#and the line that leads from her down to me

[luveline]

𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧

Clark is so completely oblivious to your flirting that you start to wonder if he even understands what flirting is. (He does, and he can prove it.) fem, 3k

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

“Hey, Kent.”

Clark’s answering smile is enthusiastic, but little else. “Hey. How are you, how’s your morning going?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

He takes this more seriously than you’d expect. Or, exactly as you’d expect apparently, because this is Clark you’re talking to. “No one’s made you a cup of coffee?” 

“Well, Jimmy offered, but, alas. Nobody has hands as skilled as yours.”

He nods like this is a given. “I can make you one. Decaf?” Clark laughs loudly at your crestfallen expression. “I’m kidding. Be right back.” 

With caffeine and Clark Kent, your morning promises to improve. It was destiny, fate, and one kind boss that put you in the desk to the right of Clark’s. He’s made good out of a bum deal sandwiched between his desk and a pillar, having turned the pillar into a home for his corkboard and sticky notes. You study him often, his hair kissing the wall each time he leans back to watch the office television. 

You just need to say the right thing to him. To get him to notice you. If he rejected you, you’d stop, of course you’d stop, but Clark hasn’t so far acknowledged your flirting, and even that would be enough to put you off the whole thing if Jimmy hadn’t fanned your flames a few weeks ago. 

He definitely doesn’t know you’re flirting, Jimmy’d said, mouth half full of popcorn, the other half milk duds, that’s what happens to boys when they come from a home on the range, my friend. No game. 

You’d laughed at his grand bravado and kept that information stored away. Clark does seem a little… inexperienced, when it comes to adult life. He’s perfectly normal as things go, but he’s hopeless when it comes to dating. A few weeks ago, a woman at the bar closest to work had asked him if he’d buy her a drink and Clark, all manner of sympathy in his eyes, had asked if she lost her wallet.

So you assume him unknowing and carry on valiantly. “Kent,” you say now, resting your hand on his shoulder, “can we have lunch together?” 

“When, now?” 

“Whenever’s best for you, babe.”

He quirks a smile. “I’m always hungry.”

“I know. I brought you something.”

“You did?” 

“Mm-hm. Put your monitor on standby and come find me.” 

He doesn’t let you get far, his hand pressing lightly to the small of your back as you break for the office kitchenette. “What sort of something?”

“Sorry?”

“What did you bring me?”

“A special treat for a special boy,” you murmur, mostly joking, ever so slightly salacious, and far too much for the setting. 

“You’re leaving me in anticipation here.”

“Is there any other way to leave you, Clark?”

He gives a well-meaning shrug. “Sure, you usually like to leave me hanging.” 

“Don’t be mean. I’ll keep your treat for myself. You know I will.”

Clark chuckles. The sound never fails to light you up from the inside out, has you rushing to the fridge to get your two Tupperware boxes for sharing. You hand one to Clark, the other housing your boring dinner. He slides his arm under yours before the fridge door can close and effectively boxes you in as he grabs his own lunchbox. Your faces are close enough to kiss. 

You take the proximity gratefully, cataloguing the gentle lines of his face. His eyes are beautiful, and light, a warm blue that refuse to dip down to your lips as yours fall to his. You give them a longing stare. Clark collects his lunch and backs away from you. 

He leads you to a table together while shaking the box you’ve given him. 

“What is it?” he asks. 

“It’s not like it’s see through, or anything.”

He grins, eyes averted. “I’m going to guess what it is by sound.” Clark turns the box on its side. “Too soft a noise for cookies. If it were fairy cakes again, I’d hear the paper. And we’ve sworn off of caramel after you almost lost your incisor.” 

“So?”

He sniffs. “Brownies.”

“Cheater.” 

“I’m not cheating,” 

“You are! You’re smelling them, I know you are, they’re chocolatey enough. Just the way you like them, if you even care.”

“Of course I care,” he says, finally letting himself look down at the Tupperware, eyes lit with joy. “Oh, these look beautiful.”

“Well, I tried my best.”

“You didn’t have to go to all the trouble,” he says, even as he pops off the lid and lets out a pleased, decadent sigh, like a king looking over a vast sea of riches rather than four dark squares of fudgey brownies. 

“I don’t mind, Clark. I like doing things for you.”

He eats his brownies. He eats his lunch. You press your ankle to his under the table and smile when he doesn’t pull away, again when he washes your plastics and returns them to you towel-dried for your bag. He says, “Thank you for my treat,” with a small pat to your shoulder. 

Hours pass slowly, but then it’s your long awaited home time and you’re not interested in being alone just yet. 

“Could I ask you something?” 

Clark eases the loop of your tote bag back onto your shoulder. “Always.”

“Would you walk me home?”

“Today?” He holds your arm. “Everything okay?” 

“Would you believe me if I said I’d just really like your company?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Come on. We can beat the rush on the tramline if we hurry.”

You don’t beat the rush hour traffic on the tramline; the tram stations are all lined with people two-thick, so you take the slightly longer way on foot from the office to the quieter residential area where you live. The sky is moody, though the sun stays eager, following the backs of your necks past Metropark and Mr. Caleb’s corner store. 

“Wanna get shaved ice?” Clark asks. 

It may be warm, but it’s getting dark already and the idea of eating shaved ice in the dark is unpleasant. Still, he’s so charming, you end up shaking your head while you weave your arm through his. “Lucky you’re pretty,” you murmur. 

“We don’t have to. We could get coffee.” 

“You want to?” 

“I want you to be less sad,” he says. 

“I’m not sad.”

“No? You seem… I don’t know. You seem sort of defeated. Did something happen at work today? You aren’t acting like you would.”

“How do I usually act?” you ask curiously. 

He wrinkles his nose at you. It’s a fond gesture. “Like you. You’re so yourself. I don’t like seeing you down.”

“I’m not down, Clark. But I don’t know, maybe I’ll ask you something.” 

“Sure. Anything, I’m an open book.” 

You size him up. 6’ ridiculous (or 6’4 if he’s to be believed) and brazenly kind, even the look of him, a nose that’s pleasing to see, would be better to kiss, the lines in his cheeks from his smiling and his crow’s feet crinkle right at the corners of his eyes. His dark grey suit and the skinny red tie you occasionally tug between two fingers. Clark isn’t an open book. He is notoriously hard to get a read on, and he should know this. He drives you crazy. 

“Ugh,” you mumble, rubbing the space between your eyebrows. 

“It’s okay, honey.”

You narrow your eyes at him around your hand. “Clark, are you hard of hearing?”

“What?” 

“I’m genuinely asking. I know it’s a very rude thing to presume about someone out of the blue, or, to ask about, but I figured maybe you have an audio processing issue or something?” 

He doesn’t recoil as some might, or get offended at the question, as personal as it was. “I’m not hard of hearing. Why are you asking me that? Do I miss it, when you’re talking to me?”

“It’s like you aren’t hearing me, yeah.”

“I always hear you.”

“But… I say so many things, and your answers are so– neutral?” You frown at the deep confusion etched between his brows and catch a different thread. “When I said I wanted your company, earlier, you rolled your eyes. Why?” 

“You were joking.”

“Was I?” You untangle your arm from his to get a better view of his expression. “Why would I joke about that? Why else would I want you to come with me?”

“I don’t– I don’t know, you joke so often.”

“When?”

“Like, in the mornings. I ask how you are and you always say you’re better now you saw me.”

“That is quite genuinely true, Clark.”

“But it’s, like. You’re kidding. It’s like play-fighting, only…”

You wish you and Clark could’ve had this conversation sitting down. It would’ve been nicer somewhere quieter, but there’s comfort to be found in the quiet hustle and bustle of the tramlines whirring in the backgrounds, the single train track further from the main city, even the bump and beeping of Metropolis traffic. And there are people everywhere, chatting, walking, occasional laughter filtering through bursts of sound. You smile at Clark as someone out of sight lets out a roaring burst of giggles, enamoured with his own twitching smile, like even the hint of someone else’s joy is enough to bring colour to his day. 

“I could never put my hands on you, handsome. You’re too precious,” you say, almost shy. “Not play-fighting, by the way. I’m flirting with you, Kent. I have been.” 

He raises a hand to his neck, scratches. Lets it flop back down, his lips parting in surprise. “You are?” 

You hold your hands behind your back. “It’s not a joke, Clark. Honey. I’m sorry if I never made that clear for you. I definitely wasn't trying to make a joke out of things. Don’t get me wrong, I love teasing you, and sometimes I’m being hyperbolic, but I mean everything I’ve said. I hope you… hope you don’t mind.” 

You watch in real time as Clark goes a rosy shade of pink. Spreading across his nose, glancing up his cheekbones, a heated stain to evidence his embarrassment even as his lips stretch into a smile that’s unfailingly, untouchably pleased. His eyes go soft, his fingers tickling the back of your hand as he finds it, turns it, and grabs your fingers. Too impatient to thread them together. 

“Oh,” he says, giving your joined hands a sway. You watch him mouth it again. Oh.  

“Clark?”

“When we went to dinner, after Perry’s party, I should’ve paid,” he says. 

“What?”

“And– and there are so many doors I could’ve held for you.” 

“I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says, sounding, for a second, genuinely agitated. It’s a stark contrast to the way he treasures your hand in his, rolling your fingers nicely. 

“Clark, I’ve been trying. For weeks. If anyone’s going to be annoyed right now, it’s me.”

He glares at you. That glare quickly softens, turning to more of a stickied, almost playful smile you fail to place on him. 

“What?” you ask. 

He takes a step into your space. “What?” he asks back. 

“I asked you first.”

Clark takes you in as you shift your weight from one foot to the other,  an uncomfortable warmth spreading over the back of your neck.  

“What?” you whisper. 

“Just looking at you.” 

You flare with embarrassment. “Do not,” you warn. The bite you’d tried for is more of a whine. 

“Don’t what? Look at you? How could I not?” 

“Clark, you can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” 

“Dead ridiculous,” you murmur, tail end of your words a breathy, harsh exhale as Clark leans into your space and presses his lips to your skin. 

Anticipation tightens every joint. Your brain catches up slowly, finds his mouth on your cheek, your cheekbone, and the corner of your eye, three soft kisses that threaten to bowl you over in the middle of the sidewalk, despite his hand clasped over yours and the other guiding your face toward his kissing. He presses a final kiss to your temple, takes a breath of you, and lets you fall away. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice, before,” he says, rubbing the back of your hand sympathetically, “but I know now.” 

You do your best not to stutter. “Sure. It’s okay.” 

“Yeah, it will be. Where do you want to go for dinner?” 

—

Clark has to confess to bone deep elation. Bordering childish, wildly grown up, he cannot contain or restrain the force of his affection. 

In less pretentious terms, Clark Kent is falling in love. You might’ve had the head start when it came to the whole courting side of things, but Clark would argue he’s pined harder, and for far longer, to the point of delusion: every flirtation was thought to be a joke. Some days he’d believe you, and others he’d go home thinking about a flirty, lovely girl who just likes to make her coworker smile. 

He can’t say he’d believe this, now. Picture you here, sure, achy mornings scrolling his phone in frustration, before tossing it aside to clutch a pillow to his chest, his nose in the case, trying to find your smell. What is it you always smell like? Your perfume. He’s awful at this stuff, knows so many smells but can’t make it out. 

Clark —lucky Clark, in there and now, elated— slips his arm over your chest and pulls you easily into his front. You’re practically weightless to him. 

“Mm…” you mumble. 

He shushes you mindlessly. 

Unfortunately, the sound only serves to wake you more. You doze weakly in his arms, a touch unsettled, all his fault for being selfish, so Clark rubs your back delicately and tries to repent. Wordlessly, he adjusts his arm under yours to hold your stomach in his palm, inching you backward, waiting for a sign. 

You let out a long, low sigh and fall mostly asleep again. 

Clark rests his nose in your hair. This is hard-worked but perhaps unearned, considering all your heavy lifting, but Clark will be damned if he hasn’t tried to make things up to you. The best, worst thing about you is that you find it all endlessly funny; Clark brings you flowers and you tickle him under the chin with their petals; he takes you out for dinner and you sneak off (unsuccessfully) to pay the bill during dessert; he tries to flirt, voice low and warm and pleading, and you ask him if he’d like to play fight. It’s your favourite joke. That’s if you aren’t blatantly pretending that Clark isn’t flirting. 

And you’re here now because… well. You haven’t fucked. Clark has —offered you things. Never wanting to take too soon, but needing you to have. And you’ve let him spin you around some, but tonight was because you just didn’t want to leave. Who was Clark to let you? You should have everything you want, including him, and including this. He’ll lay here stretching an ache out of your back all day if it’s your wish.

He tries to dial back the philosophical. Presses his nose further into your head and closes his eyes again. He’s tireder than usual, but that could be down to the late nights with you. He likes calling you, knowing you’ll answer. He likes listening to you talk, and he loves the casual flirtation you throw at him. Better now, because you know your crush is reciprocated. 

You smell incredible. Clark could fall to pieces about it. 

You wake up, then, Clark’s not sure why, holding his arm off of you to spin beneath it to face him, before forcing yourself under the curve of his chin to hold him. 

Clark doesn’t say anything in case you’re trying to get back to sleep again. He just waits, letting his fingers tumble the length of your back as it rises and falls. 

You don’t fall asleep again. 

“Hey,” you murmur. 

“Hi.”

“Good morning.”

“Better,” Clark says, tipping your head back by the nape of you, something right about it as you follow his hand back to show him your sleep-rumpled face, “now that you’re here.”

You turn your face into his arm. Clark can feel the heat of your skin, and thanks whoever there is to thank for the way that shyness and heat go hand in hand. You’re warm as a hearth against his skin, like a stripe of sun laid down and resting. 

“Steal all my best ones,” you mumble. 

“Best what?” 

“My pick-up lines.”

“Honey, I’m not flirting with you. Is that what you thought?”

He says it in a mumble. Presses it right into your mouth. 

Your first kiss had been somewhat of an oddity. No flirting before or afterwards, no pretenses, only a kiss. You’d been shy the day after your impromptu dinner and Clark hadn’t loved it. ‘Cos you’re adorable, but it had bordered too harshly on unsurety. Like you were waiting for Clark to take things back. 

His hands under your face to hold you. A wading of a kiss turned biting turned pleading, two shades of desperate and third pathetic. Clark had put everything he could into it. Translated months of longing, and the permanent ache that had come with your teasing.

This kiss is nothing like that. It’s melding your mouth against his with ease, meeting you halfway there as his hand carries you inward. Chest to chest, your little smile a lance against his own. 

“M’not flirting,” he murmurs. 

“Why not?”

“‘Cos you have me, baby.” 

You grumble weakly against his lips and take another kiss. “I like the flirting,” you say. 

“That’s too bad, huh?” He presses your shoulder to the bed, watches your eyes widen and then fall shut. “Maybe I can be persuaded.” 

“Flirt with me.”

“Nicer.” 

Your attempt to hide a triumphant smile fails. Clark doesn’t mind. 

“Please?” you murmur. 

He mouthed beautiful into the side of your neck. There’ll be time for the rest. Not that you’ll enjoy waiting —and not that he’ll mind giving in. 

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

Thank you bec for proof reading!!!!♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

[sc3ptre]

Reader is weakkk for some Clark neck kisses while pregnant. Praises her on everything she’s done for him a whole heartfelt praise on giving him a family, something to come home too… no smut just some fluff neck kisses 🥺 the kitchen scene is embedded in the mind lol ( I don’t know if I doubled sent this too you?!) if I did I apologize!

Superdad in training

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I would also let him impregnate me ngl

No warnings or spoilers for the film! Word count: 1.4k

The rooftop belonged to the two of you. Not officially, of course, because the building had its rules, its lease clauses and common space policies—but over time, the rooftop had quietly become yours. Strung fairy lights danced across the concrete railing, a cozy bench sat in the corner with a slightly threadbare blanket tucked over the backrest and a few struggling potted herbs lined the edge like hopeful, green confetti. 

It wasn’t much but it was yours. 

You were bathing in the afternoon sun, one hand resting absentmindedly on the curve of your belly, when a familiar low whoosh hit the air, followed by the gentle scrape of boots touching down and a gust of wind that curled around your ankles like a welcome-home greeting.

Clark landed behind you with a box in his hand and a look on his face that said he’d been flying too fast and too far for you. After all, a car ride was rarely an option.

“What’re you doing out here?” he asked, voice warm but already threaded with concern. “It’s not safe.”

You laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was so him. “Clark,” you said, turning slightly, hand still protectively resting on your bump, “you literally reinforced the railing…twice and tested it. I couldn’t fall off this rooftop if I tried.”

His brows tugged together. “I know. I just…” His eyes flicked downward for a beat to your stomach, then your feet and finally to the box of donuts in his hand before meeting yours again. “I worry.”

“You always do.” You smiled.

“And I always will.”

You stood and stepped toward him. He closed the distance in the way he always did, with gentle touches and that quiet, whole-body sort of love that made you feel like the center of the galaxy.

“I got the ones you like,” he murmured, lifting the box. “From that place in Chicago.”

You gasped, dramatic and delighted, reaching for it. “You flew halfway across the country for powdered donuts with cream filling and rainbow sprinkles?”

