and you’re dreading having that conversation. Dreading having him confirm that all you originally assumed about him was correct and you’d fooled yourself into believing otherwise. 

Jeongin comes once again to retrieve you for your next scene. This one is with Hyunjin. It’s one of the more emotional scenes and filming it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

The inn’s courtyard is dressed for atmosphere—dim lights, warm tones. There are multiple cameras set up for this shot to lessen the amount of takes needed for different angles.

Hyunjin shows up a few minutes later, Felix trailing behind him, trying to fix his makeup mid-stride. Your stomach turns when you see him. Your body aches to be near him. Your mind begs you not to.

He looks around until he finds you, and the moment he does, you avert your eyes.

“You ready, y/n?” Chan calls from behind the monitor.

You force a thumbs up.

“Places!”

Hyunjin stops walking toward you, a look of defeat on his face. He sits at a table in the courtyard with a bottle of soju. You stand just off camera.

This is the moment his character crumbles after leaving the inn to visit his father.

When Chan calls action, you wait a few beats before entering.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well. Congratulations. You found me.” He raises the bottle. “Want a drink?”

“No...” you reply softly. “You left without saying anything. I wanted to know what’s going on.”

You stand next to the table, look down at him, and it takes everything you have not to crack at the look on his face. He looks stressed. Pained. And you can’t tell if it’s acting or if that’s really him right now.

He’s silent.

Too silent.

“Cut!” Chan calls. “Do you need your line Hyunjin?”

You glance toward the crew, but you feel Hyunjin still watching you.

“No, sorry.” He says. “Let’s do it again.”

He reaches out for your hand as you return to your mark. You pull away before he can touch you. His expression falls even further, and you have to look away.

You run through the scene again.

Take three. Take six. Take nine.

Every time, something’s off.

A missed cue. A dropped word. A breath caught in the wrong place.

“Okay, let’s take five everyone,” Chan says finally, trying to sound encouraging.

You walk away from the cameras and crew, needing some space from everything. There’s no time to make it to your trailer and back in five minutes, so you duck around the corner of the inn. But you realize being alone is not going to happen when footsteps follow you.

“y/n,” Hyunjin’s voice is quiet, but strained. “Can we talk?”

You turn to face him, eyes hardened as you remind yourself it’s better this way.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

He takes in your expression, your tone, your behavior. “Did you get my text?”

“I don’t have my phone with me.”

“I wanted to talk to you before all of this,” he gestures to you, “happened. It’s not what you think.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “Whether you’re seeing other people or not is none of my business.”

He takes a step forward. You take one back and hit the wall.

“It wasn’t—I didn’t—fuck.” He runs a hand across his buzzed head. “y/n, trust me, it’s not what it looked like.”

“I trust you,” you begin, and a glimmer of hope flickers across his eyes until you continue. “I trust you to get this scene done in a timely manner. Let’s focus on that.”

Jeongin rounds the corner and Hyunjin takes a step back.

“Five minutes is up.”

You’re staring daggers at each other. Neither of you move.

“I’ll explain everything after,” he says.

Every nerve in your body is wound tight, but you find it in you to nod. No part of you wants to hear him out at this moment, you want to chop this up as the loss that it is and move on with the project the best you can.

There’s too much riding on this to let it be derailed in the final weeks.

Hyunjin walks away first and Jeongin waits for you. He watches Hyunjin’s retreating back for a second, then turns to you.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “Just getting in the right headspace for the scene.”

Back on set, you and Hyunjin finally manage to get through the scene.

Hyunjin is incredible. Raw. Reminding you of just how convincing he can be. Reminding you that you should have never let your guard down.

“My father thinks I’m weak.” He idly plays with the bottle of soju. “That I lack ‘discipline’. That I’m a waste of the family name. Do you know what it’s like to walk into a room and already be a disappointment before you even speak?”

He takes another sip.

“I never asked to be his legacy. I just wanted to be his son.”

“You’re not your father’s shadow. You’re not just a headline. You’re allowed to figure life out as you go.”

The irony of your dialogue is not lost on you. Everything you’ve gone through with him has been ripped apart by a single headline. A single text.

“Maybe. But he’s not wrong. I am a disappointment. I do lack discipline. Honestly, it’s just easier to be that version of me.”

You pull an empty chair close to him and sit down, taking one of his hands in yours.

“But that’s not who you are now.”

“Isn’t it?” He looks up at you, his eyes welling with tears. “It still feels like it.”

“It’s not, Jae-hoon.”

He places his other hand on top of yours and squeezes it.

“Tell me who I am, then. Because without…”

He trails off and then silence consumes you. You nod a little, encouraging him to continue.

“Still rolling,” Chan calls out. “Find it, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin clears his throat, staring down at the grass beneath you. He takes a deep breath, blinks, and then his eyes flick back up to yours and your breath catches.

“Tell me who I am, then. Because without you, I don’t fucking know anymore.”

He delivers the final line with a vulnerability that wrecks you.

When Chan yells “Cut!” Hyunjin wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. You squeeze his other hand gently, knowing that wasn’t easy to get through.

A few hours later, you’re back in your trailer. You purposefully avoid your phone sitting on the couch. It certainly hasn’t been a breeze of a day on set, but you keep reminding yourself it’s better this way. You can’t cave in.

You have to put yourself first.

It isn’t until the ride back to the hotel that you finally unlock your phone to view your missed messages.

Pastry Prince 👑 [3:12 PM]: you need to see this please don’t freak out Pastry Prince 👑  [3:15 PM]: they twisted it. nothing happened Pastry Prince 👑  [3:17 PM]: i’m just waking up and heading to set i’ll explain it all

He included a link to the article and everything.

It’s too late, though. You’ve already spiraled. You’ve already talked yourself through a thousand reasons as to why this cannot continue.

But you’re too wired to sleep when you get to the hotel. Even after a shower and changing into your comfiest pajamas, your mind spins relentlessly.

You’re annoyed with yourself for being angry.

You’re angry at yourself for being jealous.

You knew this was a bad idea from the start, yet you let it happen anyway. All because it felt good. All because you enjoyed being needed, being wanted by him.

It’s a hard and embarrassingly foolish lesson to learn.

Your phone buzzes again.

Pastry Prince 👑 [11:56 PM] You in your room?

You told him you’d let him explain, and you will at least give him that closure.

You [11:57 PM] Yes.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

Your heart leaps, even though you already know who it is. You unlock the door and pull it open without a word, still burning.

Still yearning.

It’s hard to push those feelings down when you’re this close and alone.

You set yourself straight with one resounding: after he speaks his piece, you have to end this.

For good.

a/n: alright i'm gonna go hide now. see you soon! [ read chapter ten here ]

@hwangjoanna / @hanniesbubuwife / @straycat420 / @tsunderelino / @dessianna1 / @akindaflora / @tirena1 / @krayzieestay / @ehstay / @spookiesakura / @aria-again / @sakuraseyebrow / @brekkers-whore / @sailor--sun

[aussiexlovexaffair]

secret!bf ash performs a song about styles!reader in front of her brother words: 2k! request fill: anon ask! tags: secretbf!ashton, styles!reader tw: suggestive themes ig? author’s note: if you have any tips on how to write the 1d boys better, i’d appreciate it!! I was never really in that fandom, so i don’t know much about how each of them talk/act/etc. listen to: “english love affair” by 5 seconds of summer

“I’m glad you came to one of these things, I’ve been trying to get you to go for months.” 

Your eyes dart around the arena, trying to take in the sheer amount of people— mainly fans of your brother’s band— packed into the seats above. It had to be claustrophobic in those seats. Luckily, Harry had suggested you sit with his band in the artist section in the pit. While you appreciated the bottle service it came with, you couldn’t help but feel out of place amongst such talented people. All of them had millions to their name and you were living in a tiny apartment working a typical 9-to-5 job. 

“It’s not really my crowd.” You reply honestly, raising your glass to your lips. Even the water tasted expensive. Suddenly you were all too aware of how underdressed you were for the award show. The dress you’d picked out— your fanciest one— still didn’t compare to the designer gowns and tuxedos in the crowd around you. “Don’t you ever get overwhelmed with all of this? The people, the lights, the cameras…”

Carding his hand through his dark curls, Harry gives you a slight shake of his head. “At first, yeah. It’s tiring for sure. But you get used to it after a while.” You can’t imagine how he possibly could get used to it. One Direction’s management worked them to the bone and then some.

Louis, seated to the right of you in the red, leather booth, nudges your shoulder a bit. “I just like to imagine everyone naked. ‘Helps loads.”

Niall groans from across the table and kicks the boy’s shin under the table. “Of course you imagine them all naked, you cheeky bastard.” The brunet gives Niall an eye roll and ignores him.

“Well it does. It helps me, anyways.”

With his hands covering his face, Harry interrupts Louis. “Can you maybe not tell my sister to imagine people naked? It’s weird, thanks.”

Reclined with his arms crossed, Liam picks up on the sudden change in Harry’s mood and points it out. “What’s got your panties in a twist, then?” He sits up and waves a hand in front of your brother’s face to get him out of his thoughts. He swats Liam’s hand away dismissively and looks away from the group.

“I think I know.” Zayn watches how Harry’s eyes keep flickering over to the stage where Ashton, Luke, Calum, and Michael are preparing their gear to perform in a few minutes. Every so often, the boy on the drum kit allows his eyes to wander over to your table. “Ashton keeps lookin’ over at his sister.” 

Oh shit. 

Initially, you didn’t think sitting this close to the stage was going to cause a problem, even if your seat gave you an unobstructed view of the stage and all four of them. The hook-up happened almost a month ago, after all. He couldn’t have still been thinking about you after all that time, right? What a stupid thought that was— Ashton might have been a gentleman, but he was anything but discrete. 

“It’s just a coincidence.” Harry states calmly. He finally breaks his gaze away from the boy and looks back at his bandmates. “Besides, he has no reason to.” Liam laughs a bit under his breath and earns a death glare from your brother. “What’s so funny?”

The boy shrugs and looks away. “I don’t know, would it be that crazy if he had the hots for your sister?” 

Harry scoffs and crosses his arms defiantly. “No, but he shouldn’t.” 

Niall leans over to Louis. “He absolutely does.”

Your brother’s eyes fall on you once again. “Well, do you have anything to say?”

You stay quiet for a moment, determining how you want to respond to his question. Lying wasn’t something you two did often to each other. For the most part, your relationship as siblings was relatively strong. But you weren’t the best at hiding your guilt, so you lower your eyes and shrug. “How would I know?”

The lights in the stadium flicker. The performances of the night are about to start— the opener being 5 Seconds of Summer. Luke approaches the microphone in the front, garnering cheers from just about every person in the stadium. Placing a hand on his guitar, he begins to play the intro to their most popular song, “She Looks So Perfect” alongside Calum, plucking away at his bass, and Michael, walking around his side of the stage and leaning forward into the crowd. Ashton slams his foot down on the base drum rhythmically, admiring the crowd from behind his set up. Again, his eyes always find you.

The song gets the crowd cheering and singing quickly. You can hear the fans in the wings screaming along to the song and even some celebrities in the pit bobbing their heads along to it. You don’t blame them, the song is an earworm. 

After the song ends, however, they don’t immediately segway into their next one. Instead, the boys take out their in-ear monitors and lean into their microphones. “We’re gonna do something a little bit different today.” Luke announces, his hand wrapping around the base of his microphone.

“A song sandwich, if you will.” Michael jokes, making the others giggle. 

“A song sandwich.” Calum repeats with a giggle, glancing over towards the right side of the stage where the guitarist stands. He recenters his focus soon after. “Before we got on, we actually changed the set-list. We wanted to play three really well known songs of ours but—”

“Ashton had other plans, so we’re playing two popular songs and one song in the middle that hasn’t come out yet.” Luke interrupts, earning laughter on stage and in the crowd. The boy on the drum kit sits up a little, untying the bandana from around his forehead and shaking out his hair. The action results in a loud cheer from the wings. With a big smile on his face, he flips his hair back and drapes the cloth over his microphone. “Oh, Ash’s got something to say..”

Ashton laughs a little into the mic and tucks the wire of his monitor behind his ear. “I do. I wanna talk about it. It’s my song. I’m proud of it.” He brings a water bottle to his lips and takes a sip, leaning back to avoid the sound being picked up. He sets it down by his feet and continues. “Funny story, it took three weeks to write this song and it didn’t make it to the actual album, but we’re gonna include it in the B-Sides— right? Is that what we’re doing?” 

His eyes travel to Calum and the bassist nods in agreement. “Right, but I wrote it so quickly because something happened. I met a girl…” He pauses, knowing that the crowd would go insane hearing about his love life. Naturally, they do. “And it’s funny because I actually know her brother. We’re pretty close.”

You swear your heart stops when you hear Ashton mention that. You can feel Harry staring at you out of the corner of his eyes. Desperate to avoid his questions, you pretend to be unaffected by his words.

“And one day, maybe we got a little too close.” 

Oh my God.

“A little too close?” Michael repeats with a sly grin. 

Ashton nods in response, a nervous laugh falling from his lips. “A little too close and maybe…”

Oh. my. God.

“Maybe something happened between us...” The crowd practically explodes with screams. The drummer looks around the pit, eventually settling his gaze onto you and your brother. 

“And I wrote this song about it because I knew that no one would ever believe me when I said it. And it’s called ‘English Love Affair’, I hope you guys like it!” He settles back into his stool and waits for the whine of Michael’s guitar. Upon hearing his cue in his in-ear, he begins slamming his foot down onto the footplate of his bass drum, his drum sticks hitting the middle of the batter head. 

“It started on a weekend in May. I was looking for attention, needed intervention. Felt somebody looking at me— with a powder white complexion, feeling the connection.”

The leather of the booth squeaks as Harry shifts his weight to face you. Even his bandmates throw confused looks over at you. You urgently bring your glass of water to your lips and sip down some of the contents quietly, hoping your brother takes the hint and looks away. He does, albeit very suspiciously. The song continues to play in the background of your embarrassment. Ashton locks eyes with you.

“Dragged me out of the bar to the back seat of her car.. ”

You nearly choke on your water. Your brother is quick to jump on the opportunity to address the lyrics. “Problem?”

“Nope.” You rasp out through muffled coughs. You set down the glass and sink back into the booth. Louis elbows you and smiles. You ignore him out of pure mortification. The song continues, much to your displeasure, and you can feel eyes on you from every direction, or at least from every member of One Direction.

“Next thing we were back at her place, a hideaway in Mayfair, all the great and good there.”

At this point, the song wasn’t even discrete. He couldn’t have been a little bit vague? A few of the members give Harry a knowing look. “Mayfair.” Harry points out with a confused look on his face. “You live in Mayfair.”

“A lot of people do.” Your argument was weak and you knew it.

“Drinking all the way to third base, Princess getting naked.”

“Falling on their faces!”

“The storyline was so ridiculous, every single step had me beggin’ for the next. Before I knew it, it was serious. Dragged me up the stairs and it wasn’t ending there.”

Louis snorts at the lyrics and Harry glares at him. Harry rests his head in his hands on the table in thought. Zayn, who was waiting for your brother to look away, catches your attention from across the table. “Busted…” he whispers, making Liam laugh quietly. 

“So, when are you having him over for dinner?” Niall inquires childishly. The entire band, except for your brother and yourself, giggle incessantly. 

“Oh, come off it…” Harry mutters into his palms. Sparing yourself from the humiliation, you recenter your focus on the stage. 

“When the lights go out, she’s all I ever think about. The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain. No, I can’t forget my English love affair.”

“Today, I’m seven thousand miles away. The movie playing in my head of her king-sized bed means I can’t forget my English love affair.”

The song ends abruptly and to no one’s shock, the audience roars loudly. Even the other members of One Direction cheer and clap, poking fun at Harry and you. Sitting up straight, your brother faces you. 

“Y/N.” He forces a fake smile onto his face that barely conceals his horror, anger, and his confusion. 

You manage a weak nod, your cheeks the color of cherries. “Mhm…?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about an English love affair? Would you?...” You shake your head immediately and he sucks in a deep breath. “‘No?’ ‘No.’ Well, please tell that to the Australian boy walking over here with flowers.” Your head whips around to find Ashton hopping off the stage with a small bouquet in his hands. Leaning over the back of the booth, he presses a kiss to your temple and drops the flowers into your lap. “Oops.” Ashton smiles mischievously at you and waves at your brother as he climbs back onto the stage and the performance continues, leaving the whole table in hysterics.

[noxi3xe]

Unfortunate turn of events

AFAB reader x Pantalone - NSFW (Minors DNI) Synopsys: You're in a tough spot and have terrible luck with finding jobs. Whatever might happen once you apply for a job at the Northland bank?

Warnings: Smut, Porn /w plot, public sex, hair pulling, overall just a quick smut scene w some plot

Words: 3.5K

Author's note:

This is also posted on AO3 HERE!!

this is a quick fic I wrote while bored, the *smut* scene is short and awkward so I apologize, but still enjoy!!

Minors dni!!

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

»I— I'll fix it.. I swear!«

I beg and plead as the shop owner shoves me out the door. I was a good employee, I really was, I always tried my best and always put my everything into every shift. I slump down against the door and begin to sob. This job was barely enough to cover for monthly food rations.. and aside from food I needed to fix up my house and save up for new clothes. I was going to even look for a second job to cover all of my expenses but now I don't have anything! I do not even know what triggered that immediate reaction, I mean, firing me on the spot? After breaking a simple vase that the shop manager bought just a week ago? From what I overheard it wasn't even expensive!

I stand up slowly and make my way back home, head hung low in defeat. I wasn't sure what to do now, I mean.. I've got to find a job, sure, but that was harder done than said nowadays, especially at this time of the year. Snezhnaya was a cold country all year round but winters were especially harsh. I wonder how I'd survive this year, I mean my roof is busted, my water supply is running low due to my pipes freezing up thanks to my broken heating system and not to mention that one of my windows cracked. With no heating, cracked windows and a part missing roof my house was as cold as the outside and I was barely surviving. I wasn't sure what to do till I saw freshly hung posters in the town square as I passed.

'Looking for hire.'

They said, and I stepped closer, considering the idea without even checking for the publisher. I'm glad I did because my eyes almost jumped out of my skull. It would've been a death sentence to join the Fatui and there's no way I'd even consider taking up this job offer, even if my life depends on it. The Northland bank is looking for hire? Yeah no thanks..

I stumble along and head home, hugging myself tightly, already missing my warm.. well.. as warm as it can get, blanket.

________

I stare at the dry piece of bread and the already lukewarm coffee set before me on the table. Everyday is getting harder and I don't know if I'll have enough money to buy food for next week. I lean forward and rest my head into my palms, sighing loudly. I don't know what else to do, I cannot find a job and donations from doing community service aren't enough. It's getting colder each day and I have a feeling I'll freeze if I don't get my house fixed up. That's when I decide that enough is enough and stand up, grabbing my coat.

I step out into the cold and begin to venture downtown, ready to start my search. I couldn't continue on like this knowing I'll eventually starve without a stable income. I knew I'd have to get up and start looking this morning when I found another window cracked.

—

I shuffle through the thick snow, snow slowly falling from the sky. It's a beautiful sight, the sun rising behind the parting clouds coloring the sky a bright gray-orange-blue-ish color. It was barely 6:30 in the morning and I was already threading through the city, heading towards the commission's guild, knowing I could make a quick buck or two there. Then I'd head towards the community board in the city center at around 9 to check for any new posters. The idea was great and It worked out perfectly.. to a degree.

I stopped by The adventurers guild like I said I would, greeting Katheryne and wishing her a wonderful morning. I accepted two out of three commissions offered to me, seeing as the third involved fighting some Hilichurls and I wasn't very skilled with weapons. I barely used my Pryo vision and even that was when I needed a source of heat, having no other use for the darn thing. The other two commissions were the delivery type. Ivanka, a widow living on the outskirts of the city required a fresh batch of groceries delivered and Jasmine, a local florist required some fresh soil that needed to be picked up from the dock and delivered to her straight. The commissions didn't take long and I was done very quickly, before the clock even struck 9.

I made my way back towards the Adventurer's guild, waving towards Katheryne from a far.

»I'm back!«

I exclaim excitedly. Katheryne offers me a bright smile, opening her mouth to speak.

»Thank you for completing Today's commissions. Here is your reward.«

I grab the pouch she holds out to me and flinch due to it's weight.

»A-Ah! Thank you!«

I grin and straighten a little then look around. People were beginning to wake up, go about their day and open up shops. I turn back to Katheryne and stare at her for a second then ask.

»Do you know if anybody's offering jobs of any kind for a little income?«

She thinks for a second then nods, giving me a reassuring smile.

»Well I believe the Northland bank is still searching! Best of luck if you do choose to give it a try!«

I freeze and look around. The Northland bank? Still? It's been a week and the spot hasn't been filled yet? There's no way I'd even get the job if no other has been able to in the past week! Still I believe there's no other choice I have.. Katheryne would've mentioned it if there were any other job offers available but I doubt there is since she hasn't mentioned anything. I slowly make my way towards the plaza hoping and praying to the Tsaritsa and any Celestial force that might hear my prayers to bless me with a job that is NOT working at the Northland bank.

I round the corner, passing by the local bakery and spot a younger girl standing by the notice board, either taking something off or nailing a poster to the board, I wasn't sure. I approach her slowly before making my presence known as to not startle her.

»Hey! Morning..«

I say and she turns around to look at me then offers me a friendly smile.

»Mornin'«

I now stand next to her and look over at the board confirming my suspicions. She indeed was taking a poster off, the one for the local flower shop. I tried applying for a simple cashier job there but I was too late and the place was taken before I could even ask about the offer. I sigh, spotting the last job poster on the board and my heartbeat speeds up a bit. I groan and the lady looks over at me, worriedly.

»You alright, ma'am?«

She asks and I nod, apologizing.

»Indeed, I apologize, I'm just having terrible luck looking for a job.«

She hums, nodding.

»Good luck, hey the Northland bank seems to still have an open spot? Considered checking it out?«

»I have but I doubt it's smart to get involved with the Fatui..«

»That is true.. well best of luck!«

She wishes me a good day and I return the kind words, watching her disappear around the block. I stare at the board. Town info, news reports, missing person posters, the board was filled with crap like that yet no job offers. I snatch the Northland bank poster, ripping it off and turn towards home, deciding that perhaps this was my last chance. I'll put on my best clothes and warmest smile and hope for the best.

_____

I stand before the large doors, shuddering at the thought that if luck's on my side today there might just be a chance I'd have to pass them every day. I take a moment to collect myself then slowly push the pine doors open, taking my first step inside. The warmth hits me in the face immediately and I stop for a moment, taking in the warm air and sweet smell. The Bank smells like a bakery would and it isn't as loud as one would think. People are speaking in hushed tones and keeping to themselves, not one dares to speak up. The place is clean, and I mean clean. Even the plants look perfect!

I step up to the front desk and the secretary looks up from the papers, giving me a warm smile.

»Good afternoon! How may I help you?«

She asks in a tone so cheery I didn't think was possible.  I look around for a brief moment then back to her, forcing myself to return the gesture.

»I heard you were offering a job?«

Her cheery facade drops and she stares at me, dumbfounded. I wasn't sure whether she was about to laugh seeing as somebody like me was definitely not fit to work in a bank, or because I was ballsy enough to actually show up to the bank without hesitation and ask about the job? I mean the poster was up for a long while therefore I'm guessing nobody realllllyyy wanted to even think about taking up the offer.

»M-Ma'am?«

I stutter and freeze up when she suddenly snaps out of whatever trance she was in and her warm smile returns.

»A-Apologies..! Come with me!«

She doesn't ask for my information, for even my name nor what the job would be other than working behind a desk! She just asks me to follow after her and seeing as I hold no authority over her I do not really have the right to stop her and ask her pointless questions that have a chance of getting answered even after I follow her.

We make our way up a looped staircase onto the first floor which is connected to a balcony that overlooks the bank. Every millimeter of the bank walls is covered in golden and wooden details, gems and crystals of different kinds. Even the floor looks expensive and neatly polished. I heard that the maids get paid quite a lot and they don't have to deal with customers or any of the Fatui officials therefore I wonder how much I will get paid for doing both! I could salivate at the thought of how well I'll fix up my little house with the hard earned money but I decided to push those thoughts away seeing as there's a chance I'll jinx myself and not get the job if I think about it too hard. I focus my attention back onto the bank worker and offer her a soft smile as she opens the glass double doors for me, the ones we stopped in front of after leading me down a maze of hallways.

»One of our employers should be in right now, they'll take it over from here. Best of luck, Comrade!«

She says and turns on her heel, leaving me alone. I take a deep breath before creaking the door open slowly, dipping one foot inside the room then following with my whole body and finally the other foot. I now stand inside the room my attention immediately falling onto the circular desk in the middle of the room. Behind it sit three ladies, all facing away from each other, a slim pillar extending outward towards the ceiling stands in the very middle. Their desk looks awfully messy and they seem to be in a rush. I step over and greet the black haired one, offering her a smile although I do not get one in return.

»Make it quick please, I'm busy.«

She chews on a piece of gum rather loudly, clicking the pen impatiently. I stutter but step closer, placing my ID onto the table.

»[Last name][Name], [Age], I saw you guys were looking for a secretary and was wondering whether there was any chance it was still open. I'll be honest I have no work experience in this field and don't really know what the job of a secretary involves... b-but I learn very quickly...!«

She stares at me and sighs, shaking her head. Her demeanor went from annoyed to tired in an instant and she didn't seem so hostile anymore.

»No experience you say? Ughh... erm.. well this job requires a lot of running around and a good memory s—«

I cut her off immediately, scrambling to catch my words. She shoots me a glance but doesn't stop me.

»That's no problem, really.. ! O-Oh and I remember things quickly!«

She nods, signalling that she indeed was listening as she writes something down.

»Well you'll have to wait because we were ju—«

Just as she was about to finish speaking she gets interrupted for the second time, this time not daring to look a bit annoyed. Through one of the hallways enters..

The Regator

The doors opened by Fatui Skrimishers as they escort him into the room and he sets eyes on one of the desk workers, unfortunately exactly the one I was speaking to.

»You!«

One of the Skrimishers calls out and she yelps.

»M-Me..?«

The Skrimisher walks over, slapping a pile of reports onto her table.

»Go make a copy for each and every one of these separately, now!«

The Regator stares at us intently and she looks up at him, then at me and finally at the Skrimisher.

»But.. M-My Lord.. I was tending to this young lady, she's here for an interview..!«

His smile twists into a large grin upon hearing those words and he finally speaks, his voice silky smooth.

»Wonderful, I'll take over from here.«

He purrs and I freeze. Take over? I'll get interviewed by The Regator himself? This is a joke..

I step back towards the desk and stare at the man who takes a step closer, eyes narrowing.

»Chop, chop! I don't have all day.«

He says, his tone changing immediately. He moves past us towards the back of the room where stands an impressive set of double doors which leads to another hallway. The Regator looks over his shoulder and I jump, realizing I have to follow and not just stare! We enter another expensively decorated room which seemed to serve as a waiting room. At the very far right wall stood yet another set of doors. I wonder how many this place even has. The Skrimishers open the door for the 9th and he steps inside. I hesitate for a second but just for a second as the next moment I am standing inside of the office, doors closed behind me. I was shoved inside and didn't really have a choice.

»Well then? I sure don't have all day. Come on, sit.«

His demeanor changed immediately, his smile gone and his eyes cold, staring daggers through my form. I approach slowly and pull the cushioned chair out, cringing at the sound it makes as it scrapes against the floor. I cautiously sit down and The Regator leans back, pulling out a blank form from one of his drawers.

»Let's make this quick. I'll need a full name and age, address, previous work experience..«

He continues on but I don't really listen to him, more than what not staring at the blank form. Would my picture go there? Why do they need so much information? What would happen if I just refused and got out of here. He snaps me out of my thoughts as he clears his throat.

»Are you still with me?«

He's becoming irritated.

»My apologies, My Lord.«

»Ah so you can speak after all.«

He grins, sliding me the sheet.

»Make sure to be quick, we'll have to interview you properly.«

I nod and swallow nervously as I rake my eyes over the sheet of paper. He holds out a pen, his long slender fingers adorned with all kinds of rings and jewels. He smiles, although his smile unlike the other employees' wasn't warm and welcoming, more like threatening. I return the smile awkwardly as I take the pen, focusing back on the paper. There wasn't much to fill out except for personal information. Why would my work place need my address? My previous one sure as hell did not, so why now? Well perhaps it was to mail me the check, but still I can collect it at work!

»[Name]..«

He mumbles as he watches me write my name down. I look up immediately and he grins, waving me off.

»Is there a problem, M-My Lord..?«

»Oh don't you worry your pretty head off, nothing's wrong, continue on.«

I hum and skip through the attention notice, then finish the task I was given. I lay the pen down and look back up. He's focused on the sheet rather intently. He reaches forward, sliding it over the desk and I freeze. Oh right, he actually has to read this. His eyes scan the page and he frowns. Oh no..

»Antique shop manager? That's unfortunate.«

»I— Is there a problem...?«

»I don't think your past work experience matches what we are looking for. Quite unfortunate I must say.«

He sighs and stands up and my heart drops. Wait.. so I didn't get it? But..!

»W—Wa— My Lord! I seriously need this job I..«

I cannot believe I'm begging for a job I was at first hesitant to even apply for but at this point it is my last chance, the only means of survival.

»Oh really? Do tell me why this position should be granted to exactly you over every other person twice as experienced as you.«

As experienced as me? For fucks sake it's just some numbers! I grit my teeth and look at him, knowing I'd regret my words immediately.

»What every other person? As far as I've noticed I'm the only one applying for this job, no other was in line behind me!«

His smile falls and I freeze yet again.

»Oh?«

»I— W—«

He slams his hands onto the table and stands up, I gulp.

»You've got guts to bark out against a harbinger, I'll give you that.«

I melt into my chair as I watch him round the table, staring down at my form.

»Not only you decide to go against my word and my beliefs you as well try to demand things from me?«

»I—«

»So tell me, Gem. Why should a job as highly paying as this go to somebody lowly like you?«

»M-My Lord..«

He scoffs and stops before me, leaning against the desk just two or so feet away from me. I look up and he grins widely for what feels like the 100th time, knowing I'm afraid and won't even think about acting out again.

»W-Well.. a tree fell and some windows cracked.. I— I have been barely s-surviving...I—«

I stare at my feet, fumbling with my hands. I know there's no chance of redemption now but all I can do is pray. He hums, grabbing my face and I flinch, staring up at him in disbelief. The cold metal of his rings digs into my face and I grimace at the feeling.

»I have an idea how we could fix this mishap..«

I try to pull away but he grabs at his belt and I think I've got just the Idea.