“I’d fly across the universe for you,” he said easily, walking you toward the stairs with a gentle arm on your lower back.

You snorted through a smile, letting him lead you. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you keep falling for it.”

By the time you were inside the apartment, barefoot and glowing from fresh air, you were already halfway through your second donut. Clark trailed you into the kitchen like a shadow made of soft cotton and love, peeling off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

You stood there chewing thoughtfully with a few rogue sprinkles dotting your shirt.

He stepped up behind you, sliding his arms around your waist with the reverence of someone holding the whole world. His hands splayed gently over the curve of your belly, thumbs brushing idle circles like a lullaby for the little one growing inside you.

“You’re really doing this,” he whispered against your neck, lips brushing skin with featherlight care. “You’re creating a whole person…a whole life.”

You tilted your head slightly, offering more of your neck without meaning to. He took the invitation with a smile and another kiss.

“Didn’t do that one alone…”

“I know, I just–” His voice cracked a little and he pressed his lips against the same spot again, like anchoring himself to the moment. “I still can’t believe it. That I get this…you, this baby and a home to come back to.”

You stayed quiet, chewing slower now, blinking back something soft and messy from your lashes. He kissed the shell of your ear and kept talking, low and steady, voice wrapped in honesty.

“I grew up thinking I'd always have to be two people. That there’d never be space for both, but somehow…you found room for both of them. You don’t just love the reporter or the cape, you love me and you gave me a family.”

You turned slightly, donut still in hand, neck warm from affection. “You make it very easy to love you, Kent.”

He chuckled softly and kissed your jaw once more, then rested his chin on your shoulder and swayed you gently back and forth. “Even when I hover like an overprotective nurse?”

“Especially then.”

A beat passed. You finished the last bite of your donut and licked powdered sugar off your fingers.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?”

He hummed. “Anything.”

You nudged him lightly. “Can you take a peek in there? Just…let me know if the baby’s got the middle finger up or something.. You know, like those memes? I swear, ‘baby of steel’ kicked me with an attitude earlier and it’s really not my fault I couldn't stop sneezing. I don’t want this to be our first fight.”

Clark pulled back slightly and laughed, that deep, honey-warm laugh you loved. His eyes flicked downward for just a second, long enough for a discreet scan before he smiled again.

“She’s smiling,” he said softly, hand still rubbing circles against your belly. “Kind of.”

You blinked. “...She?”

His smile froze and your jaw dropped, sugar-dusted mouth hanging open. “You said she!”

Clark looked like a man caught in a courtroom cross-examination. “I didn’t say—well…I didn’t mean–”

“You totally did! Clark, I’m pregnant, not deaf.”

You could read the apology on his face but you were already squealing, eyes wide and half-laughing, half-crying, as you bounced on your toes in pure, unfiltered joy.

“She?!” you shouted again, holding your belly with one hand. “Clark, she?! Oh my god! We’re having a baby girl?!”

You started to do a little victory hop,  just a tiny one…a celebration bounce but Clark’s arms immediately shot out in alarm, hands hovering like airbags.

“No jumping!” he yelped, already trying to steady you. “Feet on the ground, sweetheart! Flat. Both feet!”

You only laughed harder, utterly radiant with happiness, tears springing into your eyes and powdered sugar still dotting your mouth. “I’m fine! I’m just happy! I’m so happy!”

Clark didn’t answer, he was already walking briskly toward the living room, opening drawers and scanning the shelves like a man on a mission, while muttering under his breath. “Where’s the book? The baby one with the illustrations, the index and the emergency checklist. You were jumping…That counts as an impact, right? I don’t know. Where is it?”

You followed, half-laughing, half-concerned, as he located the dog-eared maternity guide and flipped through it with the intensity of someone researching a potential alien invasion.

“Clark,” you said gently.

“One second, baby.”

“Clark.” you said again, grinning and slightly breathless. “How long have you known?”

He froze mid-page flip and answered sheepishly without looking up. “A few days, you kept tossing in your sleep.” He paused, “Couldn’t help it, my eyes wander when I’m worried.”

Your chest tightened around the affection and the swell of something too big for words but he was already talking again before you could say anything. 

“Sweetheart, maybe put on your shoes.”

You blinked. “My shoes? Are we getting celebration donuts? I’m kinda hungry.”

“We’re taking a trip to the hospital,” he said, still flipping pages at hyperspeed. “Not for anything bad. Just a precaution…soft precaution. We’ll call first, I’ll carry you and get you more donuts after but we’re going.”

You burst out laughing again before crossing the room to him and throwing your arms around his body from behind—the powdered sugar from your face leaving a faint print on his back.

“She’s fine, okay?” you whispered. “And so am I.”

He stilled, then slowly lowered the book and turned in your arms. Big, warm hands finding their place once more over the life you were both months away from meeting.

“She’s fine,” he repeated. “And so are you.”

You hummed and leaned forward, resting your head on his chest, cheek pressing against the soft stretch of his shirt now. There, beneath your ear, was the steady thunder of his heart, only not so steady right now.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” you murmured.

Clark stilled for a beat. Then gave you a tight, nervous hum that sounded like it came with too many spiraling thoughts.

You grinned into his chest, patted his back and caved. “I’ll go put on my shoes.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for the last three minutes, head tipping back in blessed relief. You pulled away slowly, still laughing under your breath as you padded out of the room, voice lilting just loud enough for yourself.

“Good thing you didn’t see the backflip I did to get out of bed this morning—” You joked.

“What!?” came Clark’s alarmed voice behind you, sharp with concern.

You froze mid-step, grinning. “Nothing, Smallville!” you called sweetly but he was already following, half-panicked and full of love.  “You said a backflip?!” He asked, and the apartment echoed with your laughter and the warm, overprotective footsteps of the man who loved you more than gravity.

----

Likes, reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated! ❤️

[baronessvonglitter]

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wicked whims by @myownwholewildworld ~ javier peña x f!reader {javi catches you playing wicked whims in the sims and decides to make your fantasies a reality.}

Tim Rockford

Bringing You In Hot by @604to647 ~ Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Harry Castillo

Don't Give Up On Me by @punkshort ~ Harry Castillo x f!reader {Should you give up on the man you love when he disappoints you, or do you give him another chance?}

Frankie Morales

the best decision & redemption: the best decision by @greenwitchfromthewoods ~ {breaking up was the only right decision}

Don't Let You Go by @berryispunk ~ Frankie Morales x gn! reader {It started with a grocery store crash and a terrible first date but somehow, against all odds, it became the love that makes you stay.}

Forever by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Frankie Morales x f!reader {Frankie takes you out to a fancy restaurant and you think he’s going to propose.}

F*ckin' Forty by @mountainsandmayhem ~ Young Frankie x Older F! Reader {Men your age don’t do the way a twenty five year old future helicopter pilot can.}

More Than This by @berryispunk ~ Frankie Morales x f! reader {Two longtime almost-somethings finally cross the line in the front seat of a truck, laughter still on their lips and feelings too big to name.}

triangle & redemption: triangle by @greenwitchfromthewoods ~ {three is already a crowd}

Clint Flood

The Little Blue Cottage by @nathanbatemanfucker ~ clint x f!reader {clint and his daughter find a chance at love again with the neighbor across the street.}

Dave York

I Just Called To Say... [redacted] by @criticallyacclaimedstranger ~ Dave York x you {Dave's on a "business trip" and gets a sexy phone call from you.}

Pero Tovar

Breaking Chains by @604to647 ~ Pero Tovar x Chinese fem!OC reader {After two years of peace following the defeat of the Tao Tei, you return home to fulfill your duty as the eldest daughter – but how can you marry when your heart belongs to Pero?}

Max Phillips

Performance Review by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Max Phillips x OMC {Max conducts a performance review in a non-conventional way.}

Marcus Pike

Loose Change by @burntheedges ~ Marcus Pike x f!reader {You loved playing in the orchestra, but when you needed a change, you started busking at a few places around town just for fun. You weren't expecting the attractive man that stopped to listen. Or his smile.}

Jack Daniels

If I Should Die Before You Do by @maggiemayhemnj ~ AU!Jack Daniels x afab!Reader (nicknamed “Junebug”)

Din Djarin

Welcoming Home by @honeybunnyale {Din comes back to the covert newly repented.}

Ted Garcia

Just Friends by @joelmillerswife9 {Ted Garcia’s son has been busted on film smoking pot at a party during the COVID-19 pandemic, jeopardizing his father’s campaign. While watching Ted’s public interview/ apology to Eddington, you extend an invitation to an old friend.}

Naughty Call by @joelmillerswife9 {Ted Garcia is on a Zoom call and you are being quite the distraction}

Multi/Others

double play by @toxicanonymity ~ Tommy and Joel Miller x f!reader

grab a bite by @guiltyasdave ~ dave york x marcus pike

i just miss you by @stitch-away ~ dave york x frankie morales {it's been two years since they left afghanistan and since they've seen one another. dave and frankie are doing worse back home than they ever were in the army}

The Interrogation by @charethcutestory02 ~ Dave York X Marcus Pike X Javier Peña x F!Reader {Berlin. NYE. You have no idea why, but you’ve been taken and locked up in a sparse US government office building, late at night, with three insanely hot, broad, dominant agents to keep watch over you.}

Lie still by @milla-frenchy ~ Steve Murphy x fem reader x Javier Peña {two DEA agents come to your apartment to extract information from you}

November by @thedilfdiaries ~ Arthur Morgan x reader {Every November, Arthur Morgan is haunted by memories of a love he lost..}

Soft by @honeybunnyale ~ Tommy Miller x reader {Tommy has always been soft for you. Joel had seemingly just started.}

spectators by @toxicanonymity ~ Tommy Miller x f!reader

two man job by @sin-djarin ~ Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia {Santi has a new house and new plan to go alongside it. He needs Frankie’s assistance to start making it a home. But Frankie needs a helping hand, too.}

ungodly fruit by @sin-djarin ~ Tim Rockford x Dave York {Dave likes manners and control. But the script gets flipped quickly.}

yes sir by @stitch-away ~ clint flood x harry castillo {harry gets matched on a blind date by lucy from adore. he assumed it was going to be with her but his date is nothing close}

Self Recs

The Arrangement ~ Din Djarin x f!Reader {Keeping up with your agreement to give yourself to the Mandalorian in exchange for keeping the bounty off your father's head, Din struggles with his growing feelings for you.}

Compliance ~ Tim Rockford x f!reader {You get cuffed and stuffed by Detective Rockford}

The Feminine Urge to Disappear ~ Marcus Moreno x OFC Cat Cruz {Cat can't seem to get away from Lucien, even at work. Luckily Clint is there to save the day. When trying to have a peaceful night at home, Cat gets a call from her boss and accidentally causes a natural disaster.}

Linger ~ Dave York x fem!reader {Are you Dave's dirty little secret.. or just an afterthought?}

Wet Hot Summer - Joel Miller x f!reader ~ {You've avoided going home for summer break until this year, and with Joel Miller taking notice of you, things might get interesting..}

[bullet-prooflove]

Compulsions: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @fadeinsol @cowardlycandy

Summary: You realise something isn't right in Pope's world.

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Ethical Thieving - You introduce Pope to a new skill set.

Prequel To:

The Octagon - Smurf decides to show you the real Pope Cody.

Two Weeks - Two weeks is too long for Pope to go without you.

The Skatepark - Pope reacts badly when you try to share your feelings.

Wild Boys - Pope gets a phone call he doesn't expect in the middle of the night.

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Everything - Pope's family life clashes with your time together.

Positive - Pope didn't expect for it to happen sooner rather than later.

Four Bullets - Smurf finds out about you and Pope, leading to dire consquences.

Misery (feat: Baz Cody) - Baz starts to notice there’s something wrong with Pope.

The Gruffalo - Pope finally lays eyes on you for the first time in months.

Kill The Queen - Pope tries to come to terms with Smurf’s death.

Night Thoughts - You and Pope discuss your fears about becoming a parent.

Existential (NSFW) - You and Pope have another first in the aftermath of Smurf’s death.

One of the signs that something is wrong in Pope’s world is the compulsions. The focused way that he hones in on something, his hand reaching out to realign it as his eyebrows sink into a frown.

You glance down at the coffee table to find the seashells you collected off the beach this morning are now arranged in size order, his forefinger trailing along each and every one of them as if counting them off.

“What is it?” You ask him quietly. “What’s making you so upset?”

He tilts his head away from you, the muscle in his cheek twitching as his jaw tenses. “Smurf says I can’t see you anymore.”

“Does she know-”

He shakes his head.

“No, she just thinks you’re teaching me to crack safes but she can tell I’m getting attached.” He sighs, his teeth biting his lower lip. “I don’t know how...”

“It’s your eyes.” You tell him and he twists his head back towards you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “They’ve become a lot more expressive since we’ve been…”

You trail off, your gaze straying down to those seashells, all lined up in pretty neat row. “If you want to stop sleeping together, doing jobs together it’s ok…”

“No.” He says vehemently. “I don’t want that, I don’t want to stop doing what we’re doing. I just… I don’t see how we can keep doing it.”

“OK…” You say, collecting both your mugs off the coffee table as you raise to your feet. “That is your choice-”

“I just told you that it’s not my choice.” He responds, his voice turning gravelly as he stands up, dogging your footsteps into the kitchen.

“And I’m tell you that it is.” You say, dumping your cups into the sink and turning on the facet to rinse them. “I get it, your family it comes first. You were straight about that, I just thought…” You sigh as you shake your head and he can feel that sadness radiating from you in waves.

“What did you think?” He questions as you turn off the facet, setting the cups on the draining board.

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” You tell him, picking up the handtowel. “You said your piece, no need to stick around. I know she has you on a short leash.”

He flinches at your words but he needs to hear them. Pope is at a make or break point right now and there are two roads, the one he’s been walking his entire life or a new one, one that he can forge on his own away from the nightmare that is his family.

“Dylan…” He chides, caging you in against the sink with his body. “This is not what I want.”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, his eyes burning into yours like embers as he lingers in your proximity. Every single one of his muscles is coiled, the tension wound throughout his body like a predator focused on its prey.

“It has never been about what you want.” You assert into the space between the two of you. “It will never be about what you want.”

“I know.” He tells you, bumping his forehead against yours.

“This is your choice Andy.” You lay it out in front of him as his nose trails along yours. “Keep me or leave me, it’s up to you.”

“Fuck it…” He whispers, his mouth claiming yours. “I’m keeping you.”

Love Pope? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[slytherin-pen]

You’ve Known Me All Along

pairing: Xaden x Marked!Reader

word count: 3.8k

tags: no use of y/n, 1st person, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, foster sister Imogen, set during FW

a/n: written for the Rider’s Quadrant Summer Gift Exchange for @we_were_beautiful. i hope you all enjoy! thank you to @ellebellewritesfic for beta reading and @theoppositequeens for the lovely banner!

Read on AO3

Loose strands of hair cling to my skin as I wait in line to cross the parapet. The straps of my rucksack are digging into my shoulders, and the only thing saving my skin from irritation is the fact that I’m wearing long sleeves. The humidity nearly makes me regret that decision, but I quickly remind myself why I’m not wearing a shirt better suited for the weather.

I’m marked. Labeled. Branded as the child of a traitor by a black relic that starts at my collarbone and winds down my arm.

I went back and forth on whether I should cover it up or wear it proudly like the others. Like Imogen. But I’m not as thick-skinned as she is, and we don’t know whether we’ll be together or not. I don’t know anything about what it’s been like for the others since they’ve arrived here. I don’t know who’s alive or dead. I’m walking into a wolf’s den completely blind, and because of that, I decided to hide my relic for the time being. Candidates and riders try to kill each other for the fun of it or over petty squabbles as is—I don’t need to give them any more of a reason to try to kill me.

Despite the sweltering heat of the summer morning, the wind is blowing strong enough that I’ve seen a few candidates crossing waving their arms frantically and crouching down as they're almost blown over. It’s going to rain soon. I mentally curse the gods. As if crossing this death bridge isn’t going to be hard as is.

After the line moves some more, I watch as it starts as a sprinkle, before rain begins to smack onto the stone floors of the turret and parapet, and the once clear sky turns grey and foggy, ruining any chance of visibility. I cringe as a candidate immediately tumbles over the edge.

“Well, that’s just great,” Rhiannon grumbles from in front of me. I met her on the staircase leading up to the turret. She has high cheekbones and an oval face, with dark skin and warm brown eyes, and her hair is woven into several rows of braids that end at the back of her neck. I also met Dylan—blond, muscular, and far too excited to be here. The small talk with them was a welcome distraction as we trudged up the stairs, but ever since the parapet came into view, we’ve fallen into uneasy silence.

Until now.

“If I were a superstitious woman, I’d say this is not a good sign,” I joke.

Rhiannon snorts. “No kidding.”

“Keep your negativity to yourself,” Dylan chimes in ahead of Rhiannon. “I have a promise to keep,” he says, patting his chest, the ring glinting off the chain around his neck. The ring is for the girl he plans to propose to when he graduates. I couldn’t help the burn of emotions that climbed up my throat when he first told us. It must be nice to think about a future with someone. Or a future at all. The chances of me making it out of Basgiath alive, especially once everyone finds out I’m marked, are zero to none.