___

He pulls at my hair, bringing my head back as I gasp for air. Tears run freely down my cheeks as I choke on his precum and my own saliva, barely catching a breath before he brings my head back down, stuffing my mouth.

»Yo-You know— haah..«

He bites at his lips before pulling my head off again.

»I usually don't do this but.. celestia.. I couldn't help myself..«

I sob as he brings me up by my collar, chasing my mouth with his own. He groans as our lips connect, moving together furiously, melting into each other. A string of saliva connects us as he pulls away, the scene is absolutely filthy.

»The way you looked up at me.. dear Tsaritsa.. haa—«

He groans as I trace my hand up his length and attempt sink back to my knees to finish what I've started but he stops me, gripping my arm before I could. I look up at him again and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Suddenly I'm flipped around and over his desk as he grips my hair, forcing me forward. I gasp as he grips my hips, leaning over my body.

»You know... I'm tempted to sign you up as my personal assistant right about now. You'd like that, wouldn't you?«

He says as he slowly slides pulls my pants down, slapping my ass.

»I asked you a question.«

He grips my throat and shoves me further into the table and I cry out. His cold rings making me shiver.

»Y-Yes! I would love to—«

He slaps me again, this time harder before pulling my undergarments off with such force I swear to everything I own I could have heard a rip. I can hear the grin on his face as he speaks again, fingers tracing my opening.

»I'm sure of it..«

He slides his fingers inside my heat, curling them upwards and I jolt, sobbing into my hand.

»We'll have to train you then, you said you were a fast learner? Did I hear that right?«

I simply nod but he frowns, not that I could see it, of course. He removes his fingers with a whine from my side and smacks my ass again, hard enough to leave a mark.

»I expect a proper answer whenever I ask you a question.«

»Y-Yes! Ye—ees My Lord!«

He grins again, rubbing the spot he just struck.

»Wonderful, don't you worry I'll call off my next meeting then we'll have plenty of time!« ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Written by DottoreEnjoyer69 on AO3

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Ilana Berger at MMFA:

As President Donald Trump’s administration orders mass layoffs and cuts to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, local meteorologists and influencer storm chasers — including some weather experts who previously claimed to avoid politics or expressed right-leaning views — are speaking out in support of federal employees and the essential information provided by the agency. 

Trump’s funding cuts and layoffs will hobble NOAA and the National Weather Service, potentially restricting access to a vital public good that costs taxpayers very little

NOAA and its subsidiaries, including the National Weather Service, employ thousands of scientists, engineers, and other experts to conduct vital research that is shared with the public. NOAA’s products and services range “from daily weather forecasts, severe storm warnings, and climate monitoring to fisheries management, coastal restoration and supporting marine commerce.” The NWS estimates that the critical information it provides costs just $4 per U.S. resident per year. [National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, accessed 3/14/25; The New York Times, 2/8/25]  

Project 2025 — the right-wing plan for a second Trump administration organized by The Heritage Foundation with over 100 conservative partner organizations — called for NOAA to be “broken up and downsized” and urged the National Weather Service to “fully commercialize its forecasting operations.” Weather experts across the country have expressed alarm at Project 2025’s plans to dismantle NOAA under the new administration. Project 2025 architect Russell Vought, who now heads Trump’s Office of Management and Budget, has promised, “We want the bureaucrats to be traumatically affected.” [Media Matters, 5/31/24, 9/27/24, 2/28/25; ProPublica, 10/28/24]  

Starting on February 27, the Trump administration has laid off more than 800 NOAA employees, plus another 500 who resigned if the agency promised to pay them through September. According to The New York Times, “The two rounds of departures together represent about 10 percent of NOAA’s roughly 13,000 employees.” On March 12, NOAA announced in an email to its staffers that the agency would be laying off another 1,029 employees, or roughly 10% of the agency’s remaining workforce. [The New York Times, 2/27/25, 2/28/25]  

The Associated Press: “After this upcoming round of cuts, NOAA will have eliminated about one out of four jobs since President Donald Trump took office in January.” “This is not government efficiency,” said former NOAA Administrator Rick Spinrad. “It is the first steps toward eradication. There is no way to make these kinds of cuts without removing or strongly compromising mission capabilities.” [The Associated Press, 3/12/25]  

The NWS’ National Hurricane Center has made great strides in tracking dangerous storms, but Trump’s layoffs are threatening that progress. A February preview of a report from the National Hurricane Center concluded that for the first time, the center managed to “explicitly forecast a system that was not yet a tropical cyclone (pre-Helene potential tropical cyclone) to become a 100-kt (115 mph) major hurricane within 72 hours.” However, experts fear that funding cuts and layoffs at NOAA’s Office of Aircraft Operations will impact the ability of the agency’s specialized “Hurricane Hunters” to collect data used for tracking and predicting destructive storms. [National Hurricane Center, 2/24/25; Yale Climate Connections, 3/6/25]

Meteorologists and storm chasers of all political persuasions issue dire warnings that the Project 2025/DOGE-inspired cuts to the NOAA and the NWS threaten public safety and forecast accuracy.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Vertigo or L'appel du Vide [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@masterwords) Center (Google) Right (@psykopaths)

Prompt: An urban climber finds a dead body at the top of the building and calls the cops, which gets the BAU involved. The reader is warned off climbing again, but she can’t stop herself, which lands her in hot water with the unsub. 

Pairing: Hotch x Non!BAU-Reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns. 

Category: Hurt Comfort 

Word Count: 5K 

Content Warnings: Mention of death, heights, the reader is hurt and held at gunpoint, possible implication of depression and suicidal ideation [reader], hospitals. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! I wrote this fic in about three days, so maybe I’m back to writing a lot more, but no promises. I’ve had this idea for quite some time, and I’m happy to finally get it out of my brain. I made the reader younger than Aaron here, but I don’t think it’s in a weird way. I hope that you enjoy this fic, and if you do, please like, share, and comment. Love Levi - ❤️ 

List with all stories 

Vertigo or L’appel du Vide 

y/n = your name 

y/l/n = your last name 

y/n unclipped her carabiner from the safety rope attached to the ladder hanging from the outside of the building. The wind had picked up, but not enough that she was worried. The top of the sleek bank building was beautiful at night. y/n looked down to make sure her camera was running before she moved the the edge of the ledge she was standing on. y/n made a point to film as she stuck one foot off the edge of the twenty-five-story building. No matter how many times she scaled tall buildings or bridges, the rush she got from feeling so far above the city was unmatched. Sighing, y/n carefully sat down and took in the sight of D.C. from above. y/n knew she didn’t have long. She’d lost the cops two times getting to the construction zone on the new bank building in town.

‘Pity,’ y/n thought; ‘no one else will get to have this view unless you’re a multi-millionaire hedge fund manager sitting inside an office on the top floor. y/n closed her eyes and leaned back against the glass pane behind her. The wind carried the sound of cars from the road below, and the vertigo hit y/n quickly. She placed her hands on the ledge and opened her eyes to get the feeling to go away. After a few more moments, y/n got up and moved back to the ladder and safety rope, which would help her get down to the ground floor. y/n moved her dominant hand to the headlamp and turned it on with a flick. y/n hated this part, anyone could see her up there and call the police on her, and spending more time in jail wasn’t on her bingo card for the night. Because it was such a risk to have a light on, y/n made it a point to only turn it on once on her escapades, and that was when she reattached her carabiner to her safety line. 

The light was blinding for a second, but y/n’s practiced hands were already working the carabiner open and around the rope. When y/n’s eyes adjusted, she nearly fell down the ladder, and she almost jumped out of her skin. The ledge had been dark when y/n had climbed up on it, and she hadn’t even seen anything else on the small strip of concrete, but y/n’s headlamp illuminated the space past the ladder, and what she saw ran a chill down her spine and a knot in her gut. Close to where y/n had been sitting was a body. It was obvious to y/n that the man was dead. Though the man’s eyes were open, they were glassy, and his face was blue. Along with that, there was some kind of frothy foam leaking from the figure’s mouth. Horrified, y/n grabbed her phone from her pocket and tried to dial 9-1-1, however, there was no signal. “Shit,” y/n muttered before quickly clipping into her safely line and then climbing down the ladder until she was close enough to the ground to get a call through. The wind was really picking up as y/n called emergency services again. At the second ring, an operator picked up and asked, “9-1-1, what is your emergency?” y/n heaved a sigh and said, “You’re not going to believe this…” 

Aaron got the call at 2:00 AM and was not super amused when the police chief stated, “You’re not going to believe this.” However, when he heard the bizarre circumstances of where a victim's body had been found, and how it had been found, he was up seconds putting on his work clothes and calling the team. He knew from the sounds of it that this was going to be a case for the books. 

The team all arrived around the same time, and Derek saddled up to Hotch, asking, “So an urban climber finds a dead body and claims to not be the unsub? Sounds mighty suspicious to me.” Hotch nodded in agreement and said, Well, we’re about to get all those details. I’m going to speak with the climber and take Rossi with me. How about you and Reid take a look at the body?” Morgan nodded and asked, “What about the scene of the crime?” The athletic agent looked up at the tall skyscraper and got instantly dizzy. Hotch followed the fellow man’s line of sight before replying, “We’ll figure that out later.” 

y/n stood near the edge of the area the police had taped off, still a bit frazzled from what she’d seen, but feeling better now that her feet were on the ground. y/n looked up when a group of people approached her. y/n quickly took stock of the three men: the first she’d already spoken with, a lead detective named Rhys. The other two were new. There was a middle-aged man and then another man, slightly older. When Rhys reached y/n, he calmly stated, “Ms. y/l/n, these are agents Rossi and Hotchner from the Behavioral Analysis Unit out of Quantico. They’d like you to run through your story one more time. y/n nodded. She’d tell the story as many times as she needed to if it meant she wasn’t going to be locked up tonight. The jury on that one seemed to be pending as the middle-aged man looked very severe, but the older man, Rossi, looked a little nicer. Y/n uncrossed her arms, thought it was getting cold out, and asked, “Would you like me to start from the beginning?” Hotch nodded his head no and asked, “No, I’d like your first and last name and age first.” Y/n gave an assenting nod before saying, “Y/n, y/l/n, age y/a.” Rossi took down the info in a little book. He knew this trick that Aaron liked to play, which made the potential unsub feel like they’re being interrogated first to set the tone. Dave shot Hotch a look before stating, “Now you can start from the beginning. And I mean the beginning. Like, when did you choose to pick this building, why come here tonight, all of the details, please.” 

y/n gave another nod and looked to the left as she tried to recall everything that she’d been asked. In a steady voice, y/n stated, “I’m pretty new to D.C. I came here to go to college, but there were a few buildings I saw when I arrived, and I immediately knew I had to climb. The bridge of South Lane, the tower of 6th Street, and a few other places. I’d scout them out during the day, looking for access points and how the security was. I did the same thing at night, too. I’m not really in this part of town that often, but I was grabbing coffee with a friend when we passed by the construction zone, and it just seemed perfect. This building is off the beaten path of cops most nights, and it’s still under construction, which means access is much easier.” During the pause that y/n took, Aaron asked, “And why tonight to climb Jefferson Bank?” y/n looked at her feet and then back at the two agents, saying, “A lot of it is a gut feeling. I mean, the weather has to be good, not too much wind, no chance of rain, good visibility, but other than that, you just have to feel it. I mean, it’s a risk climbing any night. There’s always a high chance the cops or someone else will see you and stop you.” 

While y/n was talking, Hotch put his hands in his pockets. He looked over Ms. y/l/s with an astute gaze. He noticed how young she looked, too scared. He picked up that she was cold when she unconsciously curled her arms around her chest again to conserve warmth. There was an ephemerality about y/n that was throwing him off. Like someone who had one foot dangling off a cliff and wasn’t even scared. Someone so young should be scared in that situation. Once y/n was done talking again, Aaron stated in a stern voice, “You are taking a risk. A stupid one. You could have died up there, or any of the other times an inanimate object has called to you.” Rossi balked a bit and shot Hotch another look before saying. “Well, I have some more questions. The first of which is, have you climbed any of those other structures you mentioned earlier?” y/n looked guilty as she replied, “The bridge. It was such a pretty view. I went near dawn and saw the Washington Memorial light up with the sun.” Y/n looked wistful as she recounted the memory. Rossi noted that down before asking, “and what about tonight. Tell us what you saw once you were up there, and why you called the cops when you know it would get you put in jail.” 

Y/n shuffled her feet before saying, “It was an easy climb up. I don’t use a headlamp on the ascent because any kind of light can get you caught. Once you get to the top of the building, I always kind of get tunnel vision. I wasn’t even looking at the ledge much, and it was dark. I just wanted to see the city lights for a few minutes before climbing down again. When I’d spent as much time up there as I thought was safe, I went back to the ladder and clicked on my headlamp. That’s when I saw the body. I almost fell. It was awful seeing him like that. I don’t think I’m ever going to get his face out of my head.” Hotch nodded and replied, “The officer says you had a camera reporting the whole thing?” y/n nodded again and replied, “I do. I film all my climbs and post them to YouTube.” Rossi pursed his lips and asked, “Where’s that footage from tonight/” y/n pointed to the evidence tent and said, “The police took my camera and are looking at the footage now.” 

Aaron and Rossi looked at each other for a second before Hotch took a tiny step closer to y/n and said, “You’re lucky you didn’t die tonight. Did you tell the officers the name of your channel?” y/n nodded yes. Hotch let out a sigh and said, “You’re free to go, don’t let up catch you climbing another building or you will be in jail.” y/n gave a grateful nod and then moved away from the scene, under the crime scene tape, and out of sight. Rossi turned back to Aaron and said, “Definitely not or unsub then. You gotta be a hell of a person to climb buildings in the dark just for the view.” Hotch’s jaw tightened. Rossi was hinting at something, but he only replied, “Or maybe you’re running from something.” 

When Dave and Hotch found Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid near the body, Hotch asked, “What do we have so far on the victim?” Spencer quickly piped up and said, “Name and occupation. The man’s wallet was on his body. But more interestingly, we know how he died.” Rossi raised a brow and said, “Go on.” Now, Morgan took over and said, “Hemlock poisoning. It’s obvious with the color of the lips and the foaming at the mouth. The only question is, was Mr. Calbert dead before he got twenty-five stories above ground, or did he die up on that ledge?” Hotch looked at the body and said, “It looks like a suicide either way, but I’m not convinced.” Emily looked at Aaron and asked, “What do you mean, either way?” Aaron sighed and replied, “Well, if Mr. Calbert drank or injected hemlock, it looks like poisoning. But with the wind and how high up the body was placed, it’s likely that the deceased would have fallen to the ground, and that would have even looked more like a suicide. I think we’re oddly lucky that Ms. y/n was here tonight to find this body.” Emily raised an eyebrow at Hotch’s choice of words and asked, “What’d you get from her, and where is she?” Before Aaron could comment, Rossi said, “We got what we needed and let her go. She’s clearly not the unsub we’re looking for.” Morgan scoffed and said, “You’re not even giving her consequences for trespassing or endangerment?” Hotch looked up at Morgan and quipped, “Oh. There will be consequences. We’re deleting her YouTube channel.” 

y/n could hold back from getting onto a tall building for only so long - that period was about a month before she was itching to feel the freedom of being where she shouldn’t have been. That rebellious side of her crept back out of her pores and into every moment not taken up by her school and internship until it built to a fever pitch. y/n had scouted a new building this time. A church in the heart of D.C. with a bell tower that was unused but high enough in the sky to feel like you were touching the clouds. Some reconstruction was being done to the old stone facade of the building, which again gave easy access for y/n’s mission. After the reprimand and channel deletion, y/n didn’t bring a camera or a headlight. Instead, y/n opted to go at dawn. It was a risk, but that's why she didn’t have to bring her own light and put herself. As long as she was in and out in under ten minutes, y/n was sure she’d be in the clear. 

y/n was out of breath from scrambling on the old tiled roof and then up the stairs to the top of the bell tower. When she reached the top of the bell tower there was no admiring the view, there was no sitting down, there was just one word, “Fuck.” Lying close to the edge of the building's ledge was another body. This one looked much older. y/n didn’t get close enough to see what the maggots and vultures had done to the corpse, it was disgusting-smelling enough from where y/n stood for her to get any closer. This time, she didn’t even have to reach the ground to call the cops. 