“Sorry,” I mumble. I force a smile, though if Rhiannon’s face is anything to go by, it isn’t very convincing. I muster up the most encouraging tone I can while staring at my likely imminent death. “We’re going to be fine. We’re going to cross the parapet, become riders, and bond dragons.”

“That’s the spirit!” Rhiannon cheers, and Dylan shoots me a grateful smile.

To my dismay, the line shuffles forward some more. We’ve now reached the gaping hole in the wall that they call an entrance, and as more of the parapet comes into view, so do three riders. One with cut-off sleeves and a scroll writes down candidates' names as they step out onto the parapet. Another with a short mohawk speaks to Dylan, but the rain makes it too difficult to understand what he’s saying. The third one has his back toward me, but all that does is allow me to gawk unabashedly. He’s tall and sculpted like the statues put on display in the temples. His black shirt clings to broad shoulders and arms that stretch the fabric just enough to make me wonder how it hasn’t torn at the seams. His biceps curve beneath the sleeves in a way that makes my mouth go dry, especially with his arms crossed, forearms flexed like he’s barely restraining something dangerous beneath the surface.

I always knew riders had to be strong, fast, and lethal. But somehow, in all my time imagining death at the hands of dragons, enemies, or the very stones of the parapet—I never considered they’d be this attractive.

I try to shake the thought from my head, force my gaze somewhere—anywhere—else. But then he turns, and my brain comes to a halt.

He’s still him, and yet… not. The same midnight hair and dark, expressive brows. The same chiseled jawline and onyx eyes threaded with flecks of gold, like sunlight reflecting off glass. But now a diagonal scar cuts through his left brow and ends just at the curve of his cheekbone—sharp, striking, and far too handsome to make sense. He’s broader, too. All grown out of the seventeen-year-old boy I remember, and into something devastating.

He looks like a man now.

I eventually regain my senses and snap my head away from him, acting as if the stone wall around us is the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen in hopes of saving myself from any embarrassment. That plan fails spectacularly when Rhiannon turns toward me, clearly noticing the change in my behavior.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Uh—yep,” I nod, still facing the wall and avoiding her gaze. “I just, um, think it's best I don't look out there for longer than I have to, you know? Might psych myself out.”

I still can’t see her face, but I imagine her eyes narrowing as she scrutinizes me. “Sure,” she drawls. “Whatever you say.”

I sigh and mentally apologize to the gods I previously cursed, and thank them for giving me the mercy of her not pushing the subject.

My attention is snagged when Dylan says, “See you two on the other side!” over his shoulder with an excited grin, before stepping onto the parapet with his arms spread wide.

“Ready for the next one, Riorson?” the rider with cut-off sleeves asks.

I swallow and tear my gaze away from the front again. Okay, it’s definitely him. Not that I needed further evidence, but now I have it anyway. He’s not some figment of my imagination—he’s really there, only a few feet away from me. I haven’t seen him in five years.

I’m not sure how he’ll react, and maybe a small part of me is afraid to find out. It’s not that I wanted him to lay awake at night missing me—that would be weird—but if he had forgotten me completely…

I square my shoulders. It’s fine if he has. Sure, finding out one of my closest friends doesn’t remember me would hurt, but it’s fine. He’s a busy boy—man. And I’m not here for friends anyways. I’m here because I have to be, lest I want all of my friends murdered like cattle. Xaden, Imogen, and the others likely have their own groups and their own lives that they’ve created here now. If I survive Parapet and the next few months, I’ll build mine too.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s something I learned from my mother as a child. I used to overthink and overreact, my emotions a wild beast that couldn’t be tamed until her soothing voice trickled into my ears. Save today’s problems for today, and send tomorrow’s problems away—her mantra still echoes in my mind.

I stomp down on the grief that slithers in, unwelcome and cold. I can’t afford to think about my mom right now. Or my dad. Or the people who work at this very college who took them from me—because if I do, instead of crossing the parapet, I might just jump off.

The back of my neck tingles, and I rub ‌it without thinking. When I glance up, Xaden is staring right at me. His brows furrowed, his dark eyes scanning my face as though he recognizes me but can’t place from where. His mouth parts, like he’s about to say something—but a scream cuts through the air.

Both of us snap our heads toward the sound just in time to see Dylan slip.

I gasp, my hand shooting to cover my mouth.

He catches himself, hooking his arms over the stone bridge as his feet kick beneath him, scrambling for purchase that isn’t there.

“Pull yourself up, Dylan!” Rhiannon shouts.

I cup my hands around my mouth and yell, “You can do it! Try to swing your leg up!”

But it’s all for naught. Dylan loses his grip on the slippery stone and falls, disappearing from view. The wind and rain muffle any sound he might make in the valley below, along with the strangled cry that slips past my lips.

I can feel Xaden’s gaze back on me, but I can’t look away from where Dylan is supposed to be. Rhiannon’s voice cuts in and out as she gives her name to the rider keeping tally at the opening to the parapet. My hands shake, and I clench them into fists to hide the signs of my fear and shock. Dylan is dead. Dylan, who has a girlfriend waiting for him to graduate so he can get down on one knee and propose to her. A girlfriend who now will be without the love of her life. Dylan wanted to be here, and now he is dead. What does that mean for someone like me? A marked one who either tries to join the Rider’s Quadrant or causes every marked one to be executed. It could be considered motivation, I suppose. But right now it feels a lot more like an omen.

Rhiannon grips both sides of the opening in the turret, then she looks over her shoulder at me. “I’ll wait for you on the other side,” she shouts over the storm. The fear in her eyes mirrors my own.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” I repeat with a nod. I don’t even try to force a smile. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

She steps out onto the parapet and begins walking. I send a quick prayer to Zinhal to spare my only surviving new friend.

“Name?” the rider at the edge asks as his partner holds a cloak over the scroll in a fruitless attempt to keep it dry.

I answer as thunder cracks above me and can barely suppress my flinch. If the rider makes any comment about my name or my family, I don’t hear it. I’ve always hated storms. They’re more tolerable now that I’m older, but sometimes, especially in moments like this, I still feel like the little girl who would run to my parents’ bedroom to sleep with them. I always feared the worst. Trees flying into our house, the wind ripping off our roof, lightning striking us and killing us instantly—the list goes on. But no matter the scenario my mind conjured, I’d decided if I was going to meet my end, I could at least face it in the arms of my parents.

A shudder runs through my body as I approach the opening. I convince myself, and hopefully everyone watching me, that it’s because of the wind.

Ahead of me, Rhiannon is making her way across, her hands out for balance. She looks like she’s a quarter of the way through, her figure becoming blurrier the farther she walks into the rain.

I close my eyes and take another deep breath. I can do this. I will do this because I’ll be damned if I give these Navarrian assholes another reason to spit on my family’s name.

I take a single step up onto the parapet and grip the stone wall as another gust of wind hits, knocking me sideways against the opening of the turret.

“And you think you’ll be able to ride a dragon?” the candidate behind me mocks.

I bite my cheek as heat rises up my cheeks. So much for not embarrassing my family’s name. I regain my balance and yank the straps of my pack tighter.

“Name?” the rider with the scroll asks again, but I know he’s not talking to me.

“Jack Barlowe,” the one behind me answers. “Remember the name. I’m going to be a wingleader one day.”

I can’t help but scoff at that. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like he could hear me over the wind.

“You’d better get going,” Xaden’s deep voice orders.

I look at him over my shoulder in confusion. I don’t remember them rushing anyone else.

“Unless you need a little motivation?” Jack taunts as he lunges toward me, arms raised.

Oh shit. He’s actually going to try to kill me already. I move instantly. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. I try to remember all the times I practiced with Imogen and the advice she gave. Our foster parents weren’t kind enough to offer us any help or hire anyone else to do it, probably hoping the quadrant would just get rid of us vermin for them. But Imogen is stubborn and resourceful. She gathered materials from around the house and the market, and built us an obstacle course to practice on. I stick my arms out and take tiny steps just like Imogen taught me to do on the balancing beam made out of pieces of plywood and stacks of stone to raise it off the ground. But with the wind, the rain, and about a two-hundred feet difference from the height of our balance beam, I’m not sure how much it’s really going to help. I squeeze my core as I lock my center of gravity, keeping my posture upright.

The stone beneath my boots tilts ever so slightly, slick with rain and worn smooth by decades of terrified footfalls. I keep my eyes locked on the stones ahead, arms outstretched. Wind tears at my braid and bites into my cheeks, and I force my body to stay still, stay balanced, stay calm. One step. Then another.

I hear panicked shouting behind me, but I don’t look back. That’s rule number one up here. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. Don’t hesitate.

But then the hair on the back of my neck raises. My instincts scream, and I can’t help myself—I glance over my shoulder.

Jack Barlowe has his back to me. Against my better judgment, I linger, watching him. My head tilts, confusion pricking at me as I try to figure out what he’s doing. He’s facing the wrong way.

Maybe he chickened out. It wouldn’t be surprising—men with that level of arrogance are often all talk, then run with their tails tucked between their legs.

I huff a quiet laugh to myself and start to turn away before I realize what Jack is doing.

The man behind him—a wiry, nervous-looking candidate with an oversized rucksack—is trembling where he stands, arms windmilling as he tries to keep balance. Jack doesn’t offer help. He grabs the candidate by the straps like he’s taking out the trash. And then he throws him.

The man screams. It cuts off so quickly it feels like a punch to the chest. One moment he’s there, struggling to regain balance, the next—gone. Swallowed whole by the valley below.

My stomach turns. My lungs seize.

Holy shit.

“You’re next!”

The words ring out like a death knell. My head snaps up, and Jack is pointing at me, eyes wild, mouth twisted into a smile so full of hate it makes my blood run cold. Then he moves.

Fast.

“Shit—” I breathe and start moving again, faster now, nearly slipping on the next stone as my boot skids against the wet surface.

The wind roars louder as I pick up speed, arms out, one quick step at a time. I tilt and wobble, the weight of my pack and the strength of the wind nearly knocking me over. I’m not even halfway yet, and Rhiannon is long gone. My breath comes in fast, short pants as I try to pick up speed without dooming myself. Why did I have to get put in front of the psycho?

“Don’t make this harder on yourself!” Jack’s voice booms behind me, closer than it should be. I risk another look. He’s chasing now and moving at an impossible speed. Like he doesn’t care if he falls, so long as he takes me with him.

I reach a broken piece of parapet where the stone dips lower, the edge crumbling just slightly. It forces me to slow—just for a second—but it’s enough. Jack lunges.

His hand brushes the back of my shirt, fingers curling into fabric.

I twist, letting the momentum carry me into a pivot. My elbow flies back and connects with his ribs. It’s a clumsy hit, but enough to make him grunt and recoil half a step.

“You bitch,” he snarls.

“Back off!” I snap, spinning forward again.

This time, I lengthen my stride. It’s the exact opposite of what Imogen taught me to do. Staying as small and tight as possible would give the best chance at balancing, but the risk of falling doesn’t matter if I let Jack catch up to me again and kill me.

My nostrils burn with every inhale, and nausea forms a ball in my throat, but I keep pushing. I can still hear Jack taunting me, but his voice sounds more distant now. My next step knocks a piece of mortar loose, and I pause as my arms windmill until I regain balance. I take a deep breath before continuing.

I can see the Rider’s Quadrant from here.

“Come on, come on,” I whisper like a prayer. My chest burns, lungs gasping for air, muscles on fire.

I bite back a sob of relief as stone rises up on both sides of me.

“You think you’ll be safe in there?” Jack’s voice is harsh…and close.

Secure on both sides by the walls, I run the last ten feet, my heart pounding as adrenaline pushes my body to its max, and his footsteps charge behind me. He lunges for my pack and misses, his hand hitting my hip as we reach the edge. I hurtle forward, jumping the twelve inches off the elevated parapet down to the courtyard, where two riders wait.

Jack roars in frustration, and the sound grips my heaving chest like a vise.

Spinning, I rip a dagger from its sheath at my ribs just as Jack skids to a halt above me on the parapet, his breath choppy and his face ruddy. Murder is etched in his narrowed, glacial blue eyes as he glares down at me…and where the tip of my dagger now indents the fabric of his breeches—against his balls.

“I think. I’ll be safe. For right. Now,” I manage between ragged breaths, my muscles trembling but my hand more than steady.

“Will you?” Jack vibrates with rage, his thick blond brows slashing down over arctic blue eyes, every line of his monstrous frame leaning my way. But he doesn’t take another step.

“It is unlawful for a rider to cause another harm. While in a quadrant formation or in the supervisory. Presence of a superior-ranking cadet,” I recite from the Codex I read and reread to fill the time after Imogen left. “As it will diminish the efficacy of the wing. And given the crowd behind us, I think it’s clear to argue that it’s a formation. Article Three, Section—”

“I don’t give a shit!” He moves, but I hold my ground, and my dagger slices through the first layer of his breeches.

“I suggest you reconsider.” I adjust my stance just in case he doesn’t. “I might slip.”

“Name?” the rider next to me drawls, as if we’re the least interesting thing she’s seen today. I glance in her direction for a millisecond. She pushes the chin-length, fire-red strands of her hair behind her ear with one hand and holds the roll with the other, watching the scene play out.

I answer curtly, keeping my eyes on my opponent.

“And what’s your name?” she asks Jack this time.

“Jack. Barlowe.” There’s no sinister little smile on his lips or playful taunts about how he’ll enjoy killing me now. There’s nothing but pure malice in his features, promising retribution.

A chill of apprehension lifts the hairs on my neck.

“Well, Jack,” the male rider on my right says slowly, scratching the trim lines of his dark goatee. He’s not wearing a cloak, and the rain soaks into the bevy of patches stitched into a worn leather jacket. “She has you by the actual balls here, in more ways than one. She’s right. Regs state that there’s nothing but respect among riders at formation. You want to kill her, you’ll have to do it in the sparring ring or on your own time. That is, if she decides to let you off the parapet. Because technically, you’re not on the grounds yet, so you are not a cadet. She is.”

“And if I decide to snap her neck the second I step down?” Jack growls, and the look in his eyes says he’ll do it.

“Then you get to meet the dragons early,” the redhead answers, her tone bland. “We don’t wait for trials around here. We just execute.”

“What’s it going to be?” the male rider asks. “You going to have Jack here start as a eunuch?”

Shit. What is it going to be? I can’t kill him, not at this angle, and slicing off his balls is only going to make him hate me more, if possible.

“Are you going to follow the rules?” I ask Jack.

My head is buzzing, and my arm feels so damned heavy, but I keep my knife on target.

“Guess I don’t have a choice.” A corner of his mouth tilts into a sneer, and his posture relaxes as he raises his hands, palms out.

I lower my dagger but keep it palmed and ready as I move sideways, toward the redhead keeping roll.

Jack steps down into the courtyard, his shoulder knocking mine as he walks by, pausing to lean in close. “You’re dead, and I’m going to be the one to kill you.”

[bitemexox]

💀 Erik Campbell x Fem!Reader : Final Destination Bloodlines.

erik campbell x fem!reader .

word count : tba

summary : you and erik have been together for a little over two months, you met him at the tattoo parlor when you went in with one of your friends. she was getting a tattoo and you were just there for moral support. he didn't know what attracted himself to you but he asked you for your number after he finished tattooing your friend and from that point on you two have been together but not intimately. sure you've made out here and there but it's never gone further than that, maybe because you were nervous since you were a virgin and he was for sure more experienced than you, until one day the two of you are at your apartment relaxing and one thing leads to the next...

warnings : 18+ content - MINORS DNI , virgin!reader , fingering, mentions of prince albert piercing, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) , slight overstimulation , cursing.

author's note : this was another lovely suggestion that I was more than happy to write, so thank you to @hazelrain82 for the suggestion. I hope you and everybody else enjoys reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it! If anyone has anymore requests my DMs are open and available. I can make your wildest plots come true so hit me up! also I have no clue if there are any spelling errors I did the rest of this half asleep.

Finally both you and Erik had a day off, Normally he's a bit too busy at the tattoo parlor and doesn't get home till late and you sometimes have to stay back in the office for much longer then you plan to and the both of you just end up tired at the end of the night. Your schedules this week lined up well though, You both had the whole weekend off which was surprising for Erik since sometimes his boss is a bit of an asshole and makes him go into work on his days off.

As for your job you normally have to do some work from home on the weekends but this weekend they gave you it completely off which was heaven sent because you were tired from the 40 hours you reached this week from your in person shifts. Now it left both you and Erik in your apartment getting to do your hobbies that you seemingly never have time for. Erik sat on the soft bouncy couch that he helped you pick out when you first moved in. You sat next to him with your legs splayed out over top of his lap.

His eyes were focused on the TV while your eyes were trained on the words that were written in the book you were reading. It was a book your friend had suggested you to read but it wasn't one you'd typically pick up on your own. It was a rather spicy book, A mafia boss kidnapping the main female character and forcing her to be his wife. Yeah definitely something you would never read but it was getting interesting.

It had come to a part in the story where the two main characters of the story were getting hot and heavy. Your cheeks flushing as you read the words on the pages, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip gently as you nibbled on the skin. You've only ever read about sexual encounters but have never gone all the way with your boyfriend and he never pressured you into either.

The two of you had been together for a little over two months and have only gotten as far as making out, his hands would roam your body occasionally. gripping your hips, rubbing your thighs but never ever more than that. In your mind you were rather thankful that he never tried to do more because you hadn't told him you were a virgin and it was something you were dreading having to tell him. NOT that it's a bad thing you were just embarrassed to tell him since he was so obviously more experienced than you were when it came to that type of thing.

You seemed to have been so lost in thought that you hadn't noticed Erik had been talking to you for the past 5 minutes "huh?" you questioned as your eyes shifted from the daze you were in up to his blue ones that were staring at you intently "welcome back to earth babe." he says jokingly as his hand rubbed at your calf in a gentle slow motion that had your abnormally tense body immediately relaxing.

"I was asking what you wanted to do for dinner today, Maybe pizza or chinese food?" He asked moving his hands to grip both your legs and pull your body ever so slightly closer to his in a swift movement. "Oh- I'm good with chinese food." You say nodding your head slowly and steadily before letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding in until the sigh slipped past your lips.

"What's on your mind?" He seemed a bit concerned, a look of worry in his eyes like he was afraid you were about to rip his heart out and stomp on it but little did he know it was just you thinking about how you were going to take that next step with him. "Nothing- It's not important right now." you say offering him a smile to hopefully ease his thoughts but he seemed a bit more puzzled. You placed your smaller hand over top one of his hands that was just absent-mindedly squeezing at your bare thigh now.

"You just seem like your conflicted." He says with almost a puppy dog look on his face now and that right there made you feel bad for not telling him. Letting out another sigh you closed your eyes for a moment and reopened them to look him in the eye once more ready to rip the bandage right off and tell him what was troubling you. "I'm a virgin-" you blurt out pretty fast that you weren't sure if he even heard you correctly but judging by the look on his face that seemed just a bit shocked and almost relieved at the same time made it obvious that he heard you.

"Where'd that come from?" He smiled at you gently, It was a smile that many people didn't get to see often since he was always walking around with a carefree brooding attitude but when the two of you were alone he always showed his softer and sweeter side to you. "Just this book that one of my friends lent me to read, It was getting hot and heavy and it made me realize we haven't had sex yet and you've been so patient with me and-" before you could finish your sentence his lips were placed against your plump ones in an instant.

Your shoulders fell as you practically melted into the kiss, his hand slid from your thigh, up your hip and towards your cheek where he cupped it gently. His body leaning over yours ever so slightly as your lips molded together like they were made for each other. Contrary to his exterior Erik was quite the softy at least whenever it came to you. He always made sure you got what you wanted even when times are tough and that's what you loved so much about him. He was caring and understanding and you felt deep down in your heart that you were ready to give yourself to him.

After a moment of your lips just slowly and carefully moving together, he pulled away. It gave you a moment to breath as you felt your cheeks heating up, probably a bright shade of red right now as you grabbed his hand in yours and gave it a gentle squeeze "I want to do it." You said shyly as your eyes looked from his that were intensely staring at you down to your hand that was gripping his.

"Are you sure you're ready princess?" He questions and before you could dwell on it much longer you nod your head once more eagerly "Yes- I love you so much and I trust you, Just be gentle." You almost whisper the last part but he caught on to it, leaning towards you once more he placed a soft peck on the skin of your left cheek "I promise I'll be so gentle." he said as he placed his hands on your hips and pulled your body on to his lap.

Your legs were straddling him now, your knees pressed against the couch as your arms instinctively wrapped around Erik's neck and not a moment was wasted cause his lips were back on to yours in a heartbeat. This time it felt a little more eager, more hot, like if he didn't kiss you now you were going to leave him forever and never return but that wasn't the case.

His hands pushed your hips a teensy tiny bit closer to him causing your clothed core to rub against his semi-hard cock. That small action had the both of you making sounds against each other's lips. It was unlike anything you felt before, sure you've touched yourself but getting to feel your boyfriends cock pressing against your core was already driving you crazy in the best way possible and you could tell it was having the same effect on Erik.

His lips grew hungrier, The kiss was only growing more intense as you tried to keep up with his pace. It was like you switched something inside of his brain that was altering his behavior. Your teeth were practically clashing against each other as he continued to move his lips against yours. Coming to a point where you had to tap him on the shoulder to signal that you needed to pull back for some air.

When your lips detached from his, he quickly trailed them down your jawline and even lower towards your neck. A trail of wet opened mouth kisses followed in the wake of his lips. Your head tilting to the side to give him better access to your skin "ouch-" you pouted playfully when he had bit down on your neck but it was followed by a soft quiet gasped as he licked and sucked on the skin being sure he left his mark on you.

His fingertips glided under the fabric of your shirt as he came in contact with your bare skin, The feeling made goosebumps form on your skin and a chill ran down your spine. They kept trailing higher and higher until his hands were cupping your perky breasts in his large hands. A soft moan slipping past your parted lips as it felt so good to have him touching you so intimately.

Feeling your panties start to grow damp with the neediness you felt for Erik, Only making you unintentionally grind your hips against his once more causing him to groan against your neck while his hands continued to massage at your breasts tenderly. He was being so gentle like you were a porcelain doll that he was afraid that he would end up breaking.

"I'm gonna get you prepped, pretty girl." He said with a smile as his leaned back slightly, putting a small space between the two of you, The pet names he always calls you makes you feel loved and shy at the same time. "O-Okay." you stutter out shyly and he places a reassuring peck on your lips before he slide his hands back down your sides, running them across your stomach until they slid into the waistband of the pajama shorts you were wearing.

He carefully tugged them down, Watching how you reacted to him just to make sure he wasn't doing anything to make you uncomfortable. He wanted you to feel like the queen that he believed you were, he was going to worship every single part of your body. You helped him get them off, lifting one of your legs just a bit so he can stretch the clothing piece off one side before the other side was much easier to remove. It left you feeling vulnerable with just your panties on, almost grateful you were wearing underwear that made it difficult for him to see the obvious wet patch from your slick even though in just moments he was gonna be feeling exactly how your body was reacting to him.

His hands gripped the hem of your shirt next, pulling it slowly and carefully over your head before tossing it on to the floor by the couch. Erik's eyes skimmed across every single inch of your body, leaving a trail of flames wherever his blue eyes looked. Biting your body limp you instinctively moved your arms to cover your chest but he was quick to stop you from doing that, his hands wrapped around your wrists. "You're so perfect, never cover yourself when you're in front of me." He whispered softly against your shoulder as he left a loving kiss there.

How was it that you got so lucky to be with someone like him, His tough cookie look was just a ploy for the soft teddy bear that he truly was. If he ever knew you thought these things you were pretty sure he'd prove you the opposite but since it is your first time after all you know he's just trying to take it slow... for now.

He guided your hands down to uncover your chest, you were still wearing your cherry print bra so that was just another obstacle that Erik was quick to overcome. One of his hands let go of your wrist and slid to your back where he quite skillfully unclasped your bra with one hand. You were impressed to say the least though you didn't want to know how many girls he's done that trick to. Your thoughts were really threatening to ruined the moment but you lost that train of thought when his mouth was on your right breast.

Your bra had been tossed to the floor with your shirt while you had been lost in thought and you hadn't even realized until that moment that his warm tongue was swirling around your hardened nipple. His free hand moved to your other breast, massaging the tender mound while his mouth paid so much attention to your other one.

A soft quiet moan was the sound that left your parted lips, Your hand moved to the back of his head slowly and gently tugging on his hair as he playfully nipped at your skin. "Erik-" you whined breathlessly as he sucked on your nipple like his life depended on it. You felt lost in a daze, your body feeling like it was floating and he hadn't even touched you yet.

After giving your other breast equal attention with his mouth he had moved his finger tips along your side once more, down to your hips and into the front of your panties. The action had your body jolting up in surprise as he used two of his fingers to play with your folds. Your eyes practically rolled to the back of your head, your body wanting to fall limp but he wrapped one of arms around your back to steady you.

"You're already so wet for me sweetheart." He chuckles as he continues to rub against your wet cunt, finger tips teasing your tight hole before he slipped them up to rub your clit in gentle circles. "O-Oh my god-" Was all the words you were able to come up with as you dropped your head onto his shoulder, For some reason his fingers felt better rubbing your clit compared to when you'd masturbate. It was just a whole new feeling.

He didn't halt his movements and trust you didn't want him to, your hips grinding down against his fingers practically begging for more from him. He used his thumb now to massage your clit while he slid one of his long fingers into your hole. "God you're so tight." he groaned as he pumped the first finger into you in slow and steady movements, letting your walls adjust before he was stretching you more now when his second finger pushed into you.

You swore you could see stars in your vision, Your back arching as he pumped in and out.. in and out. The squelching sound that filled your ears each time he did that, His thumb still working it's magic on your clit. It all felt so amazing that you felt your climax already about to hit you like a truck, the butterflies fluttering against your rib cage so hard that you knew you were going to burst any second now.

And that you did, feeling your walls clench around his two fingers making his movements halt. Your body shaking in his grasp with your head thrown back as you let out a moan so loud that you were sure the neighbors could probably hear you.

He smirked as he watched you come down from your high, your juices covered his fingers and he let you relax for a moment before he took them out of your cunt and brought them to his lips licking at your cum that covered his fingers making sure he cleaned them up completely not leaving any bit behind. He made everything look so hot. "You taste like heaven." he chuckled and leaned forwards to place his lips against yours, letting you get a little taste of yourself as he kissed you more gently this time.

After a minute he pulled back and cupped your cheeks in his hands, His eyes that were normally a brighter blue were more of a deeper shade of blue now. They were filled with lust for you and you could tell just how much he wanted you "You're 100 percent sure you're ready for this right?" He asked and you nodded your head "Yes. I need you." Those words were enough to have Erik ripping your panties off completely, You were grateful you weren't wearing your favorite pair cause that would be pretty disappointing right now.

You gasped as what remained of your underwear joined the rest of your clothes, His hands moving to unbuckle his belt and undo the loop of his jeans "Stand up for a second darling." He said and you obliged, shimmying your body off of his lap as he tugged his pants down with his boxers following almost instantly. Your eyes watched as his dick pretty much slapped against his stomach, a little shine of something on the tip of his dick immediately caught your attention.

"Is that-" you didn't finish your sentence because the sound of Erik's soft chuckle made you lose composure "A Prince Albert piercing." He said as he wrapped his hand around the base of his length and stroked it slowly, your mouth opened and closed like a fish. You didn't even know he had that piercing and you thought you would have felt it the few times you two dry humped but NO you were shocked in the best way possible.

"Will that hurt?" You questioned as you tilt your head in slight concern, You were beyond nervous now. Not only because he looked even bigger now that he wasn't wearing his jeans but this newly found piercing he never told you about had you wondering just how he was going to fit inside of you.

"The piercing will give you so much pleasure baby but at first it might hurt a little for you to adjust to my size." He said and stopped stroking his cock to grab at your hips once again, pulling you back down on to his lap. Nibbling on your bottom lip in anticipation as he placed another kiss on your shoulder "I'm letting you be on top so you can slowly sink down at your own pace."

He was always so thoughtful, you just smiled over at him and allowed him to guide your body just a bit so that you were hovering over his tip. Using one of his hands to position himself at your entrance, teasing your folds on the way until he was poking at your hole again. The cold metal of his piercing pressing into you ever so slightly had your stomach already doing flips.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and gripped on to him lightly, Holding on to him for balance as you shifted your hips down very very slowly and carefully. You could feel his tip stretching you out and just as he said, it did sting a bit once you first began sinking down on to him and you could feel the Prince Albert piercing rubbing against your walls as you sunk down lower and lower. It hurt but the feeling of him finally inside you had you feeling like you were gonna spiral in the best way.

A groan came from Erik as you took more of him and you could tell it was taking everything in him to not flip you on to your back and fuck the living hell out of you until you were screaming his name for the whole apartment complex to hear who was pleasuring you and making you feel good. His head was thrown back against the couch one of his hands gripping on to your hip with his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

His other hand rested on your bare thigh "You're doing so good." He praised and the praise had you feeling a sense of pure satisfaction, giving you the rest of the motivation you need to sink down on to him completely. You were now filled to the brim, he was thick and the feeling of your walls stretching when you moved had tears brimming in your eyes from the slight pain.

You halted your movements, going stiff for a moment as you took a deep breath. Erik lifted one of hands to wipe away a stray tear that dripped down your cheek using his thumb. Your lip was most likely swollen from how hard you were biting down on it and after a moment of silence while Erik let you adjust you had finally made the decision to move your hips up carefully before sinking back down.

You must have been doing something right because Erik had twitched inside of you as he let out another sexy groan that only made you want to please him more. Your hands remained on his shoulders as you began shifting your hips at a slow pace. It was more than enough for Erik, he just wanted to make sure you were comfortable and enjoying this just as much as he was.

"Let me help you a little bit baby." He said and his grip on your hips tightened, there was for sure gonna be finger marks left on your skin where he was gripping you. You had nodded and with your approval he helped guide you up and down on his length with ease, picking up in pace to the point it felt like your world was spinning. The living room was filled with the sounds of your moans mixing with his groans as he thrusted his hips up into you everytime he slowly slid you back down onto his cock.

"F-Fuck." he growled as your walls were slowly beginning to clench around his length, you were oh so close to reaching that peak. "Come on princess, cum on my cock." his words were filthy but they were definitely doing the trick, that knot in your stomach tightened again and your toes curled as you whimpered out his name over and over again, your body trembled in his grasp and your head was thrown back in pure bliss as your substance dripped out of you and covered his length.

His hands were on your hips again, very gently helping guide your body without changing anything still letting you move at your own pace. You were moaning softly, breasts bouncing up and down as you lifted your hips up and slowly dropped back down on to his length. His piercing started hitting that sweet spot deep within you that had you about to cum all over again. "E-Erik. s-good." you managed to say as you picked up your pace, that slight pain from before was all pleasure now. It felt like his cock was made just for you, filling you up so perfectly.

"I'm sorry baby but I'm not done with you just yet." Erik grinned as he pecked your lips, you were still coming down from that high and barely had a second to think before he had you laying on your back against the couch, "You think you can handle it?" he questioned and you stated at him doe eyes "Yes." That was enough for him to thrust harshly into you, his left hand gripped the arm rest of the couch by your head while the other slid underneath your thigh to lift your leg up until your knee was pretty much by your chest.

The new position had him hitting an angle inside of you that was already driving you crazy, getting close to pushing you to that edge AGAIN and you could tell he was getting close to his climax by the way his fast and hard hip movements were becoming more staggered and non-consistent and at this point you didn't care, you wanted him to cum inside you, to fill up your womb with his seed. god you never wanted anything more.

He held his upper body up to the best of his ability while he moved his other hand to press his fingers against your clit, He wanted you to cum again with him and it was overstimulating but none the less you had felt your walls clenching around him again. The erotic sounds of skin slapping was echoing against the walls of your apartment. Your whimpers and his groans being heard as he rubbed your clit a little harder and faster until he stilled inside of you. All of his movements being cut off as he twitched and his warm strings of cum shot straight up into you. Your own body shaking as you came for the third time, feeling the dizziness taking over.

He stayed inside you for a moment as the two of you caught your breath, letting your minds catch up to everything that just happened between the two of you. Truly it was the most memorable and pleasurable experience you've ever had and you got to give your virginity to the person you love and trusted the most. You really couldn't have asked for a better person "I love you." you say and he places a peck on your forehead "I love you more." he says and the two of you just stare at each other until the silence is broken by you.

"so- chinese food?"

[saebyeoksleftfoot]

Love Shouldn't Hurt This Quietly.

Pairings. Kang Sae Byeok x F! Reader

Genre. Angst, Romance (doomed), Drama

Warnings. Violence, death of a major character, smoking, grief, emotional trauma, blood/injuries, unhealthy relationships, & mentions of criminal activity

Triggers. Gun violence, blood loss, emotional abuse, PTSD adjacent behavior, & self blame

Summary. She comes home smelling like smoke, and stops meeting your eyes. You don’t know where she goes at night — only that something’s unraveling between you, quiet and fast. You tell yourself you’ll stop following her. You lie.

A/N. I worked so hard on this fic… I reread it like nine times before posting. 😓

It starts with the cigarette smoke.

Not the kind that clings to strangers or lingers in subway stations — no. It’s the kind that curls behind her like a ghost, a phantom she doesn’t know is following her. Or maybe she does. Sae-byeok never did anything by accident.

You notice it one night when she comes home late — past midnight, cold air on her coat and something sharper in her eyes. You ask if she’s okay. She mutters a quick “fine” without looking at you. You tell yourself it’s just exhaustion. You’re wrong.

she never used to Smell like Smoke.

⸻

You’ve always known she kept things from you.

Some of them made sense — her past, her family, the way she flinched when someone slammed a car door too hard. You never pushed. You thought love meant patience. You thought love meant time.

But lately, time is all you have, and she’s never around to share it.

Nights blur into mornings without her. Your bed is half-cold. You stop asking where she goes, but you start watching her leave. There’s a rhythm to her exits now: a glance over the shoulder, a quiet check of her phone, her jacket zipped all the way to her throat. Like literal armor.

She’s dressing for war, and you’re just the fool making coffee in the kitchen.

⸻

You follow her one night.