“We meet again,” said Rossi as y/n was being cuffed for trespassing on private property and led toward a waiting cruiser. Y/n nodded and asked, “Will we speak again?” Rossi gave a nod and said, “Someone on the team will come and see you when we have time.” Without further comment, y/n was led away to be processed and have her bail set. Rossi shook his head and moved back to the group. Morgan had his voice raised as he said, “Hotch, you’re telling me you don’t think the girl is involved? I mean, she found two bodies in a city of 678,000 people. There has to be some coincidence there.” Emily nodded and replied, “I’m with Derek on this one. It seems for unlikely for a random citizen to find two dead bodies at the top of buildings, with each of the deceased having died of hemlock poisoning,” Spencer, however, was on Hotch’s side and said, “Yeah, but how many people are going up on those buildings in the first place? I personally don’t know anyone who scales banks, churches, and bridges. It really might just be bad luck that Ms. y/l/n has found two bodies. I mean, how big is the urban climbing community anyway?” Morgan shook his head in disbelief, but Hotch settled the debate by stating, “Ms. y/l/n isn’t our suspect, though Reid is right, she might know the unsub without even realizing it. But y/n isn’t who we’re looking for, end of discussion. Now let’s look at the body and search for clues that might give us a more definitive answer on who our guy is.” 

Hotch noticed that y/n was cold again. Jails were notorious for being frigid in their temperatures. He also noticed that the orange jumpsuit y/n had on was not her color. Something about the bright hue just didn’t fit her skin tone right. Hotch had to remind himself that he wasn’t looking that hard at y/n. After all, she had to be twenty years his junior. Emily and Aaron were standing outside the small interrogation room in the D.C. jail annex where y/n was waiting to be fully processed. Prentiss looked over at Aaron and asked, “You want me to go in and shake the bars a little bit? Or get some connection? I was a bit of a troublemaker back in my day.” Hotch sighed and replied, “No. I’ll go in. We already have some rapport. I don’t believe y/n needs convincing to talk. Emily gave a nod and asked, “What is it with you and her? Does she remind you of someone? You’re not acting like… like you.” Aaron looked into the interrogation room with a somber expression before saying, “Something like that.” 

Y/n stood when she saw Agent Hotchner, almost wanting to smile at the familiar face. Hotch gave a nod to y/n’s chair and said, “You can sit,” as he pulled out his own chair across the table from y/n. Once they were both seated, Aaron started by saying, “What did we tell you about climbing buildings again?” That had y/n smile and reply, “Not to.” Aaron nodded and replied, “But you’re still doing it?” y/n bit her lower lip before saying, “It’s hard not to. I get this feeling when I’m up there, it’s hard to describe.” Hotch tilted his head, “Freedom?” He asked. Y/n shook her head and replied, “No. Well yes. L’appel du vide.” Before y/n could translate, Aaron murmured, “The call of the void?” Y/n nodded and said, “That feeling of wanting to jump. I wouldn’t, of course. I’m not suicidal, but that feeling of wanting to jump, it calls to me. That is freedom. To choose to stay alive is an option too.” Aaron let out a sigh. At least he wasn’t going to have to order a mental health evaluation on y/n, yet. He replied with, “That’s a lot of risk to put yourself in for a feeling of freedom that’s so temporary. It’s even more risky now that there’s a serial killer frequenting the same spots as you to drop dead bodies. Had you thought about what would have happened if you got up there and the person who’s been killing businessmen was there too?” 

Aaron’s question left y/n without answers. She just sat and tried not to look at Agent Hotcher because she hadn’t even considered that as an option. Hotch let the silence sit for a bit before he said, “You’re too young to be risking your future like this. Not just the urban climbing or the fact that a killer is out there, but the sheer recklessness and lack of care you have for your life.” Y/n looked down at her hands and softly said, “I’m sorry.” Aaron shook his head and replied, “Don’t be sorry to me. You need to care about yourself more. My team has read up on you. Grade A film student at Georgetown, tattoo apprenticeship at WildInk, friends. Do none of those things matter to you?” Y/n was sniffling now. Almost on the verge of tears as she said, “They are… I just, nobody sees me. I have my friends and they’re doing these cool things and when we talk all I have to say is that I go to school and work and then I spend the rest of the hour listening to them talk about their adventures, or dates, or weddings, and it’s like I only exist to listen. So I made my own adventures, and sure, I can’t tell my friends about them, but in my heart of hearts, at least I know I did something.” Now it was Aaron’s chance to say, “I’m sorry, that sounds painful.” Hotch knew how it felt not to be seen. He could relate, and it hit him a little too hard because he wanted to comfort y/n. To take away that pain - she was too young to be feeling it so harshly. Instead, he just opted for saying, “I’m sorry. That sounds painful. But there has to be some other way for you to be seen without having to risk your life or jail time, right?” Y/n sniffled and said, “I’ve tried, but I get this feeling that I have to go back there. To be between life and death for a second, to really live.” 

Hotch wanted to jump deeper into y/n’s psychology, but opted for the question that dealt with the case first, asking, “Are there other people who think like you? Other urban climbers that you talk to?” Y/n bit her lip again, another sure tell that she was thinking hard before saying, “Yeah, there’s a Reddit and a Discord server, but I don’t know anyone’s names or locations. We just post pictures and stuff.” Aaron nodded and asked y/n to give him the information for the sites so Penelope could scrape it for information. Y/n gave up the needed information before Aaron stood and said, “I hear someone’s posted your bail, you’re getting out after I leave. Hearing this, y/n collapsed back into her chair with relief. Hotch pulled a card from his wallet and slid it across the table, saying, “Next time you feel like getting out there, or up there, call me instead.” With that, he exited the room and got back to Prentiss, who was giving him a strange look. Aaron let out a huff as they moved out of the jail and toward the car, asking, “What is it, Emily?” Prentiss kept looking at him as she asked, “You were talking to yourself in there, with Ms. y/l/n, but I can’t tell if you were talking to yourself at that age, or you right now.” Aaron’s face didn’t give away the answer, and he simply replied, “I’ll let you figure that one out on your own. 

The alarm clock read 5:45 AM as Aaron’s work phone rang again. Hotch pulled up the glowing screen, and it read as an unknown number. It could be spam, every now and then, by a mistake, his secure work phone got put on some call list, but it was too early for that. With a sigh, Aaron swiped answer and put the deceive to his ear, “I’m so sorry,” came the soft voice on the other end of the line, just above a whisper. Hotch sat up and said clearly, “Who is this?” There was the sound of shuffling and a pause before the answer came: “It’s y/n. I’m… I don’t want to die. Please.” There was the sound of a distant bang of a door shutting on the other end of the line, and Aaron was already out of bed as he asked more softly, “Y/n, where are you? What’s happening?” There were hurried breaths on the other end of the line as y/n replied, “I’m in the old abandoned Catholic school off Pinewood and 2nd. He’s here, the killer; he’s here, and he knows I’m here too.” Aaron set his phone on speaker mode and started dressing as he said, “Don’t hang up the line. Stay where you are if you can. What floor are you on?” There was a long pause as y/n said, “The fifth. But I’m going to have to move up or down. There aren’t enough places to hide here.” Aaron nodded and replied, “Move down if you can. Get out if at all possible. I’m sending backup and I’m on my way.” 

Y/n cowered behind the teacher's desk but could hear the footsteps getting closer. Y/n tried not to make a sound as the loud voice called out. “Come out, come out wherever you are, you pathetic kid. Messing up my best places to hide bodies, well, tonight there will be two bodies to find, not just one.” Y/n almost wet herself as a figure’s head popped up over the desk and slammed his palms down on the rotten wood. Y/n squired around the large masked man and ran out of the room with the man close behind. Y/n made it to the stairwell and got down three flights of stairs before missing the last step in her haste and twisting her ankle. Y/n went down with a hiss of pain. The masked man was on her in a few seconds, grabbing y/n’s hair at the base of her skull and pulling her onto the second floor that years ago was a teacher’s lounge. With enough force to pull out a few clumps of hair, the man flung y/n two feet into the metal leg of a table and began kicking and punching y/n without abandoning. Y/n’s phone was a few feet away, and the man didn’t even notice that it was still on and taking a call. With every kick to the ribs, the man said a word: “YOU. FUCKED. MY PLANS. UP. YOU. LITTLE. CUNT.” Y/n whimpered when the blows stopped and grabbed at her ribs, which only hurt them more. When y/n had the strength to look up, the barrel of a gun was pointed at her head. 

“Walk to the edge of that broken window. NOW,” ordered the man. Y/n tried to do as told but tripped on her hurt ankle. Instead, she had to crawl to the window and use the rotting window frame to help her stand. The man took a step back and said, “It’s not very high, so the fall won’t kill you, but this bullet to the head might.” Y/n, who was in so much pain and fear at the moment, closed her eyes, and before the man could fire a shot, y/n fainted, falling backwards to the ground with a loud thud. Before the masked man had a chance to look at or even understand what happened, the door to the teacher's lounge burst open and Derek and a whole S.W.A.T. team stormed the room and quickly disarmed the unsub. On the ground, Spencer and Aaron were trying to stabilize y/n until the ambulance arrived in three minutes. Hotch was giving CPR, and Reid was basically on the phone screaming to the paramedics to get there faster by giving stats about fall victims. After a few more chest compressions, y/n’s breath returned with a splutter of spit and air, but she remained unconscious even as she was wheeled toward the nearest hospital. 

Rossi returned from getting an initial statement from the police and found Hotch looking at the street where the ambulance had left five minutes ago. The older man got his friend’s attention when he asked, “You think she’s going to be alright?” Aaron shook his head and said, “I think she’ll live, there might be brain damage, some broken bones.” Rossi frowned and said, “Yes, all that, but is she going to be alright?” Hotch sighed and said, “Guess I won’t know till I talk to her.” 

Y/n had spent a few days in the hospital, already feeling like she’d been thrown under a moving train. Her friends had all come to see her and stayed to just sit, not talk, for once. The knock at the door came as a surprise to y/n, but what was even more of a surprise was seeing who else was there to see her. “Mind if I come in?” Aaron asked, already a foot into the small room. In a pain relief-induced voice, y/n nodded and said, “I don’t mind.” Aaron set the small bouquet of flowers he had brought from the grocery store on the side table with all of y/n’s other Feel Better cards and flowers before he took a seat not that far from y/n’s bed. There was a silence between the two before it was finally broken by y/n saying, “Sorry, I didn’t call you.” Hotch shook his head as if to say, “Don’t worry about it.” Y/n went on to say, “I’m not very good at asking for help. I think something in me is broken.” Hotch leaned forward and steepled his hands, resting his chin on his thumbs as he softly said, “I don’t think anyone is perfect, y/n.” Y/n sniffled and said, “Then why do they all have such fun-looking lives? Why do I have to be alone all the time? What did I do wrong?” Hotch moved to reassure y/n and said, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes it’s just hard for people to connect. I know how that feels. You have to keep trying and trying, and it hurts, but people do care about you.” Aaron’s eyes moved to the thick stack of cards on the table, and y/n’s did too. 

“Have you thought about talking to someone about how you’re feeling? A therapist or a close friend, maybe?” Hotch asked kindly. Y/n shook her head no and but said, “I can try, I guess.” Aaron nodded and said, “I think that’s a good idea. Keeping everything inside, it will eat you up. You need to give it someplace to escape sometimes.” Y/n mouthed okay, and as Aaron got up, she shifted her hand out toward him and asked a little louder, “I can talk to you, right?” Hotch took y/n’s bruised hand, her index finger had a heart monitor on it, and said, “You can talk to me any time.”

Text Break Banner by @cafekitsune

Tag list: @potatovoyager @princessjax @geminitapestry @mandarinmoons @alicewonderao3 @michasia24

Want to be added to my tag list? Please check out this post (linked) 

Want to send in a request? Please check out this post, CM Request Post (linked)

[lovingapparition]

If Would Sure Do Me Good (to do you good)

Genre: Angst, Slow Burn, Smalltown American Aesthetics

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

A retired Simon moves to town. There are vibes.

Light warning for not very subtle sugar daddy implications that will ramp up later on.

AO3 Link

Modern civilization would be all but dead and gone, turned to dust, before this guy stopped talking. He's a regular at this dingy little convenience store, in at exactly 5:15pm Monday through Friday because it's, “just down the road from my job, and on my way home!” he reminds you, over and over as if you could possibly forget after being told for the second time that week. He insists you call him Pat but you never do, he's mostly just this fucking guy in your head. And boy, does this fucking guy love to yap your ears off. 

You blink rapidly, not that he notices, focusing in on his hands. They're dirty, always are, with some weird mystery grime that makes you vaguely queasy when he hands you his warm dollar bills. You think he might be a mechanic, he must have told you at some point, but information like that doesn't really stick during the evening rushes because hello dude there's like ten people behind you- 

Deep breaths. You are taking deep breaths, nodding, and smiling. The guy pauses for a breath, and you pounce. “So your total’s gonna be $13.47, the usual,” with a tight smile, your jaw a little clenched. Across the counter, he hums and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He's still describing something, gesticulating with his free hand before he pulls out a few bills. Through a couple of well-placed hums and nods you manage to focus on counting the proper change from the drawer. He pockets it without recounting his bills, too busy looking right at you as he tells you to, “Have a good night. Stay warm, honey.” 

Ugh. 

At least the next few transactions go quick, other people also getting off work but not as willing to talk your ear off. The weather was too cold for anyone else to feel like idly chatting. Your shift was just beginning, and already you felt worn out. Working evenings into the early hours of the morning wasn't ideal, but a job is a job. You value paying your rent more than seeing the sun or having time to hang out with your friends and family, at the moment. At least your cat was always happy to see you at one in the morning. 

When the first rush eventually slows down, you're able to take what feels like your first real breath since clocking in. You let your mind wander as you wipe the counters down, fill out the daily logs, and stare at the grimy spot on the ceiling that seems to grow inch by inch each time it rains or snows. It's all become a familiar routine, as horrifically boring as it is. You'd listen to a podcast or something in one ear bud if you could, but your phone barely got service inside the old building. A perk of the cheapest phone plan you could find.

The night goes without too much fuss, and when you've tidied the shelves and double-checked that your boss hasn't left any cryptic notes for you to interpret, you find yourself leaning against the counter. There's early 2000’s rock playing softly over the old speakers, and you desperately wish that your boss would give you permission to change it to anything other than 98.8 FM The Rock. 

Against your will you hum along to a Nickelback song as you watch the clock tick its way closer and closer to 9:30pm. Lunch. Also known as the only time you were allowed to lock the store. Your boss doesn't really vibe with the idea of paying two people at a time, so obviously you still had to help customers on your fifteen-minute breaks.