You don’t plan it. You tell yourself you’re just taking a walk. You wrap your scarf around your neck, slip into your shoes, and see her just a block ahead — hands in pockets, head low. She moves like someone who’s used to being followed. You stay back anyway.

She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t need to.

She leads you down alleys you’ve never dared to walk alone. Neon signs buzz overhead like dying fireflies. Trash lines the curb. Men smoke in doorways and don’t smile when you pass. The further she goes, the darker it gets.

Until she stops.

A flicker of orange lights her face as she pulls out a cigarette. Just one. Just enough.

You’re far enough to be hidden, close enough to see the edge in her jaw. She’s not scared. She belongs here.

And you — you don’t. Not at all.

⸻

You step out from behind the stack of crates because if you don’t say something now, you never will.

“Sae-byeok.”

She turns before you finish the second syllable. Her eyes flash. Her hand twitches toward her coat — something buried in the lining, maybe a knife. But then she sees it’s you.

And that’s almost worse.

“Are you serious?”

she says, low and cold.

“You followed me?”

You try to smile. It cracks on your face.

“I was worried. Very worried. "

She laughs once. Bitter.

“Don’t be.”

“I’m not stupid, Sae-byeok.”

Your voice shakes. Not from fear. From the weight of knowing.

“You’re hiding something.”

She turns away, like that’ll undo the moment. Like she can disappear into the smoke.

You take a step closer. She doesn’t stop you.

“Where do you go every night?”

you ask.

“Who are you when I’m not looking?”

Her silence is heavy enough to bury a city.

Finally, she says,

“You don’t want to know.”

“But I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Then lie to me better.”

That gets her.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a second, she looks so tired you forget to breathe. There’s blood on her knuckles. Old, dry, but unmistakable. You didn’t notice it before.

She notices you noticing.

And all she says is,

“Go home.”

You shake your head.

“Not until you tell me.”

She steps forward, so close you smell the smoke on her breath — cheap tobacco, not her brand. Someone else’s pack. Someone else’s life.

“I’m not who you think I am,”

she whispers.

“Then show me.”

⸻

She stares at you like that’s the last thing she ever wanted to hear.

And maybe it is.

Because when she turns and walks away, she doesn’t look back.

Not once.

⸻

You wait.

Not just a moment, not just a minute, but hours stretched like cold steel ropes tightening around your chest. Your fingers curl into fists until the nails dig into your palms, and still, you wait.

But she doesn’t come.

The alley swallows her whole, folding her into its shadows and silence. You stand there long after the streetlights flicker and die, after the city noise fades into a distant hum. The night presses in on you, thick and suffocating, but you don’t move.

The ache inside you is sharp and hollow, a twisting knot you can’t untangle. It’s the kind of pain that doesn’t know whether it’s heartbreak or a cruel joke your own mind plays.

You don’t follow her anymore.

Because every time you do, she slips further away — like water slipping through your fingers, cold and unreachable.

You go home alone. The bed is colder than ever.

You curl up with the weight of all the unsaid things pressing down on you like winter snow.

She doesn’t text.

Days pass. The silence stretches and grows like a living thing between you, filling every corner of your life.

⸻

When you finally see her again, the world outside is washed in rain — but it’s not cleansing. It smells like broken promises and regrets.

She’s in the kitchen, shoulders hunched, hair plastered to her face from the rain. Her back is turned, like you don’t exist — like you never mattered.

You swallow the lump rising in your throat and say the only thing you can.

“I waited for you.”

She doesn’t answer.

She only flicks water from her fingers like your words never landed, like they were never meant for her.

You don’t ask where she’s been. You stopped trying to piece together the fragments of her life because every time you do, it feels like you’re prying open a wound that’s already raw.

Instead, you just watch.

The silence grows between you — cold, creeping, and relentless — like mold taking over a forgotten room.

Days blur into nights.

You move through your routines like a ghost.

Passing her in doorways, you stop brushing against her shoulder on purpose — afraid that any touch might shatter what little is left.

You don’t kiss.

You don’t ask questions.

You don’t cry — not out loud.

But inside, the ache is a storm raging wild and uncontrolled.

And then one night, she’s gone again.

Only this time, you don’t stay behind.

You follow.

⸻

The night she slips out, you sit in the kitchen with the lights off, one hand curled around a lukewarm mug of coffee you never actually drank. You hear the door click shut. Soft. No urgency. Like she’s learned how to disappear without noise.

You don’t move at first.

You just sit there, staring into the dark, trying to pretend you didn’t feel it — that specific hollow ache in your chest, the one that opens every time she goes.

But it’s worse this time.

There’s something different in her silence now. Not cold — final.

You set the mug down.

Put your shoes on.

Grab her spare jacket — the one that smells like smoke and wind and something heartbreakingly familiar.

You tell yourself this is the last time you’ll follow her. You lie.

⸻

She moves like someone who’s memorized every alley in this city. Every shortcut. Every escape route. She doesn’t look back. She doesn’t have to. She doesn't need to.

You keep your distance. Just far enough not to be noticed, just close enough to still feel her presence.

You trail her through side streets choked with neon and rain. The kind of place where the wrong look can get you buried. The kind of silence that means things happen here that don’t get spoken of later.

Then she stops.

An alley. Dimly lit, half-flooded with puddles that reflect the sick yellow glow of a dying streetlamp.

You hang back in the shadows, behind a dumpster that reeks of old cigarettes and something worse. The stink catches in your throat, but you hold your breath.

She’s already talking to someone.

A man.

Not one of the clean-cut suits you’d see in front-page headlines or the ones on billboards. This one looks like he’s stepped out of a prison and never really left. Thick hands. A face like wet concrete. Eyes that don’t blink enough.

They don’t shake hands.

They exchange something smaller — a package, maybe. A wad of cash.

He says something that makes her flinch. Not visibly — but you know her well enough to see it.

You can’t hear the words, but you feel the weight of them.

She looks different here.

Not scared. Worse. Resigned.

Like whatever she’s doing isn’t a choice anymore — just a consequence.

The man turns and leaves.

You don’t step out right away. You want to. You want to scream her name. Shake her. Tell her you love her and hate her and that she doesn’t get to do this to you. Not again.

But instead, you step out slow. Like walking into a fire.

She turns.

And freezes.

The way her mouth goes still — it’s not shock. It’s dread. Like she was hoping this was the one night she could disappear without leaving a piece of herself behind.

“Are you insane?”

she hisses, already walking toward you.

“Are you following me now?”

You’re not ready for how angry she sounds. Not sad. Not guilty. Angry.

You don’t answer. You just stare.

“You shouldn’t be here,”

she says.

“This place… these people…”

Her voice trails off like it’s too late for warnings.

You step toward her.

She backs up. Not because she’s afraid of you — because she doesn’t want you close enough to see the truth.

“Who was that?”

you ask.

She shakes her head.

“Go home.”

“No.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Your voice rises, sharper than you meant.

“I want to know what’s going on. What the hell are you involved in?”

Her face hardens. You see the wall go up behind her eyes.

“That’s none of your business.”

You laugh, but it comes out hollow.

“Are you kidding me?”

“That’s the problem,”

she snaps.

“You think everything I do has to pass through you. Like I owe you an explanation.”

You feel the words before they land.

A pulse in your jaw. A crack across your ribs.

She’s not done.

“You think just because I come home sometimes — sleep next to you, let you hold me — that it means you get to ask questions? That you get damn answers?”

Your throat tightens. You don’t want to cry here. Not in front of her. Not like this.

“Then what are we?”

you ask, quiet now.

“What am I?”

Her eyes waver. Just for a second.

And then she says it. Like a curse. Like the only way to save you is to push you away so hard you won’t come back.

“A mistake.”

The air leaves your lungs all at once.

She says it with a steady voice, but her hands are clenched at her sides. She won’t look at you.

You step back.

One. Two. Three steps.

Like maybe if you move far enough away, it’ll hurt less.

She watches you go. Doesn’t follow.

But before you disappear, you hear her voice again — softer now, not meant to carry.

“I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t turn around.

Because if you do, you might run to her. You might forgive her too easily. And this time, you need to feel it.

You need to bleed a little too.

⸻

She shows up again two nights later.

No warning. No knock. Just the sound of the lock turning and the door creaking open like it forgot how to move. You don’t rush to greet her. You’re sitting on the floor of the living room, surrounded by the kind of silence that makes your skin crawl.

And then — she’s in the doorway.

Wet. Pale. Shaking.

There’s blood on her sleeve.

She’s limping.

You don’t think. You move.

You catch her before she hits the floor, her body collapsing into yours with a weight that feels too heavy for someone so small. Her breath is shallow. Her jacket’s soaked through, torn at the hem. The blood’s not gushing — but it’s hers. That’s enough to make your stomach twist.

She doesn’t look at you.

She doesn’t need to.

She’s already crying.

⸻

You clean the wound in silence. Not her silence — yours. She doesn’t speak, but she lets you touch her. Lets you slide her jacket off, tug the sleeve up, press warm cloth to torn skin.

She hisses once, low and sharp, but says nothing else.

You can feel the apology trembling under her skin, trying to come out.

You don’t ask for it.

Instead, you wrap the bandage tighter than it needs to be. Not to hurt her — just to remind her she’s still here. Still real. Still yours, even if only for this breath, this second.

You want to scream at her. Shout at her. To ask her why is she doing this.

Instead, you hold her.

She sleeps on the couch, curled up like a question mark. Arms wrapped around herself. Head tucked against a pillow she doesn’t deserve.

You sit on the floor beside her. Watch the rise and fall of her chest. Listen to her mumble in her sleep, quiet murmurs you don’t understand.

She wakes once, suddenly, gasping.

Calls out a name that isn’t yours.

Then she sees you — and for a moment, just one, her whole face softens. Like she doesn’t know if she’s dreaming or dying.

You touch her shoulder. She flinches.

Then she grabs your wrist like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth.

And you stay like that. Until her grip loosens.

Until her eyes close again.

Until the storm in her body quiets.

⸻

In the morning, she speaks.

Her voice is rough. Not from sleep — from living wrong too long.

“My brother’s in danger,”

she says.

You don’t say anything. Just sit at the kitchen table with your hands curled around a cup of coffee you don’t want.

“I’m gonna buy him out,”

she adds, like it’s that simple.

You look at her.

“From where?”

She doesn’t answer.

“How much?”

Silence again.

You reach for her hand across the table. She flinches — but doesn’t pull away.

“You could’ve told me.”

“No,”

she says, eyes low.

“I couldn’t.”

You hate how gentle her voice is. How much it still makes you want to forgive her.

“Why not?”

She looks up.

And finally — finally — you see the truth written in her face, stark and ugly.

“Because if I told you, you’d try to help. And if you helped, you’d end up dead.”

You blink once. Twice.

Her hand is still in yours, but it feels a thousand miles away.

She looks down again. Whispers,

“I’d rather be hated than be the reason you don’t come home.”

You don’t say anything after that.

What is there to say?

Some people say “I love you” with flowers or kisses or whispered confessions in bed.

She says it by cutting you open and walking away from the mess she made.

⸻

She leaves again that night. Doesn’t say where she’s going.

You don’t stop her.

But you do what you always do.

You follow

⸻

You follow her deeper into the night.

This time, you know better than to trail too close. You keep your distance — one block, maybe two — ducking behind cars that were parked, broken fences that no one cares to fix, the skeleton of a bus stop with shattered glass clinging to its frame.

She moves like someone who’s already made peace with disappearing. Head low. Steps fast. She doesn’t look back once.

You hate how well she knows how to vanish.

The meeting spot isn’t a club, or a warehouse, or a backroom with a curtain.

It’s a rooftop.

Concrete. Exposed. Lit by nothing but the orange glow of city haze and one flickering neon sign from the convenience store below that's probably not even open any more. It casts her in red and sickly white.

You watch from across the street, crouched on the roof of an old apartment complex. Rusted railing. Wind rattling some forgotten soda can near your foot.

She’s not alone.

Three men this time. None of them familiar.

They don’t shake hands.

She hands over a bag — probably cash. She doesn’t flinch when they open it, count it right there like they don’t trust her.

You see one of them nod. Another hands her a phone.

She listens.

Her jaw tightens. Her shoulders lift. You know her well enough to know she doesn’t like what she hears — but she accepts it anyway.

Then something shifts.

One of them steps closer. Says something you can’t hear.

She stiffens.

His hand brushes her arm — not violently, just… wrong. Familiar in a way he hasn’t earned.

And that’s when she moves. Grabs his wrist. Pushes him back.

Fast.

That’s when everything explodes.

Gunfire.

A sharp crack, sudden and brutal — but it doesn’t hit anyone yet. A warning.

One of the men yells,

“Run!”

The others shout the same, urgent and loud.

Two of the men immediately scramble to escape.

One man rushes toward the edge of the rooftop, eyes darting as he leaps across to the neighboring roof, landing hard and scrambling to find footingw.

The second man bolts toward the stairwell, glancing back as if unsure whether to fight or flee.

The rooftop becomes a battlefield.

Only the third man remains. Those two were probably just minionrs.

He traps her.

His voice cuts through the chaos — sharp, low, threatening.

His hand reaches out, aiming to grab her arm.

She stiffens, trying to break free.

But then he pulls a gun.

She doesn’t notice him draw it.

She’s too focused on the others escaping.

But you do.

And you move.

You don’t think.

You don’t hesitate.

You run toward her.

Across the rooftop.

Past the rusted ladder.

Toward her.

Toward him.

The shot comes before she even turns.

It hits you center-left.

Below the ribs.

Through.

You crumple.

Hard.

⸻

The world tips sideways.

The cold from the concrete spreads fast, racing up your spine like winter cracking through your bones.

You don’t hear your name.

You just feel her hands. On your chest. Your stomach. Pressing down.

Warm. Wet.

Shaking.

There’s blood. So much blood. Yours.

You look up at her. Her face is contorted in a shape you’ve never seen before — not anger, not panic — grief.

The kind that only comes after it’s already too late.

You smile anyway. Your lips taste metallic.

“You said I shouldn’t be part of this,”

you whisper.

She shakes her head. Frantic.

“But I was always part of you.”

She says your name like a wish she never got to make. Her tears fall into your hair. Onto your mouth. You want to kiss her — just one last time — but your body won’t move.

“I’m sorry,”

she chokes out.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it — any of it — please, please, stay with me—”

You swallow. It hurts.

Then, so quiet she almost misses it:

“I love you.”

And that’s what breaks her.

Completely.

You can't say anything now. Too weak. You just watch her. Watching her with your last breath.

Her hair sticks to her cheeks, damp from tears. Her eyes are raw, trembling with a storm you can’t calm. The lines around her mouth, tight and trembling, make her look fragile — but fierce. Beautiful.

So, painfully beautiful.

You reach out to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear, your fingers trembling with a strength you didn’t know you had left.

She shudders, sobbing silently, her body wracked with quiet heartbreak. You want to tell her it’s okay to cry, but your voice won’t come.

You want to hold her. To keep her safe. To make all this stop.

But your limbs refuse.

Your chest aches with a cold you can’t fight.

Your skin is cooling, slipping away from warmth, and you can feel the life draining — slow and cruel.

You’re slipping.

You want to stay with her — to see her smile again, to hear her laugh, to feel her heartbeat against yours — but it’s fading.

You keep looking.

At her.

At the tears.

At the broken girl you love.

Your lips part.

You want to say something — something that might make this less final — but the words won’t come.

Your breath catches.

A skip.

A stutter.

You thought:

"I wish I could stay."

And then — nothing.

⸻

She doesn’t scream.

Not at first.

She stays still. Too still.

Like if she doesn’t move, this moment won’t either.

Your body is warm in her arms, just barely — still you in shape, but not in breath. Not in heartbeat.

Her hands press harder, as if she could push life back into you.

She calls your name, once. Twice.

It doesn’t echo.

And that’s when it starts.

A sound escapes her — not quite a sob, not quite a gasp.

Something raw.

Something final.

The man who shot you stares. He doesn’t run. Doesn’t reach for another round. Just stands there, stunned, maybe even disgusted — like he expected to kill a witness, not unravel a life.

Big mistake.

She moves.

Before the gun can even slip fully from his hand, she’s on him.

Wrenching it from his grip.

One motion. Brutal. Sharp.

He blinks.

She fires.

Once.

Then again.

He drops.

His body hits the pavement hard. The gun clatters beside him, still warm from her hand.

she doesn’t even look at him.

Doesn’t flinch.

She’s already on her knees again, beside you.

⸻

She gathers you into her arms.

You fold easily now. Like paper.

Your body is slack — your lips parted, your lashes dusted in blood and rain and streetlight.

You look peaceful. And that’s what kills her most.

She wipes a smear of dirt from your cheek.

Brushes your hair back, tucks it behind your ear like you always hated.

Her fingers hover over your face like she’s afraid to forget the shape of it.

She says your name again — this time softer. Slower.

As if dragging it out will keep you here a few seconds longer.

But you don’t move.

You don’t answer.

You don’t come back.

⸻

There’s no funeral.

No procession. No eulogy.

She doesn’t tell your family.

Doesn’t explain.

She buries you herself — outside the city, up on a hill with too much wind and too little sky. Somewhere quiet.

She digs the hole with her own hands. Blisters. Nails cracked. Knees bruised. Body hurting.

No one helps.

She wants it that way.

The stone she carves is rough. Your initials, scratched with a boxcutter she found in your kitchen drawer.

She bleeds on the first intial. Hands too shaky.

She Doesn’t wipe it off.

⸻

Weeks pass.

Then months.

Her brother is safe now. Out of the orphanage.

She paid the price. Every part of her that wasn’t already broken.

He asks about you once.

Just once.

She doesn’t answer.

He never asks again.

But some nights, he hears her crying through the wall.

Quiet. Strangled. Like she’s trying to make it disappear into the pillow.

He learns not to knock.

Not to say anything.

There’s nothing he could say anyway.

⸻

Every Sunday, she visits your grave.

Same time. Same walk.

Black coat. Same pack of smokes. Your lighter.

She sits in the grass. Cross-legged. Chin tilted like she’s listening to something far away.

She doesn’t bring flowers.

You never liked them.

She lights a cigarette. Lets it burn.

Sometimes she talks — about the cold, about her brother, about the ache behind her ribs that never went away.

But mostly, she just listens.

For your voice.

Your laugh.

The sound of your footsteps behind her.

Your ghost.

And some part of her — the part that still hasn’t learned how to let go — swears you’re sitting right beside her.

Even now.

Especially now.

⸻

✧─ Taglist : @kuinshiyas @itzzzzzzyyyyydaaaaa @lostlikesaebyeok @saebyeokswhitebra @gigisdog @saebyeokbliss @sunshinethatlooksalive

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY UPCOMING POST.

CLOSER

Bangchan x reader. (s,f,a)

Synopsis: Detective Christopher Bang has finally found peace—with a new life, a new love, and a past he’s sworn to forget. But when a jewel thief thought to be long gone resurfaces, leaving behind a familiar trail of silver, the lines between his obsession and his desire begin to blur. And the more he discovers, the harder it gets to tell who's really playing the game.

Preview under cut!

...

The sky is a dull gray, heavy with the promise of rain, and the alleyway reeks of smoke and gasoline. Chris stands in the middle of the taped-off crime scene, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat as he surveys the area. His gaze is sharp, sweeping over the shattered glass, the scorched remains of a getaway vehicle, the bloodstains smudged on the pavement.

He points toward the burned-out car. “Get the forensics team to check for accelerants. If this was intentional, I want to know what kind of fuel was used.”

Felix, crouched nearby with a small notepad in hand, nods and scribbles it down. “Already flagged it.”

Chris’s attention shifts to a trail of footprints leading out of the alley. “Get prints and shoe impressions, too. And the camera—” He gestures to a security cam mounted just above the fire escape. “We’ll need that footage ASAP.”

“On it.” Felix flips to a new page, pen racing across the paper. “So far, we’ve got arson, suspected assault, possibly linked to the earlier drug bust. What else?”

Chris glances at his watch, the leather strap is worn, the one thing he never takes off. “Check if any witnesses were nearby. That diner down the block—someone had to see something.”

Felix nods again as he slips his notepad shut. “Already talked to the owner. He’s checking his own CCTV for us.”

Chris exhales slowly, looking around the crime scene once more just in case he missed something the first time. “Anything else?”

Felix stands, brushing dust from his pants. “Not until the lab sends back the full report.”

Chris takes one final look around the alley before nodding. “Alright. Let’s head back to the precinct.”

The precinct is quieter than usual, late afternoon light casting long shadows across the walls. He’s buried in paperwork—incident reports, witness statements, evidence logs—everything from today’s scene stacked neatly on his desk, waiting for his final signature. His fingers move across the keyboard steadily, the soft clack of the keys blending into the low hum of conversation and the occasional ring of a phone.

He’s just finishing up the last report when he senses someone hovering nearby and he doesn’t need to look up to know it’s Felix. The quiet tapping of his pen against the desk gives him away.

“You done yet?” Felix asks, half-sighing. “Come grab a beer. You owe me one after I had to talk to that diner guy who only spoke in riddles and ancient parables.”

Chris chuckles but keeps typing. “Can’t tonight.”

Felix drops his head to the side and groans. “Let me guess—going home early again?”

Chris nods, still not looking away from his screen. “Told her I’d be home for dinner.”

Felix lets out a dramatic sigh and flops into the chair opposite Chris’s desk. “Jesus. You act like you’ve got a wife waiting at home with curlers in her hair and a roast in the oven.”

That makes Chris grin, his eyes finally flicking toward his partner. “Jealous?”

Felix scoffs. “I’m offended, actually. You’ve known her for, what, six months? We’ve been through hell together since the academy, and you’re ditching me for what? A roast chicken and mashed potatoes?”

Chris chuckles again and clicks submit on the final report. “It’s pasta night, actually.”

“Unbelievable,” Felix mutters, crossing his arms like a sulking child and starts swiveling his office chair from side to side.

Chris stands and starts gathering his things—his phone, keys and then his bag. He shrugs on his jacket last and gives Felix a firm pat on the shoulder. “Next time, drinks are on me.”

Felix narrows his eyes as he crosses his legs together. “Damn right they are.”

Chris heads for the elevator, already loosening his tie when he hears Felix behind him again. “I’m keeping your promise, you know! You owe me, Chris!”

Chris turns back just before the elevator doors begin to slide shut. “I know,” he laughs, lifting a hand to wave.

Felix scowls and flips him off in return, and Chris is still laughing when the doors finally close.

-

Chris can already feel his exhaustion leaving him the moment he steps into his apartment.  He toes off his boots and calls out, “Baby, I’m home,” like he always does and he can already picture you welcoming him with that soft smile you always wear when you see him.

However, there’s no response, not even the faint shuffle of footsteps. He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the hook by the door and try again, “Babe?”

Still no answer and a subtle tension begins to thread itself through his muscles, the instincts that have kept him alive in back alleys and tense raids kicking in. His eyes sweep the space as he steps further in and that’s when he sees a trail of red—thick, wet, splattered across the floor near the kitchen island.

Chris’s heart lurches into his throat. His hand instinctively goes to his side, where his weapon still trapped to its holster, his hand lingers there ready to use it when the situation calls for it. He moves quietly, cautiously and then he hears footsteps echo behind him. He swiftly spins around and ready for—

It’s you, you’re standing there holding a mop, eyes wide, startled by his sudden turn. But his gaze drops, locking on the front of your shirt, soaked in red and streaked across your chest, blotched near your ribs.

“Are you—what happened?” he asks with voice strained.

You immediately set the mop aside and hold your hands up like you’re about to calm a wild animal. “Don’t panic,” you say, already half-laughing at yourself. “It’s not blood.”

Chris’s jaw tightens, not entirely reassured until you continue. His hands reaching for you, wanting to make sure of it himself.

“It’s tomato sauce. I dropped the jar trying to twist it open and it exploded all over me.” You glance down at your shirt while uselessly trying to wipe it away. “It looks like a murder scene, huh?”

Only then does Chris let out the breath he’d been holding, the knot in his chest slowly loosening. He lets out a quiet, incredulous laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Gosh. I thought—” He stops himself before saying it. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You smile sheepishly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I was going to clean it up before you got home, but I guess you’re early.”

Chris steps closer, watching the way the mess clings to you. “Want help?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no. You’ve had a long day. Go shower first. I’ll handle this.”

But he doesn’t move toward the bedroom. He keeps his eyes on you, his expression softening. “Can I at least get a kiss first?”

You glance down at your shirt. “Chris. I’m covered in sauce.”

“So?” He shrugs with a smile.

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch into a grin as he steps forward. He gently cups your face, careful not to brush against your stained clothes, and leans in. The kiss is long and lingering, the kind that makes time slow down for a few precious seconds.

When he pulls back, your lips curve upward and you murmur quietly, “Welcome home.”

Chris lets the words settle into him and he can feel the eight of the day melts away from him because now he’s here with you.

He’s home.

...

CLOSER: CHAPTER ONE will be released Friday, August 15th. Or you can read it early on my Patreon:

[agentravensong]

my notes from the guy who didn't like musicals: reprised!

i saw both showings of the production on saturday the 26th. these are the notes i made during the intermissions and then post the shows, with a few additions from my seat neighbors and people i've spoken to online since then. hope you enjoy!

the first thing in my notes is actually a list of the songs they played during the preshows that i was able to recognize; i have turned this into a spotify playlist that can be seen here! the last song wasn't played, it's just there because my brother (the one who played paul in his college's production) told me it was a paulcore song and he's right. if anyone else who went to the show remembers any other songs they played, share and i'll add them!

General notes

Show is still set in 2018

Characters' outfits are pretty much the same unless otherwise noted

Main set is grey buildings in a cartoonish style, blocky and simple, lining either wing of the stage. There are two balconies (one on the left and one on the right) that characters use (example: Charlotte and Ted when the affair is revealed to the audience)

There’s a big frame with lightbulbs in the back at the top of some stairs

Scene setting stuff that comes down from the ceiling: Clock set to 9:30 and overhead square lights (maybe a reference to the og run's backdrop?) for the office; coffee board for beanies; weird camo net stuff for oakly park (america's great again)

Starting with join us and die, the infected have blue drool running from their mouths; they use black light a few times and it glows

Let it out gets used as a background musical motif multiple times (mostly in act 1) leading up to the ending; not sure how many of these are new but it always gave me shivers

Act 1

[Opening number]

Song starts with actors posed in front of solid black scrim that then gets lifted up to reveal the set

There’s usually a second black screen covering the back stone wall but for the opening number it only comes down at the end

They double the length of the “did you hear the word” bit, lift Lauren and mime a train

Moment of choreo where Joey-Lauren and Will-Mariah are paired like couples

Also Corey and Mariah are paired together for the start of the second verse

It’s Bill and Emma who wheel Paul on (and Emma taps or boops him or something?); he’s slumped a bit and looks very dead-eyed in the chair until the song ends

[CCRP 1st scene]

Everyone sits in wheelie office chairs

Lots more intentionally awkward silences built in

Charlotte fully zones out even before Sam calls

Melissa’s clipboard has cat stickers on it; she's noticeably upset about Paul turning her down

Ted wheels on

[Beanies 1st scene]

Pastries names - Lords in Black (Jeff asks for a random one)

Pistachio Croissant

Necatrine Dough

Brown Butter Blondie

Wildberry Scone

Toffee Pecan Twist

Paul enters as Jeff is leaving; he says "the sign's bullshit" once in a subdued way, then repeats it to Paul at the door super loud while waving his arms, lmao

Paul stares awkwardly at the audience while in line, trying to pretend he isn't hearing the argument between Emma and Nora, but then when Emma she doesn’t like singing he turns to look at her and his eyes stay on her for the rest of the interaction. :)

When Paul leaves and realizes he forgot Bill's drink he's conflicted for longer (looks back where he came from a few times with a wincing expression) before going "ah, fuck bill"

[Pre-meteor montage]

Corey walks by Greenpeace Girl as Frank Pricely

Sam is in a leather jacket with many zippers; he moves weirdly robotically

Deb looks like a standard Dess Holiday fan design (iykyk)

Hidgens does jazz hands to the audience as he says "It's showtime!"

[La De Da Da Day]

Frank, Max and Ruth are there (plus a random woman in pastel blue and purple with a bucket hat played by Jaime)

Paul tells Greenpeace Girl he did relay for life every year when he was young

When Homeless Guy sings about dancing on the concrete he stumbles and starts falling, and Paul, despite how much he's clearly wanted to Not Be Here this whole time, instinctively goes to catch him and help him back up

There’s a bit where they crowd around Paul and it looks just like how the zombies surround Emma at the very end of the show. Diabolical.

[CCRP 2nd scene]

When Charlotte starts recounting the weird thing Sam did that morning a spotlight fades in on her and background music starts playing, but both comedically stop when Ted interjects

[What Do You Want Paul?]

This song and you tied up my heart are pitched lower (meanwhile not your seed is actually pitched higher)

When Paul starts saying what he might want he says “money, a house, kids maybe”, notably skipping partner — which actually makes a lot of sense, because the whole point is that he takes until act 2 to really admit that he wants Emma. That being said, the inclusion of “kids” without partner is. Interesting. (Also the partner line was bi Paul food. Rip)

Davidson chokes Paul with the phone cord

Davidson doesn’t actually forget what he wanted to tell Carol, he just chickens out (he tells her he forgot but then mouths to Paul that he didn’t)

[Beanies 2nd scene]

Roasted coffee choreo is the only one largely unchanged (other than one — see act 2)

Joey's Pete is in the back talking to a teen in a light blue colored shirt played by Will; Pete seems to encourage or dare Will's teen to do the tip for a song

The blue goo in the coffee pot looks so gross (/pos)

As the goo takes effect, the customers cough and crumble to the ground, lie there for a bit, then rise and sway jerkily when it’s time to sing

Paul grabs Emma from the middle of the stage and pulls her off with him

Hatchettown motif plays as they do the alley bit; as they're walking up and down the aisles in the audience Emma processes that she's unemployed with no savings and Paul reassures her that the job market will be good for a long time (lol)

[Show Me Your Hands]

The group tries to flee the cops by going off stage and when they enter again Ted seems to mouth “it’s a loop” (second show he gestured to the same effect); they probably do this as a subtle nod to the line since it’s cut from the ending

Pointed out to me by an ask from @pharosweirdward: the lighting for part of this song uses a hexagon pattern. Hexagons, like honeycombs in a beehive.

They choreograph it like the gang gets forced into the cop car and then it crashes, lol; there's also a cool bit earlier where they're miming running in slow motion with injuries

When Charlotte gets through to Sam you see him trying to fight back as his arm raises to put his sunglasses back on. Ow.

[Arrival at Hidgens']

Hidgens has a conspiracy board with an upside-down pentagram drawn in string — see end of post

Also a painted portrait of himself.

When Hidgens shows off the dimmer Charlotte claps :)

She tries to get Sam’s legs to not be open, eventually crosses them

Ted generally seems to have more of a genuine soft spot for Charlotte and is more sad about Charlotte not going with him

[You Tied Up My Heart]

Lighting for part of his song is a pattern of blue stars and planets

No more uwu voice on “don’t you trust me?”, which I like as a change; for as funny as this scene is meant to be, playing the line straight grounds you back in what’s actually happening - the hive is manipulating her

Sam's hair fell off his head at the first show (apparently this happened opening night also, lmao). He tried twice to kick it so it would land on top of his head. It didn’t work

Two of the other actors come on in dark hoodies to lift Sam’s chair and Charlotte comments that he’s supposed to be flying

Comically large pauses in between the lines in the bridge before Sam pretends to die

During the kick your head convo right before Paul intervenes, bill downs a shot to get ready to fight, lmao. Also both times when he slapped Ted the audience cheered

[Join Us and Die -> end of act]

At the start you see Ted physically react to the music starting; this happens for some other characters in other places also

He’s the one who calls out that it’s Charlotte and is. Very distraught in the aftermath

Charlotte and Sam try to make Paul and Emma kiss

Charlotte steps on Ted's hand and for the rest of the act Joey mimed like his finger was broken

Hidgens shoots from balcony, then takes a while to come down while talking, actors look around confused, and then he emerges gun drawn, lol

The gang is somehow even worse at performing the Moana song than in the og

As Paul was telling Bill how impossible the task of saving Alice is (in the lead up to him saying “which is why I’m gonna go with you”), blue lights flickered at the top of the stage, with a sound?? Curious — This was in fact a mistake that was not replicated at the second show.

As Paul follows Bill off stage the curtains slowly close and Emma, standing center stage, slowly turns to look at audience (they close right before)

Act 2

[Hatchetfield High -> Not Your Seed]

Starts with the nerdy prides must die riff (and the title text on the curtains turns red like the NPMD logo)

They crawl into the school (which has the nighthawks banner up top)

Deb and bee girl start up in the balconies, then come down from the middle

Corey and Mariah’s performances through this whole bit are insane. Infected!Alice does a lot more to pull on Bill’s heartstrings (on "at least i was before you left me" she looks truly upset and then turns away and goes in a huff to the corner). He literally holds her in his arms for a bit of the second verse and rocks her back and forth (while she stares at the audience with unfeeling eyes). What the fuck. (Also they cut his interjections after Alice sings the lines about Deb)

Paul tries repeatedly to hold back & rescue Bill but Alice keeps pushing him away

At the end of the song Bill drops to his knees, the infected teens stand behind him, take the shotgun... and place it in his arms. They set him up to shoot himself. Diabolical

Paul pulls Bill to his feet and away from the gun, and is holding him by the shoulders when infected!Alice shoots him in the back. Bill collapses into Paul's arms. After Bill is on the ground Paul continues looking at him, distraught (seems to listen for heartbeat or check for pulse?), while the Hive do their bit. Really love that he gets more time to react to/process this

When the trio sings "I'm here" Mariah does a full riff, lmao

[Macnamara's interrogation of Paul]

Good staging and lighting where Paul and Macnamara are in front of the black screen with a trapezoid of light (a lamp prop hanging down), and they act purely within that smaller space

Background music is the prologue motif from Black Friday

Paul has - er, had - an iPhone 10

[Show Stopping Number]

Keyboard comes in on a platform on a trolley pushed by someone offstage; Hidgens does a bit where he starts sitting and Emma and Ted say no, then he starts standing and they say yes to encourage him, then he sits for real while they despair

Workin' boys choreo is mostly the same, other than the addition of Will imitating a clock ticking to five with his arms on the first “I can’t wait to get home”

The workin' boys are no longer wearing heavy jackets, good for them. They mime sports other than football (basketball, golf)

They still do the “should I take this chair” bit, lmao

[Ted's "change of heart" -> America's Great Again]

Ted’s better person monologue is a bit longer; he references Hidgens’ song specifically as having taught him how important friendship is

Joey has to kill so much time while Jeff changes from workin' boy to macnamara (Jon did similarly earlier before la de da da day, miming the process of leaving his house with sound effects); there's a good moment where he makes a joke and asks Paul what he thinks only to immediately remember that he left Paul behind. lol but also sad.