Halfway through the song you step out from behind the counter to go lock the front door. It's dark outside, and the street lamps cast everything in a warm, rusty yellow. The unshoveled and slushy snow looks like crushed gold, mixed with the oil and dirt from the parking lot. Inside, the lights inside Mo’s Mart buzz overhead. Their sickly green cast makes you feel a little ill if you think about it too hard. Looking outside just reminds you of it. You try to not feel disappointed as you trudge back to the counter to sit down for the first time in four and a half hours. 

The stool beneath you is only a little rickety, and you sigh as you lower yourself into it. For lunch you pull a bag of potato chips out of your bag. You'd bought them from the store yesterday and saved half for tonight. At a certain point the frozen burritos and hot pockets stopped being appetizing. This isn't much better, though. The chips are already going a little stale, gumming up in your molars as you chew. 

You're in the middle of digging at the crevices in your teeth with your tongue, zoned completely out as you stare at yesterday's crossword section from a newspaper your boss had left out. To be without. Six letters across and it ends in T. You're tapping your pen against the paper in thought, trying to ignore the urge to check the clock to see how much time you've got left on your break. You know you've got to have at least- 

The locked front door clunking in the frame snatches your attention. You sigh. There are three loud knocks on the glass. You set your pen down. Without a doubt in your mind you know you taped the handwritten, “On break! Back at 10!” sign up at eye level. When you look up and make eye contact with the man out front, this only seems to incense him. You recognize him, a regular who's never really happy about anything. Why he keeps shopping at Mo’s you'll never understand. He shouts something that's muffled through the door, like you're the asshole right now. A quick glance tells you that you've got eight minutes until the inevitably awkward confrontation where you have to let him in. You would rather sink into the tiled floor and never come out. It almost makes the rest of the break not even worth taking.

Almost. 

Trying to quell the unease his presence brings, you stay behind the counter. It's your break, and it's your right to take it without having to worry about some guy who wants his convenience store snacks in the middle of the night.

When you approach the door you try to avoid his eyes, you can practically feel him staring daggers already. As soon as the lock turns in your fingers he's pushing the door open, brushing past you as he haphazardly stomps the snow and salt off of his boots. You mentally add sweeping and mopping back onto your short mental to-do list. 

You count your breath on the inhale, and again on the exhale, as you walk back to the counter. The small monitor on the cluttered counter shows the store’s security cameras on three separate little boxes. You’re vaguely aware of the man hovering by the liquor section, but you can’t bring yourself to head out into the center of the store to bother him in the hopes of deterring theft, your boss be damned. His abrupt entry brought in enough cold air to make you shiver and jam your hands into your pockets. Standing behind the counter gives you an odd sense of security as the guy wanders from aisle to aisle. You know exactly where the store's panic button is under the counter should anything go away. Some cynical part of you wonders if it even works, knowing how cheap Mo is. 

The door chiming as someone else enters the store jolts you out of thought. You turn your head to greet the customer and you're met with probably the scariest individual you've ever seen. He's huge, wearing a heavy black work coat that doesn't hide the bulk of his body. The fact that he's wearing a skull print balaclava is what makes it worse. This guy could be totally normal and just wearing it because it's snowing out. He could also be about to ruin your night. 

He's looking right at you as he beelines to the counter. 

Anxiety bleeds into your hands, makes them feel like you've just stuck them in freezing water. Slowly, you take them out of your pockets and press them flat on the counter. You watch your own fingers spread out. From some job training or another, you recall that it's worse to look into the eyes of someone trying to rob you. “Hey there,” you try and fail to sound like you're not nervous. “What can I get you?” He's quiet for a long time. Too long. Risking a glance up at him, you find he's not even looking at you. The guy is carefully scanning the rows of cigarettes behind you.

You breathe a small sigh of relief. He doesn't say anything and you don't feel like pushing your luck tonight. You scoot over to the side and quietly thumb over your abandoned crossword. With a quick glance up you can see the man running a gloved hand over his jaw. There's a faint sound of his stubble rubbing against the balaclava. His eyes are dark, half lidded. Without moving his head, his gaze flicks to meet yours, and you look away without even thinking. Bright blue. Jesus Christ this is awkward. You tap your pen against the newsprint, wishing whatever was happening right now would just end. This guy isn't a regular, and he's certainly no one you've ever seen around town. Fingers crossed he's just passing through, never to be seen again. 

“Hey dickhead, anytime now!” Your head jerks up. The masked man slowly looks over his shoulder. The guy who came in earlier is cradling a bottle of cheap rum and a liter of coke, clearly pissed about the long wait. Your stomach feels like it's about to fall out of your ass. A stranger you've never seen and a pissy regular, what could possibly go wrong? Chewing at your lip, you take a step back from the counter. 

“Hey Marvin, I can get you over here. Relax,” you say over the stranger's shoulder, just barely managing to remember his name. You've carded him everyone else in this town enough to remember a few faces. The giant man in front of you steps over wordlessly as if Marvin hadn't just insulted him. Wanting to get him out as quickly as possible to avoid anymore confrontation, you check Marvin out. He's still grumbling to himself, working the toothpick in his cheek with his teeth. “Have a good night. Drive safe,” you tell him as you hand him his brown paper-bagged liquor. Marvin scoffs at you and yanks his items from your hands. You try not to react as he lets the door slam on his way out. 

The fluorescent lights buzz above you. Coldplay is on the radio, crackling softly. The man approaches your register, already reaching into his coat for his wallet. “I'll have your cheapest menthols,” he rumbles in an accent you've definitely never heard in town. What the hell was this guy doing in Mo’s this late at night? The vibes were sketching you the fuck out. You school your face into as neutral of an expression as you can manage and turn to reach for a pack of Marlboro Black Menthol 100’s from the shelf of tobacco products behind you. The man is looking down at your crossword, still unfinished, when you turn back to him. You were half tempted to ask where he was from. You don’t. 

When you ask him for ID he hands you a card from his wallet. Upon inspection, you find that it’s a British Military ID and heavily censored. It only tells you his first and last name initials. S. R. The photo is censored as well. As far as you can tell, it looks real to you. If it’s not, then he’s gone through an awful lot of effort for the worst cigarettes Mo’s has to offer. You weren’t in the business of prying. Most everyone else who lives in town you stopped carding years ago. Over time you just know through the grapevine who has what birthdays and when. Hard not too. Regardless, you nod uneasily at the man and carefully slide his ID back to his side of the counter.

You tell the man his total and he slides you a crisp twenty, avoids touching you directly. With a quick hand, you count his change back to him. It's all very normal until he neatly drops the cash into the dusty tip jar by the register. What the fuck? The cigarettes were barely five dollars, and you're pretty sure in your entire tenure at Mo's you've never been tipped anything other than the loose coins people don't want to keep. You're in the middle of trying to figure out how to thank him when he nods to you once, and turns to leave. 

Stunned, you have no idea how to react. Genuinely what the fuck was any of that? You eye the tip jar suspiciously as if the man had filled it with Monopoly money instead of enough cash to buy yourself a couple of hot meals. You entertain the idea of going to the local burger place you used to love as a kid. Hot, fresh fries and a large coke would probably fix you at least a little bit, you think. When you return to the comfort of your crossword you see in very neat, small handwriting, that the last word has been penned in. 

Bereft. 

The rest of the night goes without much else of note happening. You sweep the floors and mop the salt and grey sludge from the entrance. The coolers are stocked and the cash drawer is counted when your replacement arrives at two in the morning. Mo liked to keep the place open 24 hours since it was close enough to a busy highway that folks came through at all hours of the day. Your coworker, Olivier, arrives a little early so you can check them out at the register. Each morning they like to buy an energy drink in a tall pink can and whatever gummies they wanted to snack on that day. You enjoyed the little moments you got to have together. Olivier was one of the few people in this town who you could relate to. Their hair seemed to change color and style by the week, and they always had the best fashion sense. It seemed they were an expert at thrifting in a way you could only dream of. Layering different fabrics and patterns, they seemed to somehow never repeat an exact outfit.

“How was everything? Good night?” they ask, already rooting through their bag of gummies for the blue ones. You shrug, making a high-pitched noise somewhere in your throat. Olivier, bless them, immediately understands. “Did that weird masked guy come in again? He pulled in with a giant moving truck the other night.”

This immediately perks you up. “No shit?” That guy was moving here? “What's wrong with him?” you half-joke as you punch out on the register. Olivier chuckles with you, and the shared judgment over a new face in town reminds you how glad you are to have them. These small moments in the quiet hours of the morning made the town feel like it wasn't so small and empty. 

As you pull your heavy coat on you look out the windows into the parking lot. The lot had been heavily salted, but it was dusting snow. You could see the suspended motes in the yellow street lights outside. Part of you was a little jealous of Olivier. This time of the morning always seemed so peaceful and quiet. You knew you’d never want to work their hours though. Waking up at midnight to get ready for work? No thanks. You wish Olivier a good shift as you pull your gloves on, before pushing out into the parking lot. The air shocks a chill into your chest as you breathe it in. Your breath puffs in a heavy cloud as you exhale. Already you could feel your fingers burning as the cold licked it’s way through your heavy layers. Awkwardly, to avoid slipping, you shuffle your way across the lot to your truck. It’s a little blue beat-up thing. How you’ve managed to keep it running all these years, you have no idea. Apparently, luck and hoping for the best are good enough for the ancient beater. It takes a couple tries to get the engine to turn over, and you sigh in relief when it finally roars to life. After idling in the cabin for a few minutes, you shift into drive and begin the slow crawl home. The roads aren’t plowed, but it’s not slick enough to worry you. The sound of snow crunching beneath the tires, barely audible over the low hum of the radio, accompanies you home. 

When you pull into the driveway you can feel your shift finally weighing down on you. You turn the key and slouch down in the seat, eyes shut. Your feet are cold. Your shoulders sag under your heavy coat, but you're somehow not warm enough. The cold always finds a way in. After a few moments, you manage to drag yourself out of the truck and you make the short walk to your front door. The only benefit of small-town living was the fact that you could afford the rent on this little house. Never mind the fact that you were pretty sure your landlord lived about an hour and forty-five minutes up the highway and owned most of the houses in your street. 

Your nightly routine goes without much fuss. Tabitha, your cat, is pleased that you've come home on time to refill her dish with wet food. You undress, shower, and bundle back up in your warmest sleeping clothes. The house is cold, no matter how well you insulate the windows and the cracks in the baseboards. In the dark, you sit in bed with microwaved pasta in its plastic packaging with the instructions on the side. It's not good but it warms your belly and fills you up. As you eat you scroll on your phone, lazily browsing your social media and clicking through posts. Your mind wanders to the man you saw today. He was odd, and him moving here was even stranger. In all your life you can't really remember anyone moving into the town. Mostly your friends from high school have slowly trickled out, save for Olivier. You weren't sure why you'd never left for the bigger city, you'd just never felt the pull to get out and see more. 

When you sleep that night it's restless as ever. You wake up often, teeth chattering. Your cat is nestled somewhere beneath the blankets with you, and you're careful not to roll onto her. You vow to do a once over, just to see if you can stuff any more of your hand-me-down towels into the draftier baseboards. It feels like it's been winter forever now, but with Christmas barely around the corner, you knew it had just begun. 

—

You start seeing that guy around town. You pass by him in the grocery store. He's got a cart full of stuff, and you figure he's just stocking his kitchen. You grab your scant groceries, milk, and some canned goods that will last. While you're in the checkout line he pushes his cart behind you, leaving a respectful amount of space. You're not really the type to engage in the painfully long-winded Midwestern custom of talking about everything you possibly can, so you don't acknowledge him. You set your items down on the belt when it's your turn, and you offer a polite smile to the cashier. 

“Hey, find everything okay?” he asks, nice as you please. 

“I did, thanks Carter.” He was a few grades above you back in school. He also stuck around after his class had graduated. You vaguely wonder each time about his dreams of joining the military, and whatever happened to them. Maybe it was just life that happened. You know he's got a little boy to take care of with his high school sweetheart and another on the way. Maybe that was all it came down to, at the end of the day. 

Carter tells you your total and you mentally curse. You'd counted your cash twice before you'd come in the store, and you were certain you'd been doing the right math as you grabbed your items. Carter gently angles the register's screen to you so you can see the line items. God damn. You'd just plain miscalculated, probably too tired to keep it all straight in your head. You look down at the things you'd grabbed, trying to calculate what you could do without. You force a laugh. Humiliation roils in a dark pit in your chest. You find yourself speaking without thinking, “Oh whoops! Sorry, go ahead and take off the soup cans.” Carter, bless his heart, doesn't make a fuss. He punches the register keys quickly and counts the cash you hand him. You very much do not want to look at the stranger behind you. You pray to whatever god might be listening that maybe he wasn't being as nosey as everyone else was in this town, and that he didn't just hear that you can't really afford an armful of groceries. 

Carter hands you your single plastic bag, tells you to “Have a good one, hon,” You speed walk back to your truck, your breath puffing in clouds around you. 

–

The next time you see him you're driving to work. The radio is playing softly and your truck's heaters are blowing semi-cold air onto you. You're stopped at a light when you see the guy, dressed in a light coat and the same balaclava. He's jogging, somehow managing to work a sweat on the cold. You have no idea what kind of psychopath goes on a run in the dead of winter. When the light turns green you have to drag your eyes off of him before you accelerate through the light. 

It was rare that anyone in your town went on a jog. Unheard of in the winter. You were certain the old ladies would be gossiping up a storm at church. You figured it was no different than you and Olivier at Mo’s. You smile at the thought of sharing your sighting of the masked stranger with Olivier tonight. The little chats in the quiet morning hours were a light in the dark of winter. 

It was easy to get lost in the cold. It seemed all your waking hours were spent in the dark, during these months. You'd wake up later in the afternoon, always too tired to rise any earlier. It wasn't great for your mental health, but neither would being homeless. You'd take your victories where you could get them. Without much family nearby to rely on, you had to get by on your own.

The joy of adulthood.

–

You see him again that same night. He comes in around midnight. He's the first customer in around an hour. There had been a small rush of truckers passing through, trying to make it off the major highways before some snowfall was forecast to hit the area. You note that he's better dressed for the weather than he was earlier while he was jogging. He's in the same black work coat and leather gloves as before. You find it hard to meet his eye when he approaches the counter. 

Something about seeing him in town made the transaction feel off in a way that you've never experienced before. Getting Janet her pack of Marlboro Reds and ringing her son Nick up for his energy drinks was never sullied by the fact that you saw them at the Sonic Drive-In in their old beater from time to time. Seeing him now with the sense that he was apparently sticking around in town made you feel strange. You didn't know anything about him besides his initials and the skull print on his balaclava. Knowing he was likely some retired military operative from a foreign country was nerve-wracking and exciting and weird as hell for your little town. You had no idea how to interact with him. 

When you're getting the register open to count his change, you can't help but blurt out, “Are you liking it here?” Immediately you wish you could stuff the words back in your mouth when you see his eyes flick to meet yours. How on Earth could anyone be enjoying one of the worst winters your town has seen in years? 

To your surprise he humors you. “It's nice. Quiet,” he says after a beat. You blink at him, quickly looking back down to the cash you're supposed to be counting back to him. 

“Good. That's good. Folks can be weird about new people, but I'm glad you're settling in.” Oh God, you're rambling. Make it stop. 