At the second show Jeff struggled a bit to pull the gun out of his holster and Joey had to slow down his line delivery slightly to help him out, lol

During the "final solution" bit of the song Paul and Emma are circled and mime a full conversation

Paul saves Emma from getting shot by Macnamara and then she immediately does the thing from the og where she saves him

There's also an earlier bit of choreo where they're frozen in a snapshot, separated, reaching for each other

[Helicopter -> crash]

Paul and Emma are in the balcony above Zoey; Paul wears an actual seatbelt, which he is surprised to find still on him after the crash

Emma goes to grab Zoey's arm and lift the gun rather than Paul kicking it

Flashing lights during the crash for a good 30 seconds while the actors flail around

The blood and rod going through Emma’s leg looks better; she groans in pain as Paul pulls her close, lmao

Paul gives Emma the gun to defend herself

A little bit of blood when they go to kiss, at least at the evening show

[Let It Out]

After "Let him come" the front scrim lifts to reveal they have a big ass meteor with Pokey's face carved in it at the top of the stairs in the back, plus a show banner for mama mia with a big hole through it

Paul enters from left audience aisle

“It doesn’t matter what I want” still kills me

Zombie bill full on like, hugs him from behind right after that line?? Fucked

The meteor glows (specifically on "and i know it's a singular voice"; it's the closest they come to naming pokotho)

Jon is so fucking good in this song. You can see him very slowly reacting like he’s started to hear the music, then very subtly feeling the influence on his body, then more actively fighting against it

Bit of choreo where Paul is stage right, everyone behind is in a line in different poses, and then he’s pulled along and makes each pose in sequence. Obsessed

THEY ADDED TO THE BIT OF THE SECOND CHORUS THAT WAS ORIGINALLY DEAD AIR (“You just gotta let it~”)

Blue fog comes in during the bridge

Paul slowly backs toward the meteor, the zombies slowly push towards him (and as the infection takes over he looks at them excitedly), then he finally grabs the grenade and holds that note gloriously

("god help me out" hits a bit different when he says it while standing in front of an effigy of a lord in black's face.)

The zombies sing “we will not be resisted” to the nightmare time motif

Paul slowly falls to the ground on his elbows and knees after pulling the pin :(

["Epilogue" -> Inevitable]

Emma here at the end is wearing a white shirt that’s not her beanies shirt. In the opening she wasn’t wearing her beanies tie yet, which it turns out was to match up with this (Mariah and Jaime also have time to change from the nurse and colonel to Melissa and Charlotte for Inevitable so everyone else is also dressed how they were in the opening).

The house lights are at least partly on for this bit to make it feel like the show is really over (and foreshadow that we're part of what happens next)

So different in the audience when Paul comes on compared to original recording. There everyone’s so excited. Here? There’s a couple awws, but other than that, dead silent. So so tense in the room. (This was less true the second time but still)

She says “Paul!” And he shakes his head as he walks up to her and she runs to him. (He did not do this the second time, just smiled. Which makes me remember when Jon said in the og run he would play inevitable!Paul some nights as actually being fully infected and others as just playing along or still having some humanity in him, and wonder. Curtain call goes against this idea though)

As the song goes on they lift the black curtain to show the main set, and the bits that got lowered from the ceiling into the backdrop before are now all just in view, including the meteor. Then further in they lift the very back black curtain to show the brown brick wall

During show stopping number's reprise is when Emma seems to become aware of the audience (fulfilling the foreshadowing from the very end of act 1), as the lights come up on us again. She lets out a hell of a scream.

Emma remains aware during the bows; the others (including Jon/Paul) mime congratulating each other and chatting about how the performance went as she’s dragged off (she specifically appeals to the pit for help, lol)

There's one last thing I noticed during the show that I want to mention here at the end: Hidgens' conspiracy board, with the pentagram? The points are labeled with the black altar locations. And at the second show I was sitting in the second row, so I got a pretty good look at them (that's also how I saw all the pastry names).

The top left (looking at it from the audience) had a photo of an old house, so def the Waylon Place; The very bottom point had a photo of a lit up arc-shaped marquee, so almost certainly the Starlight Theater (which tracks with downtown having been overrun by the infection first); The middle left point had a note that I believe read "Lakeside", which would be the mall; And the two on the right I'm much less confident about, but I believe the one on the top was Hatchetfield High (which makes sense to me to be closer to the Waylon Place because of npmd), and the one at the middle right point was CCRP. So, for any future maps people want to make of Hatchetfield, we can use these locations' now known relative positions to each other as a base!

This list wasn't literally every detail I remember from the show, so if you enjoyed reading this and have more questions — or if you also saw the show and want to share something I missed — send me an ask or leave it in the replies!

[heavenlyakin]

Party 4 U 

Atsumu Miya x Reader x Osamu Miya 

cw: dark content, noncon/dubcon, college au, drug use, alcohol consumption, smut. 

wc: 1.3k

Osamu is across the room now, sipping from his red solo cup and laughing with the brunette beside him. His twin, just a few feet from you, snorts another line, something you’d done a moment before him. You wipe your nose out of reflex and take a few steps to your left to go into the kitchen. You pour yourself a drink, dumping three shots worth of vodka into a cup you top it off with a lime soda. 

It burns as it goes down, but not nearly as much as the coke that went up your nostril. Osamu watches you as you come back into the living room. The music is so loud, you can’t hear what he’s saying, but the brunette leaves him alone as he crosses the room. 

You grin at him, walking into the foyer where the stairs lead up to the rooms and bathrooms. Atsumu stops you. 

“Where ya going?” 

“Just need some air,” you lie and he frowns. 

You’ve known Atsumu has had a thing for you, for awhile now. Probably as long as you’ve had your eye on his brother. Osamu and you have a complicated relationship. You’ve had a few electives together, made out a time or two at these parties, but all in all you’ve never taken it as far as you’ve wanted to. 

You sit on the stairs, finishing your drink and trying to focus on texting your friends the address to make it to the party. The drugs are kicking in, and you know you won’t want to be on your phone for long. After a few moments you get up and make your way back into the party. 

Osamu is talking with Atsumu and they both look over at you. You wave and go on into the kitchen where you recognize a girl from one of your and Osamu’s classes. You talk to her for a while before your friends arrive and you invite her to meet them. 

As the sun sets, more and more people begin to wander in until it’s hard to move around the house’s first floor. When you go to refill your drink, you’re pulled by the arm by Osamu. 

“Are you having a good time?” He asks, his grey eyes red from something he’s done tonight. 

“I am,” you smile and show him your empty drink. “Are you?” 

He leans forward, his lips pressed to your neck. He kisses the skin softly and you close your eyes. “Come with me and I’ll have an even better time.” 

“Hmm,” you hum, against his lips as the brush against yours. “Sounds good to me,” you can’t help but feel excited. You’ve wanted this for a while and now it seems he does too. 

Following up the steps, he turns right, not left which surprises you. His room is on the left, Atsumu’s on the right. But you don’t think too much about it. Knowing how these parties get, it’s very likely someone else is using his room now. He shoves the door open, and it’s dark inside besides the faint glow from the bathroom light seeping through the poorly fit door. 

His lips are on yours quickly after you shut the bedroom door. HIs lips are soft and taste of tequila, not your liquor of choice. But you can stomach it if it means getting Osamu’s tongue shoved down your throat. His tongue floods your mouth as you have the thought and you back up against the bed and sit back on it. He follows you, pushing you down and fidgeting around in his pockets. 

“Fuck, one second, I forgot a condom.” He tells you and you nod, not sure if he can see you clearly.

“Take your time,” you tell him, not truly meaning it as he walks out the bedroom door. 

You lay staring at the dark ceiling, your head spinning slightly. You’re sure it's from the coke, or maybe the vodka. Realistically from both. Your heart races as you hear the doorknob sound and the bathroom door open, the lights flickering off and diminishing any bit of light that was left in the room. 

“Took you long enough,” you say slyly, your lips curling to a smile. 

He laughs too, but it sounds different from his voice from before. It’s silly, you know, but even when he kisses you it feels different. He tastes of vodka now. And it’s like he wants this more than he did before. He’s more aggressive and heated. Maybe he’s wanted this as much as you, you think. Or it’s the mixture of substances you’re on. Either way, you’re just thrilled it’s finally happening.

“Fuck,” you whimper as he bites down on your shoulder, pulling your tanktop strap down and around your arm. 

His fingers slip under the shirt, pushing it up over your body and revealing your bra before you sit up and pull it over your head. He kisses you again, his fingers fidgeting with your bra clasp before it unclasps and falls down off of you. His tongue on your nipples is everything you didn’t know you needed. Your heart races as he gently pinches one and sucks on the other. 

You whine, desperate for more and wanting it now. Your hand finds his crotch, teasing his cock through the sweatpants he’s wearing. Wasn’t he wearing shorts? He must have changed when he went to find the condom. 

“Do you have the condom?” You ask, inhaling air quickly as he bites your nipple. 

“Mhmm,” he hums against your skin, sending chills throughout your body. 

His tongue drags down your stomach to your hip, his lips stopping to kiss your skin once every few centimeters. You squirm under him, his hands moving to keep you still. He removes them from your sides as he unbuttons your shorts, pulling them down your thighs with your underwear. Once they’re tossed to the side, his hands are on your hips, his lips grazing the skin before his tongue laps at your cunt. 

You can’t help but moan as he eats you out. He’s ridiculously well skilled in it, you now know. His fingertips dig into your skin as his tongue makes you cry out more and more until you’re ready to let go here and now. 

He must know that, sensing it somehow because he pushes two fingers inside of you and curls them just right. Squeezing the bedsheets and pushing your thighs together over his head you cum on his tongue. Your chest heaves a few times as you come down from it, his body now hovering above yours. You feel his skin against yours, he must have shed his clothes. 

You reach to grab his cock, but he smacks your hand away and laughs. You laugh too, he must just want it now too. He adjusts your hips, pushing into you and filling you whole. You whine at the stretch, the feeling of him you’ve imagined so many times before this evening. Taking it in, you close your eyes and let him have you. 

His thrusts are rapid, like he’s taking something out on you. This you like, this is exactly what you wanted. You needed him to fuck you until you were as disoriented as you hoped the drugs and alcohol would make you. 

You lose track of time between his thrusts and his lips and the moans between both of you. You cum again, wrapping your legs around him and holding him still while he chuckles in your ear. You let him go and he fucks into you harder. He doesn’t warn you before he cums, just a deep groan and him stilling inside of you. 

He doesn’t lay beside you, instead he sits at the end of the bed, leaning against the wall. The moon is starting to shine into the room now through the curtains, something you hadn’t paid much attention to before. You sit up, pulling your knees to your chest and letting your breathing steady before you speak. 

“Osamu?” You ask. 

He laughs. “You still think it’s Osamu?”  The sigh that follows the familiar voice is none other than that of Atsumu.

[tmbswhodunit]

TMBS Who Dunnit 2025 - Criss-Cross

SUMMARY: The children tackle their greatest puzzle yet.

The man weaved and ducked among the throng of comfortably-dressed travelers. He paid no mind to the throbbing in his ankle, to the plane he was supposed to be boarding at this very moment, to the pack of well-dressed men tailing him through the airport. His mind was focused on one thing and one single thing only. He had a job to do. 

He could not fail.

The man squeezed between a young couple, jostling their duffle bags and suitcases. The well-dressed businessman following him paused, the trail momentarily lost; another took his place. It was too crowded here to throw a projectile with any accuracy. The men following him cared not for civilian casualties, he knew. But altercations out in the open lead to panic, panic to stampede, and stampede to a million little opportunities to slip away and become lost. Here, he was protected.

The man’s eyes locked upon his target. Passing by an overpriced coffee shop and the line for the restrooms, he slipped into a brightly lit souvenir shop. Here, at last, was the object he’d sought so desperately. Here was what he needed. The man picked up the precious book and thumbed through it. Yes, this was the one.

The shop was too open. Too few people. Two pencils whizzed past both ears and stuck into the wall on either side of him, far too close for comfort.

The man made his exit, but not before slapping some bills down on the counter. He vanished like smoke into the crowd.

He’d accomplished everything he’d come for. Now, he had a plane to catch.

***

“I hate this game,” grumbled Constance Contraire.

“Just because you thought of a synonym for wrench doesn’t mean it’s the right synonym for wrench,” Sticky hissed back.

“Mine is more correct! The book is wrong!”

“How could something possibly be ‘more correct?’”

“‘Prise’ doesn’t have the same connotation!”

Kate whistled low. “Connotation frustration!”

“Kate’s right,” said Reynie. “It seems this crossword puzzle is causing frustration. Do you want to go do something else, Constance?”

Constance crossed her arms and huffed. The older three exchanged amused glances.

The crossword puzzle really was challenging. Reynie felt sure the answer was in his brain but always just out of reach; Sticky could rattle off synonyms and trivia but struggled to select the correct one; Constance didn’t know what half of the words meant; and Kate simply couldn’t bear to sit still for so long. So Mr. Benedict had proposed a solution by splitting the crossword solution up into different roles, each according to their own talents. First, Sticky would list every potential solution. Reynie would lead the others in a discussion of the correct word. Constance was tasked with creating a short poem for each answer. And Kate was stationed at the whiteboard, where she could freely practice her handstands while thinking. Her task was to reproduce the crossword on the whiteboard without seeing the original, using her incredible spatial reasoning to puzzle out how the words fit together.

“This next one is causing me frustration,” Sticky said. “Three letter word for leg …”

“Did you try ‘leg?’” Constance snarked.

“No, it starts with a G.”

Constance squinted at the page. “What does ‘c-o-l-l’ mean? Collective? As in, multiple legs?”

“In this case, I think it means ‘colloquial,’” Reynie put in. “Otherwise known as slang. So we need a three letter slang word for ‘leg’ that starts with a G …”

“I’m not sure if this helps,” Milligan piped up from the corner. The children jumped, having quite forgotten they were being watched. The adults were scattered about the sitting room with identical small smiles, lips sealed, parting only to sip tea or hot cocoa. “But I did happen to pick up that crossword book in the London airport.”

“British slang!” Sticky said, throwing his hands into the air. “I didn’t even think of that!”

“I’m so happy you thought of us on your mission, Milligan,” Kate said from her upside-down position. Her cheeks were rosy, but whether that was a pleased flush from her father bringing her such a thoughtful present or from the blood rushing to her head, no one was sure.

Milligan waved her off, but his chest puffed a bit. “Oh, I just happened to see the book as I was passing through. No big deal.”

“What is a cougar-ette?” Constance harumphed, having snatched the book during the distraction.

“Wouldn’t it be cougaress?” Kate asked. “As in a female cougar?”

“Why don’t you read the whole clue, Constance,” Reynie suggested mildly.

“US American version of—”

Everyone groaned.

“Quiet! US American version of a cougar-ette.”

Kate spun in place by the whiteboard. “So the American version of a female cougar might be … a puma? Or a mountain lion?”

“A mountain lioness,” Sticky corrected.

Reynie frowned. “Something’s wrong. Cougars are native to the Americas, so the American version of a female cougar is just … a cougar. May I see that book, Constance?”

Constance obliged. Reynie bent to inspect the clue, catching the amused twinkle in Mr. Benedict’s eye as he did so. A moment later, Reynie’s mouth began to twitch. “The word is courgette, Constance.”

“No it’s not!” Constance huffed, snatching the book back. She held the page very close to her face, glaring at the letters as though they’d switch around when she wasn’t looking. “Oh.”

There was a slight tittering noise. Reynie made an alarmed hush-hush gesture at the adults, praying that Constance wouldn’t notice. Soon, the sounds of sipping tea filled the room, with only a few stray giggles.

“Well, we’re still stuck,” Kate sighed mid-jumping jack, somehow managing to sound nonchalant. “We still don’t know what the British word means to be able to give the American word!”

Over on the carpet, Sticky began to fidget. 

“It’s not hopeless,” said Reynie gently. “Maybe we can find a British book in the house somewhere that will give us a clue.”

“Oh, just ask him,” Constance groaned, waving a hand at Sticky. “He knows.”

Sticky glared, still fidgeting madly. “I told you not to look in my head anymore!”

“Respectfully, Sticky, we can all tell,” Kate said. “What is the answer?”

Sticky fell still. “It’s a zucchini.”

“Ohhhh!” Reynie and Kate cried. 

“I’d never have solved that one. Thanks, pal,” said Kate. She flipped right-side up and studied the whiteboard. “Hmm… the H in ‘zucchini’ could cross with ‘ramshackle’ … but no, it’s too long. It would cross with this word over here, and that doesn’t fit … I’m going to have to re-do this whole thing, aren’t I?” True to her nature, Kate only seemed more excited by this prospect, not the least bit discouraged.