To this, he hums. It's a low sound, almost silent, deep in his chest. You suppose that's the only response you're getting as he accepts the cash. You slide his pack of menthols across the counter. Your eyes widen as he doesn’t even recount the bills you’ve handed him, just folds them once and drops them into the tip jar. Sputtering already, cheeks red with embarrassment, you search for words but find none. This had to be about the grocery store. You were completely fine. Really, you were. You get paid this week and you would definitely go back to the store and probably pick up some extra groceries. None of this is coming out of your mouth though, as the man has basically vanished already. You can hear his truck starting up outside, the crunch of the snow and gravel as it pulls out of the lot. 

Guilt rolls through you, thick and familiar. You had no idea what to make of this guy. First, he blows into your dead-end town and starts leaving you ridiculous tips on the cheapest cigarettes possible? What the fuck? It makes you feel ashamed and unnerved. No one had ever given you more than the change they simply didn’t want to carry around, and you’d never expected anything more than that. 

When you talk it over with Olivier that night in the early hours, they eye you mischievously, clearly very interested in the man’s motives to give you excessively large tips. “C’mon, let the guy toss you a little cash here and there, it’s a free country. He can do what he wants, even if it's to give all his money away,” they tease over the lip of an energy drink. You hang your head, groaning in response. 

“I dunno… I don’t know what to make of it, is all,” you admit. That little pit of nervousness in your gut had been sitting heavily all night. Olivier gives you a pitying look. 

“Don’t worry too much about it, I think you should just let it ride. And tell me all of the details.” You can’t help but choke a small laugh at their insistence on being in the know. Almost nothing new ever came to town, of course it was the juiciest thing ever to Olivier. You give them a weary smile and wish them a good shift before heading out.

–

The next few weeks are more of the same. You see the man around town, like any other local. At the grocery store, he’s always got a cart full of food, and you’re sure to hurry off out of his way with your armfuls of items. Once or twice you’ve seen him meandering around the local shops, and you sort of dread the idea of running into him at the little cafe you sometimes indulge in when you’ve got a little extra cash on hand. Something in you wanted to be protective of your favorite spots in town, but you knew it was irrational. Soon enough he would be just as familiar to the folks around here as you were. 

Without fail, he continued to come into Mo’s with large bills. He’d ask you for his cigarettes, tip you far too much, and leave before you could really say anything about it. He never spoke to you more than you spoke to him and he was never anything other than perfectly polite. You hadn’t begun to have a single idea as to why he insisted on tipping so much. 

Eventually, you had come to terms with his insistence on leaving all of his excess cash with you. You started squirreling some of it away, using it specifically on groceries and smaller bills. It was nice to have a little extra padding in your wallet, especially during these cold months. You definitely weren’t touching the thermostat though, that’s for sure. Old habits, and all that. It was easiest to be thankful, to not look this gift horse in the mouth, and to do your best to just keep pushing through the winter. 

–

A winter storm was forecast for your town. The weatherman you’d grown up watching warned this would be one of the worst in years, and to stock up on the essentials. You knew you had about a month’s worth of cat food and a few cans of something or other in the back of your cupboards and called it good before heading to work that day. Calling out wasn’t really a thing Mo liked you to do. It didn’t help that you’d woken early today, sweating through your layers of blankets and somehow still chilled to the bone. 

Getting ready for your shift had taken about twice the time. You’d taken a cold shower, teeth chattering and your stomach turning the entire time. You did not look in the mirror while brushing your teeth and getting dressed. It had to be bad, the way folks looked at you when you arrived. You were bundled up in a hoodie and an oversized flannel. There was something about being ill that just made the cold weather feel so much worse. The black K-95 mask you’re wearing isn’t doing much to hide the puffiness or dark circles under your eyes. The near-constant sniffling and perspiration aren’t doing you any favors. 

Between the little rushes of your shift, you unabashedly sit on the floor behind the counter, not caring if Mo saw you on the cameras and wanted to give you a pissy little talk about it later. You hadn’t had any medicine to take at home and all the store carried were caffeine pills and Tylenol for eight dollars per two-pack. You do your best to stay hydrated, refilling a small styrofoam cup from the soda machines often. The water tastes vaguely like Hi-C Punch, and you try to not think about it. When you’re able to focus on your own hands, you see them shaking as they bring the cup to your lips. 

You think it’s around one in the morning when you hear the door chime. Close to the start of Oliver’s shift, the end of yours. No one has been in the store since around eight, you think. Time has stopped feeling real at this point. Breathing heavily, you muster the strength to stand. You lean heavily over the counter, trying to wet your mouth against the sudden nausea crawling up your throat. Under your layers, you’re sweating and chilled and just so uncomfortable. Whoever’s just entered the store stomps the snow off of their boots, and you can hear their steps squeak on the linoleum straight to your counter. A quick glance up and you’re making eye contact with the masked man who has become strangely familiar to you. 

You can only manage a nod to acknowledge him, before turning around to grab his cigarettes. He’d been in the night before, so you weren’t expecting him tonight. Normally his packs last him a few days. Why would he come out so late, especially during this bad weather? You can’t really bring yourself to think too critically right now, instead choosing to focus on not passing out before you can clock out and go home. When you turn around, pack of menthols in hand, you find that the man is eyeing you more intently than normal. You think? The mask made it hard to tell. Your hands are shaking, you realize it just as the cigarettes slip from your fingers. 

“Fuck, ‘m sorry-” You bend to pick them up and are met with a rush of blood in your ears. When you rise you lean against the counter for a moment, eyes closed. It would later come back to you as an embarrassing moment, but currently, you’re focusing very hard on staying upright. 

“You're sick,” the man says, so plainly it's kind of funny. You huff a small laugh, nodding. 

“Why’re you here? Storm’s gonna get bad tonight.” It’s a poor attempt at deflecting the obvious statement. Something bristled in you at him, it was enough that he’d seen you at the grocery store. Being seen by him like this now, especially after all the cash tips he’s been leaving you, makes you feel cagey and defensive.

“I could ask you the same.” He slides you a twenty as he says this. You meet his eyes, briefly. It’s easier to look at him with half of your face covered, you realize. Maybe that’s why he’s never been seen around town without his balaclava. He meets your gaze evenly, seemingly unaware of the shame that pulses under your skin. You sniffle loudly, not looking down at the bill on the counter. You’ve got about a dozen questions for him, but your jaw is clenched so tightly you’re not sure where to even begin. Just when you’ve worked up the nerve to fire a question at the man, the door chimes. 

Both of you turn to see Olivier entering the shop. They wave one mittened hand at you. “Oh hey! You’re here too, Simon. Nice to see you again.” Simon? Somehow Olivier had failed to mention his name after all this time. Admittedly, you’d never even thought to ask. He’d never introduced himself formally, and you weren’t one to pry, especially into the lives of odd men who only buy their cigarettes after sundown. Simon raises a hand to greet Olivier, the most human thing you’ve seen him do so far. 

“Hey Liv,” you croak, clearing your throat a little. At the sound of your wrecked voice, Olivier grimaces at you. Already, they’re reading into their tote back and donning a mask. 

“Stay over there, and disinfect the counter when you leave!” They harp, only half joking. You nod wearily and quickly check Simon’s cigarettes out on the register. It feels strange to even think of him using his first name. Simon takes his leave, and as soon as you've got your coat on you’re following right behind him, waving a quick goodbye to Olivier as you go. They’re immunocompromised, and the last thing you want is to make their life harder by getting them sick.

The snow falls heavily, immediately sticking to your eyelashes and blinding you. You drag your gloved hands over your eyes, trying to clear them. Blinking rapidly, you see that the parking lot is a smooth expanse of honeyed yellow. The street lamp makes the area look warmer than it is. You can already feel the cold sinking into your fingertips. The trees on the edges of the lot are bowed heavily under the snow’s weight. When you step into the lot, the snow is powdery soft, but icey beneath. Not good. It would be a very slow drive home once you got your truck moving. The snow is only about halfway up the tires, but you’d still need to shovel it out to give it a fighting chance of leaving the lot if you could get it started in this cold. 

When you get it started. 

Historically, your beloved fossil of a truck has not done well in the cold. You’d been meaning to replace the battery and get the transmission checked out this Summer. You had forgotten. 

The sound of snow crunching behind you tells you that Simon has not left the lot, and is apparently watching you have your silent meltdown now. Great. “You want some help getting that snow shoveled?” It’s strange hearing him outside of the contained environment that is Mo’s. The wind changes his voice. It’s odd to be shoulder to shoulder with him, and not talk about cigarettes. Dejected, you know when to choose your battles. You nod your head and lead him to the driver's side door of the truck. 

“I might need a jump, it really doesn’t do well in this weather,” you admit wearily. Simon nods like he knows that already. Maybe he did, it’s not exactly the nicest-looking vehicle anyone’s ever seen. You crank the door open and hop in the seat. When turning the engine over multiple times does nothing but pitifully crank the engine, you lean your forehead against the steering wheel in defeat. Before you can say anything you can't fight the urge to suddenly cough. You turn away from Simon, who's kind of hovering near the open door of your truck, to bury your mouth in your elbow to cough. You've honestly had enough of being gross and embarrassed in front of this guy for one night. When your coughing fit is done you lean back, exhausted, against the seat. Your throat is raw, and your entire body feels weak. The thought of shoveling out your truck and waiting on the battery to charge fills you with dread. “Fuck this, man.” 

Snow has started sticking to Simon's coat, dusting white onto the black fabric. He's standing a small distance away with his hands in his pockets, giving you a decent amount of space. “You want a ride home? Can come deal with it in the morning with you, if you like.” You turn your head to regard him, thankful again for your mask to hide behind. There's plenty of security footage of him coming into the store over and over again. You supposed if he wanted to kill you there would be at least a half-decent physical description. Plus Olivier probably knew more about him, given that they're a chatterbox no matter the time of day. 

Your eyes flick out to the lot. The snow shows no sign of stopping. Fuck it. 

“My house isn't far from here.”

[dvbusinessconsulting]

In today’s fast-paced Indian business environment, MSMEs must develop strategic agility—the capacity to proactively anticipate shifts, pivot strategies, and execute quickly. By integrating scenario planning, data analytics, and a flexible vision, small enterprises can outmaneuver larger competitors and thrive amid disruptions. Expert consulting, such as from D&V Business Consulting, provides the structured guidance to cultivate such agility, fostering sustainable growth through innovation, lean methods, and cross-functional teamwork.

[catierambles]

Once in a Blue Moon Ch. 9

Samantha was sitting out on the porch on the bench swing, scrolling through her phone. She probably should have gotten a pre-paid burner so he couldn’t track her, but it had been easy enough to transfer her data over to a new SIM card that didn’t have a tracking program built into it and if she kept location services off she should be good. Though it was nice to think about what the others would do if Jonathan suddenly showed up. Not that he had the stones to come himself. No, he would get someone else to “retrieve” her.

An odd feeling at the base of her skull had her looking up from the phone screen and she froze when she saw the massive pitch black wolf sitting at the base of the short stairs. Glacial blue eyes regarded her with trepidation and it gave a low whine the longer she stared at it.

“Oh for fuck—Mikey!” Sy said, coming out of the cabin. “I told ya not to do this! Not until she went through her first shift!” The wolf whined again, shrinking away slightly.

“That’s Mike?” She asked, not taking her eyes from the wolf.

“You don’t recognize’im?” Sy asked but she shook her head.

“Didn’t really get a good look before—” She watched him walk up the stairs slowly, and she leaned back in the bench as he approached her. His ears drooped and he laid his head in her lap, looking up at her. Setting aside her phone, her hands shook slightly as she laid them on his head, moving over his coarse but still soft fur. He seemed to melt under her touch, sitting down at her feet and giving a sigh that shook his chest. “I forgive you.” She said, “It was an accident. You didn’t do it on purpose.” Picking his head up, he licked her cheek, making her smile. “Also, you’re adorable. So how could I hold it against you?” His tail started wagging back and forth, thumping against the bars of the porch railing. “More of a golden retriever than a wolf.” His head tilted to the side slightly, one of his ears perking up and she snorted, leaning forward to press a kiss between his eyes.

It was late, everyone having gone to bed and Samantha woke to gentle kisses to her face and eyes.

“Walter?” She asked, her eyes opening, but it was Jonathan not Walter and his hand came up too fast, fingers wrapping around her throat.

Fear jolted her awake and she sat up, rubbing at her neck, still feeling his hand around it.

“Love?” Walter asked, reaching out to touch her gently, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” She said immediately, “Bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

“Come here.” He said, opening his arms for her and she hesitated a moment before going to him and letting herself be enveloped in his warmth, accepting the comfort he was offering. “I'll protect you.” She didn't say anything, relaxing against his chest and breathing in his scent. It didn't take long for him to go back to sleep, but it was a little more elusive for her and she was awake until the dawn sun started to peek through the curtains.

She stood at the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee maker, fatigue pulling at her eyes. Even after she had managed to go to sleep again, it was fitful, with vague nightmares of Jonathan popping in every time she managed to slip fully under. There was a presence at her back, strong arms wrapping around her waist, and she knew who it was without turning around. She was wearing one of Augusts’ shirts, her legs and feet bare, and they loved when she wore their clothing, covering herself in their scent. His arms tightened as his mouth buried in the bend of her shoulder, holding her close and making her smile.

“You're so damn sexy, you know that?” He asked, his mustache tickling her skin.

“So you all keep telling me.” She said.

“Fuck.” August said, his mouth moving over her skin, “I could take you right here.”

“I’m sorry, I didn't sleep well last night, so I'm a bit tired.”

“Walter keep you up?” There was no hint of jealousy in the question. They had no problems with her being with the others, no issues that she and Geralt had already slept together and they hadn't yet. At least, seemingly no problems.

“Nightmares.” She said, shaking her head, and he hummed. “I’ll be fine, just need some coffee.”

“You need sleep.” August said and reached past her, turning off the coffee maker.

“August...” She sighed, but he ignored her, picking her up in his arms in a bridal carry and carrying her from the kitchen and back up the stairs to his room. “You guys need to stop just scooping me up and carrying me off like a bunch of cavemen.”

“Be grateful we’re not throwing you over our shoulders.” He said and she snorted. Laying her down on his bed, he got undressed and climbed onto it with her, covering them both with the blanket and pulling her into his arms. He was so strong, and warm, and she fell asleep with his scent in her nose and his heartbeat in her ear.

Her rest was more peaceful this time and she woke later to August pressing kisses to her face and neck. Sensing that she was awake, he pulled one of her legs around his waist and her breath hitched as he pressed between her legs, thick and hard.

“Oh, Alpha.” She breathed, the words coming from an unknown place and he groaned, his hips rolling into her. He took her mouth hard, pushing his tongue past her lips as his fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt that she was wearing.

“Fuck it.” He growled and tore it open making her gasp. He rolled her onto her back and went to his knees between her legs, pushing the shirt open and mapping her body with his hands, palming her breasts and squeezing gently. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” A hand went between her legs, his thumb going under the fabric covering her center, finding her with almost laser precision and starting to circle around her clit. “So soft, you’re getting so wet.” Pushing aside her underwear, he slid two fingers into her as he leaned over her, pumping them lazily as he continued to work at her with his thumb.

“Fuck, August.” She whined, reaching up to grab his pillows above her head as her hips moved against his hand. “Please August. Please Alpha.”

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll take care of you.” He said and slid her small clothes down and off before parting her legs again. He pushed his own boxer briefs down only so much as to free himself, taking himself in his hand and stroking as he looked at her spread out under him. With a hand under her hips, he pulled her into his lap, looking between them as he aligned them. Holding her still, he rolled his hips forward, shuddering as she parted for him, spreading around him in tight, wet, heat.

“You’re so big.” She whimpered and he pulled back only to push forward again, working himself inside her until they were joined fully, his base pressed against her smooth mound.

“Fuck.” He breathed, basking in the feeling of them together before he started to move, rocking into her rhythmically, his eyes fixed on where they were joined, watching as he vanished into her again and again, his hands around her hips as she started to move against him. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

“You feel so fucking good.” She said, and he wanted to ask if he felt better than her husband in a spat of pettiness, but figured that would ruin the mood. Leaning over her, her hands went to his hair and shoulders as he kissed her, grunting into her mouth. “Yes, just like that.”

“I want to feel you come, Samantha.” He said, “Be a good girl, come on my cock.” The movement of her hips against his increased in speed as she began chasing her release and pulled him into a kiss of her own as she pushed flush against him, almost sobbing against his lips as she pulsed and clenched around him. “God fucking damnit.” Going back up onto his knees, he held her hips in his hands, pounding into her at a relentless pace before giving an almost vicious snarl, seating himself in her fully as he released into her. His lungs burned as he fought to catch his breath, almost collapsing next to her on the bed. Her lips pressed to his chest, tasting the sweat on his skin and he held the side of her jaw, pulling her into a kiss.

“You’re still hard.” She said and he nodded. “Let me help you with that.” August pushed his boxer briefs off the rest of the way, watching as she swung a leg over his hips, sitting up on him and easing down onto him with her hands pressed against his lower stomach.

[yawnderu]

// OPERATOR BIO: K-9 //

MAIN INFO:

Name: Jiang Zhi (蒋 智) Alias(es): K-9 Rank: Combat Medical Technician Age: 32 (as of 2024) Sexuality: Heterosexual  Native Language(s): Cantonese Other spoken language(s): English Nationality: British Eye color: Dark brown  Hair color: Black Height: 1.73CM Weight: 65KG Body Type: Lean Blood Type: O Marks: Small beauty mark beneath her left eye, a tattoo with the quote ‘’In Arduis Fidelis’’ on her left arm that runs above her elbow, a bullet wound scar on the right side of her body, above the iliac crest.

AFFILIATIONS:

British Army 

Royal Army Medical Corps 

SAS

Task Force 141

SpecGru

BACKGROUND:

GUANGZHOU, CHINA.

Welcomed to the world in 1991 by Chunhua Jiang and Junjie Zhao, Jiang grew up with nothing but pure admiration and respect for her parents, a couple consisting of an anesthesiologist and a medical translator. Despite her parents never engraving their professions into her head, Jiang displayed a keen interest in life sciences from a young age, oftentimes stealing their medical articles and documents to read in her free time. 

Wanting better life opportunities for a freshly graduated Jiang Zhi, Chunhua and Junjie made the decision to move around the United Kingdom in early 2008 before eventually settling in Hereford, England. In awe of living fairly close to one of the SAS bases and armed with a newfound interest in the Army, a then 17-year-old Jiang spent months preparing for the selection process, passing with flying colors and officially becoming part of the British Army in 2009.

From fieldcraft to how to handle a rifle, Jiang took on the challenge, eventually using her background in medicine to start her training as a Combat Medical Technician for 22 weeks, traveling around the world with a lot more maturity and interest in saving lives, aware of how crucial timing is.  

While faced with countless injuries during her service, Jiang showed utmost determination to recover and keep serving, never being one to stay still for extended periods of time, not when the sense of responsibility over her mates has been weighing her down ever since she joined the Army. 

Once the policy changes that allowed women to become members of the SAS were announced in 2018, an eager Jiang all but begged her superiors to put in a good word for her, eventually being contacted by a recruiter after anxiously applying. Despite her 9 years of experience in the Army and plenty of determination, Jiang found herself challenged by a system set up to only allow the best of the best to pass, close to giving up mid-way, she found strength to move forward in the name of the fallen soldiers she had an oath to protect. 

Despite the extensive and exhausting selection process, Jiang made history as one of the three women who have completed the six-month course, celebrated in 2019 by her parents and the extensive group of soldiers she managed to befriend during her time serving. Interrupted by a ringing phone, Jiang heard of the name John Price for the first time, called for what would be her first mission with the SAS after a number of multiple terrorist attacks in Central London.

Working along Kyle ‘’Gaz’’ Garrick and John Price, Jiang proved herself to the war-hardened Captain by providing cover and patching up injured hostages and soldiers, eventually being hand-picked by Price himself a month later, once Task Force 141 formed. 

“Y’can’t heal others if you’re falling apart yourself.” Within the 141, Jiang found someone who could always tell how hard she was on herself, how much harder she worked to ensure no one would ever die at her hands again, oftentimes only being able to sleep after working her fingers to the bone.

Her relationship with Simon was surprising to even herself, oftentimes finding the quiet man in her office doing his own paperwork or offering to get her a cuppa whenever she seemed stressed, despite knowing her preference for coffee. 

Despite how witty she can be, her relationship with the 141 was based on mutual trust and shared understanding despite it all, knowing that every single member is needed to keep each other alive and make things work. 

In late November, Jiang’s skills and knowledge were put to test as a gravely injured John ‘’Soap’’ MacTavish was brought to her, panic quickly setting in the moment she saw the bullet wound leaking out blood from his head like a broken faucet, quickly rushing into surgery and defying the odds against them, managing to save his life as the base of his brain and spinal cord being completely untouched by Makarov’s bullet, allowing him to be part of the 10% of people who have survived a headshot after a 12-hour-long surgery. Jiang’s body collapsed the moment Johnny was stabilized, a build-up of stress and disappearing adrenaline quickly catching up to her, only being held up by Simon, who was present during surgery and helping her with minor medical assistance for his injured mate.

Her first sexual encounter with Simon happens the day after, an extremely stressed and tired Jiang asking him to lay with her when he comes to check up on her, his resolve tested the moment he accepts her offer and feels her cuddle up to him, acting like a painfully fitting piece against his body. Clothes were discarded not even minutes later, hungry lips meeting as their hands desperately grasped for anything they could touch, quickly escalating into Jiang sitting on Simon’s face while he masturbated, the first sexual contact in years for both of them, yet a memorable one at that. 

Lines were blurred after the events of that day, eventually starting a not so secret relationship with the Lieutenant.

PREFERENCES:

Clothing style: Long pencil skirts, turtlenecks, sweatpants, Simon’s shirts. Favourite song: Bauhaus - Passion of Lovers  Favourite book: The Woman in Black - Susan Hill Favourite smell: Latex Favourite drink: Black coffee

TRIVIA/FUN FACTS:

Jiang renounced her Chinese citizenship at 22 years old, as the Chinese government does not allow dual citizenship. 

The tattoo ‘’In Arduis Fidelis’’ translates to ‘’Faithful in Adversity’’ and it comes from the motto of the Royal Army Medical Corps, remaining as a permanent placeholder of a Medic armband, and being a representation of her commitment to being a Medic.

Jiang never had an interest in dating, only briefly accepting someone’s proposal in high school to see what it was like— and quickly realizing it wasn’t for her. Due to this and her close relationship with her best friend, her parents thought she was a lesbian until she brought Simon home.

Jiang smokes a lot, easily running through a pack of Marlboro Gold within a day and a half. 

She’s surprisingly good at picking up accents, usually heard speaking in a painfully thick Birmingham accent, much to the dismay of the entire 141.

She has a pet octopus named 親愛的 (chān oi dik), meaning ''darling'' in Cantonese.

Despite not being extremely religious, Jiang and her family are Catholics.

She’s usually seen with a pair of black half frame reading glasses.

[saveahorserideaneddie]

so i was watching out lord and savior mike’s mic’s video on the scream queens pilot and he made a point about how the show worked so well (in season one at least) because it knows what it is- it knows it’s a camp comedy and doesn’t try to take itself seriously or to insist on itself, and it makes it a point to enhance the kitschy elements that audiences laugh at and use them to its advantage

and that got me thinking about how the same can be said for a lot of ryan murphy’s shows (love him or hate him) where the show knows what it is and it doesn’t shy away from the elements that make them what they are

glee for example doesn’t shy away from being cringey and over the top- instead, it embraces it because that’s the whole point the show was trying to make; that there’s nothing wrong with being “Different” (and yeah the last couple seasons weren’t as strong but they weren’t terrible and they never forgot what the show was at its core)

and then you have AHS that embraces the anthological structure and (granted to varying degrees of success) manages to completely set itself apart from each previous season while leaning into and embracing the dark nature of the stories they tell

even his biographical works know that they’re dramatized retellings and (while they could be better marketed as not prioritizing fact over fiction) they don’t shy away from the dramatization of normal events and make great tv

(the only exception to this that I make is his “monster” series that does nothing but sexualize and exploit real people and their grief against their will- the subject matter of these stories is not there for RM to turn it into his own little sandbox and neither of the two seasons he’s released warrant anything positive said about them for that reason)

all of this to say- Ryan Murphy and his creative teams KNOW how to write good tv that’s both entertaining and true to itself.

which is why season 7/8 of 9-1-1 has been so frustrating to watch because it feels like it’s become a different show entirely, with plotlines going all over the place and never staying consistent, arcs being dragged out over entire half seasons rather than actually being addressed in a timely manner, plots being set up and then ditched halfway through, and all of this being done so that big, flashy emergencies can take place.

the BIG emergencies were never what the show was about. the calls are supposed to service the overarching plot of the episode, not control the narrative itself (even w previous seasons’ opening disasters, the disaster has in some way been chosen specifically to service the emotional arcs in the characters’ lives) and in season 7/8, that hasn’t been the case. The only philosophy has been “big, loud, and crazy” and it’s served to the detriment of the story. We focused 3 episodes on bees and an almost plane crash that all had absolutely nothing to do with the overarching plot of any characters, and all it did was take time away from the overall story just to be flashy. same with the contagion episodes. even the season finale, though the “seismic shifts” theme was in line with the story of that episode, they still prioritized the disaster over the plot and rushed an ending that, quite honestly hasn’t really left them with much existing content to develop for the next season without coming up with brand new plotlines.

the show thrived when the characters and their journeys were the forefront of the show- but since returning, it feels like all TM wants to talk about is “oh what big shock factor emergency can we cram in next?” and it truly feels like TM has lost what the show is, and now it’s going through an identity crisis because of it- i can only hope that it comes out of the identity crisis as the show we all fell in love with rather than some far cry from its former self that is nothing more than a shadow of the character dramedy it’s been for years.

[stargazer-sims]

Journal Entry #9 (part one)

previous // next // story index

__________

Yuri

Hello, everyone. Yuri here.

The past few days haven’t been the easiest, and I’m not feeling well, but Victor’s home with me now and that makes everything more bearable. I’m exhausted, but I’m happy because I’m no longer on my own. It’s amazing what a difference it makes when you know you’re not alone.

A lot has happened since the last time I added anything to our journal, and It’s hard to believe that was only a little over a week ago. I suppose the most logical place to start this tale is with what happened before Victor got home. For that, I actually need to go back and explain to you about yesterday and the day before. That’s where this awful story really begins. You may be relieved to know that it does have a happier ending than beginning, but I’ll get to that.

You remember I told you that Victor’s mother is coming here? Well, Dr. Nelson telling me that she’s planning to pay us an extended visit isn’t the only unexpected announcement I’ve received, and if I thought the idea of Victor’s mother imminently landing on our doorstep was the most stressful thing I’d have to face this week, I would’ve been wrong. The events of yesterday and the day before topped that a hundredfold.

The day before yesterday, I’d just been going about my business in the evening, putting in a load of laundry and mentally weighing my options for dinner, when our landlady, Mrs. Ito, showed up. She’s not the type to make social calls, so I had no idea why she’d come over. I’d already paid our rent and given her the invoice from the repair service we’d hired to fix our oven. She had no other reason to be there as far as I knew.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective, It didn’t take her long to come to the point. In an utterly matter of fact tone, she informed me that she’s planning to sell the house. She wants to start renovating it as soon as possible, and so Victor and I have to move out by the beginning of next month.

Needless to say, I was stunned by the news. I’ve been living in this house for four years, and it’s become more of a home to me than my family home was. It’s a modest house in a less desirable part of town and admittedly needs some repairs, but it’s cozy and it’s affordable, and I’m comfortable in it. The thought of losing the house I’d found and rented by myself with no help from my parents – the home I’ve made my own and now share with my soulmate – filled me with a mixture of heartache, trepidation and fear. Mrs. Ito must’ve seen the emotion on my face, but she didn’t seem the least bit apologetic when she said she was sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

To say I was concerned about this development would be an understatement. I panicked. I didn’t know two days ago, and I still don’t know how we’ll manage a move on such short notice or how we’re going to find somewhere else to live that we can afford. Matsumori isn’t the most budget-friendly town in our country when it comes to housing, and we’re currently a one-income household. Victor doesn’t have a full-time job at the moment. He’s going to look for one now that he’s back, but that doesn’t help us in the short term.

Why couldn’t Mrs. Ito have put this off for one more day? I wondered.

If she would’ve told us about this last night instead of Thursday night, Victor would’ve been here. To be fair, he’d probably have been panicking way more than I was, but at least we’d have heard about it together and we could’ve leaned on each other for support in the first moments after finding out.

I debated whether or not I should tell Victor about our now precarious housing arrangements during our nightly call. He’d be bursting to share everything about his last full day on Kainani Island and he'd be excited about the flight back, and I didn’t want to kill his enthusiasm by dropping something like this on him. Besides, there would be nothing he could do to help me with the situation between then and when he got home in any case, so I concluded it’d be best to wait.

After Mrs. Ito left, I sat at the kitchen table for a long time, staring at my untouched food. I hadn’t been hungry to begin with and I only had the goal of consuming a meal because I knew I was supposed to, but after Mrs. Ito’s bombshell announcement, there was no way I could make myself eat. It was too much of an effort; one I had neither the energy nor the motivation for. I covered the bowl of rice and vegetables, and put it into the fridge. Then, I made myself a mug of ginger tea and curled up with it on the sofa, hoping that the hot liquid would help settle my rebellious, painful stomach, even if it didn’t soothe my mind.

Please don’t let this be the start of a serious flare-up, I thought. Now would be the absolute worst time for me to be ill. I don’t need any extra problems.

The tea did not help. I couldn’t even finish it. I held the mug in my hands until it grew cold, wishing it had been a magical solution to everything that was bad about that day.

My mind raced with every possible worst-case scenario. I pictured us couch surfing at Takahiro and Seiji’s place, or possibly sleeping at the youth hostel for an uncomfortably long period of time. Neither of those was pleasant to contemplate, but the possibility that really frightened me was that Victor and I might be separated. I recoiled at the idea that he might have to go back to his country. If our housing situation was unstable for too long, it might have an effect on his immigration process, which was almost completed. We were so close to the point where he’d have permanent residence here, and I was already legitimately terrified that something would go wrong with it. I was certain I couldn’t bear it if he had to leave me, and the worst part was that it’d all be totally beyond our control.

Huddled on the sofa, miserable and scared, I felt completely lost and alone.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and began to dial a number from memory. My mother’s line rang several times, but she didn’t answer. It went through to voicemail instead. Just to hear the sound of her voice, I listened to the entirety of her voicemail greeting before I hung up.

Then I dialled another number.

In retrospect, I have no idea why I did it. I don’t know what I was thinking, to have even the slightest confidence that it’d be a good idea. But I suppose we all feel the pull of family in difficult times, even if our families aren’t the best source of support. Families are supposed to love us, and I expect we all live in hope, even just a little.

I regretted my actions almost instantly after my father’s line stopped ringing and I heard his voice.

“Kenji Okamoto here.” His tone was abrupt, irritated.

I fought the urge to hang up immediately, and took a steadying breath. “Papa, it’s Yuri.”

There was no greeting, no asking me how I was doing. It was just, “I’m busy, Yuri. What do you need?”

“I… don’t know,” I said, because all of a sudden I really didn’t. I might’ve been lonely and worried, but I would much rather have suffered in solitude than to face my father’s judgment. If Mama had answered her phone, I would’ve been able to tell her how I was feeling and she would’ve offered some empathy, but I wasn’t labouring under any false belief that my father would demonstrate either empathy or understanding.

Since feelings weren’t something he’d be interested in hearing about, I opted to be direct. “Victor and I have to move out of our house.”

“Why?” my father asked.

“The landlady is selling it.”

“Well,” he said. “Interesting. That might be a blessing in disguise.”

“What?” I blurted, caught off guard by his reaction. He almost seemed pleased about it.

“If you have to move out, then that man you’re living with can go back to whichever country he came from and you can come home so your mother can look after you properly.”

“That man I’m living with is my soulmate,” I said. “His name is Victor, and he looks after me.”

“I know his name. Does he have a job yet?”

“No, but—”

“Then, he’s not looking after you, is he?”

“Everything in life isn’t about money, you know,” I said. “Caring for someone isn’t all about what kind of financial contribution they make.”

My father made a derisive noise. “He’s not appropriate for you. There are plenty of acceptable people from here that you could be with. You didn’t need to take up with that foreigner, just to prove a point,” he said. “And if it’s not about money, why are you calling? If that man wasted less time on the mountain and spent more time doing something to help provide for you, I doubt you’d even be speaking to me right now.”

“I’m not asking you for money,” I told him. “And you don’t get to decide whether Victor is appropriate for me or not.“

"If you aren’t asking for money, then let me get back to my original question. What do you need?”

My composure was slipping, but I was absolutely desperate not to cry. I promised myself long ago that I would never let my father see or hear me cry again. I curled my free hand into a fist, digging the tips of my nails into the flesh of my palm and clenching my fingers so hard that they cramped. The pain helped me focus on something other than the huge knot in my stomach and the fierce burn of tears behind my eyes.

“I just needed to know that my family cares about me.” My voice was weak, even to myself. “I wanted to know that there’s someone I can rely on when I need help.”

“I care about you,” he said. He sounded offended. “I said you can come home, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but—"

"You’re more than welcome to come home and live with us, but you’re not to bring that foreigner into our house.”

That was the point at which I could no longer hold onto my self-control. “Stop referring to him like that! He has a name!”

“Fine,” said my father. “You may stay here without Victor. And I’ll thank you not to use that disrespectful tone with me in future, Yuri. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I said. “Now, I hope you understand what I’m about to say to you. I called you because I thought, for once, you’d offer to do something to make life easier for me instead of more difficult, but I guess that was a mistake on my part, wasn’t it?”

“You know, your life wouldn’t be so difficult if you’d go about it more sensibly,” he declared.

“If I’d do everything you want me to, you mean,” I retorted.

“It’s easier to swim with the current than against it.”

“Well, maybe I don’t like the direction this particular river is flowing,” I said. “Thank you for the offer to let me come home, but I don’t want to live with you. I’m not interested in living anywhere Victor isn’t wanted, and I’m not accepting help that has conditions attached to it. I’m your son. This isn’t how it’s meant to go.”

“Yes, you are my son and I’m willing to fully support you, which is my duty as your parent. I have no obligation and no intention to support your… What did you call him? Your soulmate? Ridiculous.”

“There’s nothing ridiculous about my relationship with Victor. It’s a real relationship, and we belong together, whether you approve or not.”

“I don’t approve,” my father stated. “And I’m sorry if you feel that my refusal to provide for someone who should be providing for himself is a condition, but I see no sense in throwing my money at a lazy, freeloading foreigner. He’s already taken advantage of you. He will not be doing that to me and your mother.”

“Fine,” I said, my voice shaking with the effort to give the impression of calm. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. I suppose this means we’re done.”

“If you refuse to see reason, I suppose it does, but you’re free to call me again if you change your mind.”

There were a million furious replies in my brain, all competing to leave my mouth at once. I wanted to yell at my father, to act out every bit of anger and resentment and frustration he’d ever caused me to feel. But, of course I didn’t do it. There wouldn’t have been any point. It wouldn’t have made one bit of difference and the only result would’ve been that he’d say I was behaving like a spoiled child.

My father, Kenji Okamoto, isn’t the most easygoing person at the best of times. He’s an exacting man who demands nothing less than his vision of perfection from those around him. Being unable to meet his expectations is not a position anyone wants to find themselves in. Trust me. I’ve been living in that shadow for the past twenty-four years.

Of all the people in my father’s life, I think I disappoint him the most. What he wanted was a strong, capable and outgoing son who would marry a socially acceptable woman, give him grandchildren, and some day take over the leadership of our family’s internationally successful electronics company. What he got was me, a frail, introverted boy who’d rather spend time with his violin and his books than with most people, and who has no interest whatsoever in managing an organization that sells overpriced televisions and mobile phones to customers in other countries. He thinks that my job is insignificant, that my friends are irresponsible and shiftless, and that my hobbies are a waste of time. Worst of all, he despises my sweet, beautiful Victor.

Of everything my father has ever said or done to hurt me, the fact that he dislikes and disapproves of Victor hurts me most of all.

Victor makes me happy. He completes me, protects me, and treats me like I’m the most precious treasure in the world. He doesn’t see a timid, ill boy who needs constant care and supervision, like my family sees when they look at me. They think I’m weak and that I can’t manage my own life.

Victor says I’m delicate, but not to demean me in the way my father would if he said it. To Victor, delicacy isn’t the opposite of strength. He says I remind him of the maple saplings along the river in his hometown; they may look fragile and they may bend, but they rarely break even in the worst storms.

I was wretchedly unhappy before Victor came into my life. Although I had friends and a job and things I liked to do for fun, I still felt unwanted and unfulfilled. I needed the close human connection that I should’ve had with my family, and I needed to feel like I was important to somebody. My desperate wish was for someone – anyone – to look at me and tell me that I mattered. And then there was Victor, a complete stranger on the internet who saw me and found something in me that no one else ever had before.

Victor and I met four and a half years ago in an online group for snowboarding enthusiasts. Little did I suspect that a random comment on a photo would permanently alter the trajectory of my life.

I’d posted a picture of myself on the mountain that my friend Takahiro had taken, and Victor replied to it with a purple heart emoji and “You’re cute!” As you might imagine, that wasn’t the sort of response I’d expected, especially not for a weird photo of me jokingly clutching my snowboard against me like a lover, my hair sticking up crazily and my face pink from the cold. I was put off by the forwardness of it at first, but when I discovered a private message with a lengthy introduction from him the next day, I couldn’t help being intrigued.

We chatted every day after that, only through private messages on the website at first, but we quickly progressed to texts, phone calls and video chats. Then, nearly seventeen months ago, he moved here. I couldn’t possibly have been more thrilled when I understood that he intended to stay with me permanently.

I wish my father would try to understand how Victor and I care for each other, and how much our relationship means to both of us. I love Victor more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and he’s helped open up my world in ways I could never have imagined. I want my family to get to know the person I know. I want them to see the person who embraces everyone he meets as if they were never strangers, the one who isn’t afraid to try new things and encourages me to step past the barriers of my own fear, the impulsive, adventurous, affectionate and compassionate man who loves me unconditionally.

Victor has never done anything to disrespect my father or anyone else in my family. He’s tried his best to be courteous and kind, but it doesn’t seem to matter. My father can’t see past Victor’s differences from us, nor does he seem willing to overcome his prejudices. To him, Victor will always be an outsider, never belonging, a foreigner who should go back to where he came from.

I didn’t say goodbye to my father when our conversation was over. I lowered my phone and quietly pressed the ‘end call’ button.

On the verge of tears, the only other person I could think to call was Dr. Nelson, thousands of kilometres away. I didn’t know what she’d be doing or whether it’d be okay to interrupt her, but the last time we talked, she’d said I could call her if I needed anything. She may not have anticipated that I’d take her up on it so soon, but I really didn’t know who else I could turn to.

When she answered, she sounded as bright as always. “Grace Nelson speaking.”

“Dr. Nelson? It’s Yuri.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said. “What a surprise, getting two calls from you within a week! Everything all right?”

“No. I… I need…” But I couldn’t make it any further than that. The genuine concern and love in her voice when she asked if everything was okay was so vastly different from what I’d just experienced with my father, the emotional impact of it was too much for me. I couldn’t keep myself together any longer. Without really wanting to, but completely unable to stop myself, I started crying.

I needed to tell her why I was calling, but my attempts to get the whole story out only resulted in me stumbling over my words, gasping out incoherent sentences in the ragged breaths between sobs.

“Yuri!” Dr. Nelson’s tone was firm but kind. “I can’t understand you, sweetheart. I need you to speak English and slow down, okay? Can you do that for me?

I struggled to get my breathing evened out, which was no easy feat, but I was eventually able to reach a point where I could talk almost normally again. “I... I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay? And Victor?”

“Y-yes. Victor’s fine. He’s coming home tomorrow,” I said. “It’s something else. We need help, and my father was being completely unreasonable, and… and I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me,” Dr. Nelson said gently. "Take your time.”

I told her the whole thing, about Mrs. Ito’s visit and about my conversation with my father, and my fears about what would happen to Victor and me. I felt awful about burdening her with it. I finished with, “With everything that’s happening, I don’t think you’ll be able to come visit us now. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” she said. “Of course I’m still coming. By the sound of things, the two of you are going to need me there more than ever.”

"But I don’t even know where Victor and I are going to stay after this, and I don’t want to trouble you.”

"Sweetheart, don’t you even think of worrying about that. Taking care of you and Victor isn’t any trouble to me, and I was planning to come anyway, wasn’t I? I’ll stay with you where you are right now, as long as we can, and then we’ll all stay together in your new home. Our visit might look a bit different than we’d planned, but that’s okay.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ve already said thank you. That’s enough. I’ll help you pack and arrange everything, and if you need a little extra money, I don’t mind helping you with that.”

Strangely, the idea of accepting money from Victor’s mother didn’t make me feel the same way my father’s offer of support had. Gratefully, I said, “I appreciate your help, and I’m sure Victor will too.”

“I’m the mom,” she said. “Helping my boys when they need me is what I do. It’s the only proper thing.”

My boys. I hadn’t missed the way Grace Nelson had included me, as if I were equal to Victor as her son. I wondered how it was possible that a woman from another country, who I’d never met face-to-face, could love me and care about me more than my own family did.

“Thank you so much,” I said, because I could think of nothing more adequate.

“When Victor gets home, give him a cuddle from me and tell him I’ll see him soon,” she said. “Try not to upset yourself too much over this. For the next little while, you’ll need all your strength.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised. “Don't worry. Everything’ll be all right.”

[toastthewolfie]

Notion - CoD OC

Info from a slightly altered version of the template by @olibird (sorry for the tag D:)

Full Name: [REDACTED] Alias: Notion Nationality: American       Ethnicity: Hungarian/Icelandic Birthplace: Vác, Hungary Age: 27              DoB: 9/27/1997 Pronouns: Any/All, primarily uses he/him         Gender: N/A Sex: M Height: 5’10 Languages: Hungarian (Native), English (Secondary), Knows the very basics of Icelandic and French. Education: Associates degree in Psychology Personality: Often described as aggressive, rude, cold, and unsympathetic. All of which are very accurate. He’s also an extremely salty person, he holds grudges, but if you’re on the same team/side as him, he’s not rude enough to leave you to die if you get hurt. Which CoD Universe: MW2019 (Mentioned in Advanced Warfare, though) Branches of Service: United States Marine Corps Affiliation: Unassociated Bounty Hunter, works with USMC, and the FBI/ATF occasionally (not often due to conflict of interest, mostly done to keep the government off his back) and works with Shadow Company closely. Former Rank: Lieutenant. Current Rank: N/A Specialties: Breaching, Water Operations, Reconnaissance

Backstory:  Notion was born in Hungary and immigrated to America (Wichita, Kansas specifically) at the age of 12, after completing high school, he joined the United States Marine Corps to gain access to the G.I. bill.

There, Notion shined and managed to rise through the ranks relatively quickly. However, he was injured in the line of duty at 23 and was honorably discharged from the military due to reduced mobility.

Notion was, in the words of his formed TO, broken by this. He had left so much for this and had even neglected being by his father’s deathbed, or by his mother’s side when she rapidly deteriorated and eventually died from a brain aneurysm, just to have his career taken.

After all that, Notion broke away from the military and became a bounty hunter. He called in a few favors and managed to get his name wiped from all public databases (and some private ones, including the U.S. Marine Corps database) and went off the grid before being rediscovered during an operation gone wrong when he was 25 (leaning on 26 (aka he was closer to 26 than 25 but he was still 25)).

This was the moment he sustained his face/shoulder scar, and he was brought back by the USMC after discovery where he was offered a deal that essentially boiled down to ‘work with us when we need you, which won’t be often, and we’ll keep the government off your back’, and he just agreed and split town the second he could walk again.

At 26, he was contacted by Graves. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, mostly intel exchange but one thing led to another and he’s since become a semi-regular person on operations. He sometimes stops by the base, though.

Issues: oh boy where do I begin? I’ll just list the main ones. - Holds grudges, like, extremely long, doesn’t help he has insanely good memory. - He’s very aggressive, even if unprovoked. - Trust issues, he has little faith in anyone. 3rd base with him is him trusting you to not fuck up something small. - Probably has a fuckton of mental and physical issues be hasn’t gotten diagnosed. - More on the physical aspect, he is very prone to collapsing and extremely bad pain. Not like he’d show it though.

Habits: He’s a breacher by heart, and checks each doorway as such. He reacts by muscle memory to rank.

Scars/Permanent Injuries Face/Shoulder: Knife scars that lead to the scar on his shoulder.

  Torso: Lower rib cage, mostly on the hip on the right - Nerve damage and shrapnel injury scarring from the incident that got him discharged. - Red scarring, mostly. Stab Wound on the left side of his abdomen.

  Legs: Right leg is a mess. Nerve damage, burn scar, and shrapnel scars from the injury that got him discharged. - His leg can’t move all that well and he’s made a makeshift leg brace that he wears 24/7 and he refuses to accept any replacements. Left leg has a few shrapnel scars (from the same injury that fucked his right) but is otherwise fully operational.

Preferred method of showing care/affection/love language: Gift Giving, it’s something he can just give and go. Preferred way of receiving care/affection: Any, except gift giving. He’s not big on gifts.

Eye Color: Blue (#6768ba) Skin Color: Light tan (#f0cec3) Scars (Main Color/Base Color): Red (#b2817d) Hair description: Messy, long, platinum blonde (#fcf3ec) Clothing description: Green hued tactical gear with a dark green scarf that covers the lower part of his face. A lot of his gear is secondhand or something he patched up, so it’s not very high quality. Body description: Average height, skinny, lean, and heavily scarred Blood Type: O-

Favorite Activities: - Going to cafes, he finds them relaxing - Taking photos of birds Favorite color: Green Favorite animal: Ravens, he thinks they’re funky lil dudes. Favorite food/Dessert: Eggs. Quick to cook and easy to nab a few of.

Other Fun Facts: - He’s terrified of dogs. He will actively avoid any and all MWD/K9 Handlers and anyone with a dog in general. - While he’s been all over the globe at this point, London is his favorite place by far.