“Your poem, Constance?” Mr. Benedict prompted from his armchair. “Then you can move to your next clue.”

“How can we?” Constance cried. “How can I possibly compose my poem when we still haven’t figured out what a zucchini is!”

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“What?”

Number Two sighed and rose to her feet, heading for the kitchen.

“Never mind,” said Reynie quickly. “Let’s come back to it. The next clue is, ‘synonym for sedate.’ Six letters.”

“Tranquilize,” said Milligan.

“No. Six letters.”

“I think I’m more correct. The book is wrong,” Milligan forced out through a chuckle. Rhonda threw a pillow at him.

In the meantime, Number Two had returned with two zucchinis. She took a massive bite out of one and held the other out for Constance to inspect.

 “Sedate,” murmured Sticky. “Knock out, pacify, subdue …”

Constance cleared her throat. “A-hem!”

There once was a girl who was teeny

Who set out to buy a zucchini

Which she could not get

‘Cause they called it ‘courgette’

So instead she bought some linguini

Everyone burst into applause.

“Bravo, Constance, bravo!” Mr. Benedict cried, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Brav- zzzzz.”

“‘Teeny’ makes no sense,” Sticky huffed, still clapping. “As in an adjective for teenager?”

“No, George Washington! Teeny as in tiny! It’s poetic license!”

“Okay, then, show me your license!”

Over in the corner, Rhonda shook her head, still laughing. “Ahhh, it feels good to see them enjoying themselves! It was so nice of you to bring that book back for them during your mission.” 

“Oh,” said Milligan over a sip of his tea, avoiding her curious look. “Really, it was no trouble at all.”

[bonefall]

what’s up with BB! Puddleshine? been having thoughts about him recently lol. i find it funny that rowanstar grabbed this random child from the nursery and was like ‘bam here’s our brand new doctor and spiritual leader everyone’

(*shaking twelve year old in the background*)

You know what's pretty cool about AVoS, buried underneath the slog of it all? The thing I keep going back to about this arc, in spite of how annoying it is to be forced to say in ThunderClan as everything interesting happens off-screen?

The way that so, so many young warriors are horrifically traumatized by both the structure of the Clans, and the Kin that they turn to.

It's a shame that the Erins were so committed to the idea of the Clan social structure NOT being the problem, because this whole arc is a perfect time to show how flawed it structurally is. LET these kids have a point, that maybe they were rebelling against something broken, but Darktail was a malicious actor who exploited their naivety to serve HIS ends.

A recap of what's happening in BB!AvoS before I explain my intentions with the Puddy Boy;

The big problem that I want Rowanstar to display is a problem that ALL the leaders of this time period also have. Commitment to Clan rivalry.

After Firestar was killed in AVoS by Dark Forest warriors, Bramblestar considers diplomacy secondary as a tactic. "ThunderClan will not be bullied any longer. We have been too soft with the other Clans for too long; and they have humiliated us by taking advantage of our kindness." (Note: Harespring and Breezepelt being part of the assassination patrol is not revealed until TBC. For MAXIMUM drama reveal.)

He escalated a border dispute that Firestar had worked closely and intimately with ShadowClan to resolve; a fight for a knoutberry patch on their border, just before Winter.

After Russetfur died in this painful battle, Blackstar backslid hard from his redemption arc. This caused the Thunder/Shadow alliance to dissolve towards the end of OotS, ending a friendship between the two Clans that had lasted through all of Po3.

He was open to Sol's manipulation, and while Tawnypelt was trying to fight the Dark Forest trainees who took over ShadowClan in the meantime... Rowanclaw became deputy by organizing a patrol of cats to remind Blackstar how much he means to them.

So Rowanstar inherits the Clan with this in mind. ShadowClan solves SHADOWCLAN'S problems. "ThunderClan had a quarrel with WindClan, but decided that we were their enemy. Leaving ourselves open for betrayal was a mistake; if we cannot handle our own problems, we will inevitably succumb to them when our so-called 'allies' don't come to help." (Note: he isn't completely wrong. His words are borderline prophetic for what's about to happen.)

Onestar has a smug chuckle at this. Since taking leadership, he's been appealing to the strongest, hardest members of his Clan. Those who once tried to kill him for his "weakness" in the Civil War. The "lesson" ShadowClan learned is one that he's known since the day Onewhisker died and Onestar was born, on the night of that sabotaged muirburn. "That so-called peace was always a farce. We are warriors of the four Clans; it was always going to come down to honor, and putting ourselves first. My WindClan isn't foolish enough to pretend like ThunderClan ever acted in anything but their own, hidden self-interest."

And Mistystar respects the direction Bramblestar has taken his Clan in, and approves of the "honesty" that the Clans are now showing. "As the branches of the honeysuckle fight and win the light for themselves, sometimes there are beautiful flowers that die in the shade. We can mourn the end of an era, and prepare for a future that will be made all the sweeter for our shared struggle. This is the way of the Clans, and StarClan's solemn light shines upon us all." (Note: god I love writing Misty's speeches)

In the family tree reworkings, Rowanstar is now the brother of Littlecloud. Sons of Brokenstar, honor-sired for Newtspeck.

Littlecloud... is suffering from early onset Alzheimer's.

He didn't want to choose an apprentice after Flametail's horrible death, heartbroken and stressed out, especially when he couldn't reach his nephew through contact with StarClan.

He can't remember, anymore, that Flametail was freed. He keeps forgetting this, over and over

He keeps ending up in different times of his life, where he's best friends with Cinderpelt and still calling Leafpool by her pre-Honor Title name, where he's inventing a mobility device for Wildfur, where he's still escaping the plague and before he knew his mentor caused it, where he's on the Great Journey...

Rowanstar is in a lot of pain, watching his brother forget so many things, scared and confused half the time. He doesn't want to believe that this is really the end, or that... many of these cats are now so young they can't recognize the various eras that Littlecloud is finding himself in.

Puddleshine and Slatefur are going to remain in Pinenose's litter. Either Lion or Birch MIGHT get shuffled to another one; and ALSO the shuffler might survive the Kin. (SO voice which one you want to survive, if you have a preference!)

SO, Violetshine has either two or three adopted siblings... plus another.

Pinenose's oldest surviving child is Happypaw. Happy is the half-sibling of Puddle/Slate-- the death of Weaselkit in the Great Battle caused his parents (Pinenose and Owlclaw) to break up.

(this is why I'm thinking about just reducing the litter to Puddle/Slate, so Violet has three major adoption-siblings to remember instead of four.)

And now we're ready to talk about Puddleshine.

He isn't the first young cat to be shoved into an extremely high-pressure position because of a Cleric becoming incapacitated. Kestrelflight was also forced to become the holy speaker of his people when he was far, far too young, after Barkface died in TNP. He dealt with this obediently, with only Jayfeather ever really being able to get him to think about it in a different light.

Unlike Kestrel, Puddlekit did voice that he was interested in becoming a Cleric, in BB. But he was too young to be properly making that choice, to know what he was getting into. He mentioned it practically offhandedly, and BOOM Rowanstar had rolled him into the position.

But Puddlepaw has a deep sense of responsibility. "Wise beyond his years"-- likely because of how tumultuous his home life was.

His mother's oldest child, Happypaw, was openly a bully of his half-siblings. Pinenose distanced herself from him as a result, causing Happy to be closer to Owlclaw, who was still not over Weaselkit's death.

But Puddle's Ba Spikefur is not a cat who handles his kit's emotions well. Instead, he encourages ambition, tells him to get back at his half-sibling by being more influential than that twerp could ever be.

Puddle will often go to Violet, the new POV, to vent about these things.

And one thing he mentions to her is how amazing Kestrelflight is, when he gets to meet him at the half-moon conferences. He learns SO MUCH from him, it's like he GETS what he's going through...

Puddle doesn't even feel sure that Littlecloud knows what he's doing anymore. If he's learning the right information at all.

But Rowanstar won't DO anything about Littlecloud-- and he CERTAINLY isn't about to let Puddlepaw go train under someone else's Cleric.

As a result of this, Puddlepaw becomes a VERY important member of Sleekpaw's little group. He wasn't one of their friends to begin with, buuuuut...

When he sits to chat with Sleekpaw and Needlepaw, with Happypaw good and far out of earshot, she makes a lot of sense.

A LOT of it.

ShadowClan is run by old men who don't know what they're doing. Rowanstar is too emotional to make good choices. Puddlepaw, barely even old enough to begin apprenticeship, is running all the medicine for an entire Clan.

And, sure, he doesn't have much in the way of a connection to StarClan, no, just a little more spiritual than the average cat...

But who can point this out? If Littlecloud is slowly losing his mind anyway?

"It's not right, how much pressure's on you," Sleekpaw growls, "And it wouldn't be this way if we could challenge Rowanstar. You should be training with Kestrelflight right now."

"But we're dealing with the shells StarClan dealt, and the Clan is looking to you now," Needlepaw points out on behalf of her friend, "You have much more sway than you know."

This time around for BB, Sleekpaw starts as a young hero. She's right. Rowanstar should be challenged, his emotions are affecting the ENTIRE Clan, and Puddlepaw is in a bad position because of it. Needlepaw is like her best diplomat, surely to become her deputy someday.

They would have made an excellent set of leaders for ShadowClan. But they trusted the wrong person, and were exploited. When Darktail and The Kin came to the lake, they were swept up by it, and WindClan began an embargo.

Puddlepaw eventually oversees the Yellowcough Outbreak, and at first just thinks it's Greencough. He has no idea about strains, or the special types of Color Cough that Clan cats have historically dealt with. Even when he finally does learn it's not JUST Greencough, he's powerless to do anything about it. A lot of cats die because of the lack of mullein.

After that, with ShadowClan so weak and the Kin so strong... he's one of the cats who calls for the merge. The most important one, in fact, leveraging his position to say that this is StarClan's will.

Sleekwhisker and Needletail were right all along, and he's happy to stick it right into everyone's faces. Onestar's tantrum of an embargo killed his Clanmates, Rowanstar stopped him from properly training, he's been under pressure from the time he was small with Littlecloud not fit to be a mentor, and he's ready to welcome in ShadowClan's new era as something that is not a Clan.

...unfortunately, it turned out to be the wrong choice. Not because his thought process was wrong. But because Darktail had other plans in-mind.

[maraschinotopped]

ive been staring at the naqtube channel page just doing analysis thoughts in my head for like 15 minutes and ive just been hit with the realization that Damn this is not normal. normal people dont do this. either the mental illness or the mild sickness is doing something to me right now.

[pizzleyanked]

lamis - vishnu - yarrow - calla - pavot - tide

[vfx-batman]

Re-hashing my PRIOR timeline:

Update for issues #22-33 + the GL issues (#162-4) that also make up the Black Circle: Urban Knights arc.

In #22 (set presumably in December, same as #21), Ollie gives Mia a letter + tells her to open it in one month exactly. A DEO employee snuck into Ollie's brownstone (inherited from Stanley) 3 weeks ago.

In GL #162, Kyle says he changed his costume "a few weeks ago", but this isn't a GL re-read so IDK which issue specifically he's referring to here.

In GA #24, Ollie + Kyle wander into a snowy forest, implying it's still winter on the Eastern Seaboard. In GL #164, 18 hours after the main action resolves, Kyle + Ollie go drinking at a bar.

Since #22-25 must happen over the span of four months for later timeline shenanigans to line up, let's say #22 picks up in January, meaning that Ollie sends himself back to the island as a weird New Year New Me resolution. Meanwhile Black Circle: Urban Knights happens in February, with #24 taking place in late February. GA #25 would then jump to April.

GA #26 (the start of Winick's Straight Shooter arc) takes place over "3 days". GA #29 happens the day after GA #28.

GA #31 - Mia breaks her arm.

GA #32 [published Dec 2003] sees dead trees in the backdrop whilst Roy discusses his (newly?) formed Outsiders team [For context, Outsiders (2003-7) #1 was published in June 2003, + their Dec 2003 issue, Outsiders #7, takes place in-universe about ~1 month into their existence. Roy's injury from Outsiders #6 will be referenced shortly in GA #34, which happens some weeks after GA #32. Therefore, whenever the start of the Outsiders run falls in Batman Year 15 is probably when this GA issue falls. This lines up with the Batman canon where YJ/TT Graduation Day only happens after Batman: Hush].

GA #33 sees the first consistent return of green leafy trees in at least a dozen issues. Someone also signs off a message by saying "me + my family will be in Bahamas till Spring" which now could be referring to next Spring.

By the time we get Green Arrow: City Walls (GA #34-9), issue #34 confirms that Straight Shooters (GA #26-31: Joanna's death + Drakon invading Ollie's home, attacking Mia + Connor) as well as Roy's injury in Outsiders #6 (set a month after the team's initial founding in Outsiders #1) has taken place over the span of a month. Thus, #34 is set "a full month" after #26, taking us to sometime in May. #34 will later confirm that Roy was hospitalised for at least 2 of those weeks, setting Outsiders #6 > 2 weeks before #34.

GA #35 confirms that it's been "a few months" since Ollie + Dinah took down the Riddler in GA #12, which (as per my earlier post) probably happened in late November. It's obviously been more than a few. It's more like half a year.

GA #38 sees a reference to "last Winter".

Green Arrow: City Walls (GA #34-9) Dissection:

#35 details Riddler's riddles + I truly cannot be bothered to list them all but they seem to go Day 1: Missed Connections, Day 2: Women Seeking Women, Day 4: Men Seeking Men, Day 5: Elephant Float. Let's assume this period takes 6-7 days to unfolds.

As I said above, apparently Ollie busted the Riddler (in #12, set in November) "a few months ago". For anything ahead to make sense, this must be an obfuscation of how 6 months have passed (November to May.)

In #36, shenanigans happen, leading to the city's power going out.

#37 picks up "almost 46 hours" later as Batman + Superman + Jason Blood attempt to penetrate the dome that's gone up around Star City. Connor + Ollie start arguing a "few days" into their attempt to corral the populace into not commiting any crimes that might arouse the anger of the demons.

#38 picks up "six days" into the siege, when Ollie gathers cops + gangsters alike to mount a massive attack on the site of the curse. Mia puts herself forward to fight + the issue ends when Ollie agrees to give her a mask.

#39 takes place presumably right after #38 + ends with Mia killing the source of the curse + saving the day. Though she + Ollie are both traumatised in the process.

As per #39's relation to GA #41-2, the closure of the Peace or Persist dome takes place in the second week of June. This arc took 2 weeks to play out, so GA #35 starts either on June 1st or the last week of May.

Post-City Walls, Pre-Speedy II (GA #40-45):

Most of these dates are gotten via back-calculation from later stories, so you might be better served scrolling down to read the next section first before coming back here.

GA #40 picks up 3 days after the end of GA #39 / end to the Peace or Perish dome around Star City. This issue explores how the bloody conclusion to that arc thinned out the organised crime scene, + how it enables Brick to rise up. Dinah states that Mia is 16, she fights with Ollie about Mia killing a man after he let her dress up in a costume, + they break up. Apparently he's been avoiding talking to her for "months".

GA #41 takes place "just three weeks" after the end of #39, + details how Ollie + Connor spent "two weeks" trying to infiltrate the organised crime scene to sniff out the new Big Fish. Only for their plan to fall apart.

GA #42 picks up right after #41. It also (as per its relation to GA #44) happens in the first week of July. Mia states that she'll turn 17 in a month. This either means she'll turn 17 in early August, OR she's referring generally to the calendar year, + she can turn 17 as late in the last day in August. She saves Ollie's life in this issue + Ollie is adamant that she won't go out as a super-hero. This incident will be referred to in GA #46 + happen two + a half months before that one. Thus, there is no way to square Mia's claim here that she'll turn 17 in a month's time with the two + a half months which elapse between GA #42 + GA #46 if you take TT #21 at its word + say she she only turned 17 a week before that one. Since that would mean she turned 17 two months + one week after GA #42. And well.

I Have to Draw the Line Somewhere.

(So GA #42 happens in the first week of July, + Mia turns 17 sometime in August. Okay? 🥹) 21 hours elapse within the issue between Mia saving Ollie from the fight + him taking her to a medical centre to get stitches.

GA #43 picks up right after "ten hours" after the end of GA #42. Brick turns himself in to the police, waits them out for several "hours" then sets up a weird hostage situation that takes "12 hours" to resolve. This means GA #43 takes > 24 hours but < 48 hours. It ends on the night after the night-time hostage scavenger hunt that Brick orchestrates to say he's the boss of the city. It also sees Mia's STD test results come in.

GA #44 initially picks up right after where GA #43 leaves off. Crucially, it features a two week time-skip that means its final few scenes (Mia feeling as though she'll never be loved again b/c nobody will want to touch her + Connor assuring her otherwise) happen in the third week of July. Yes, I know American schools break up far earlier. 'July' comes from constraints imposed later down. You are genuinely very welcome to elongate the time she spends training + push this arc back a month or two. I really do mean it, I'm just trying to detail the best path through canon, but it's obviously not the only one if you prefer another explanation. <3

GA #45 takes place an unspecified time after the end of GA #44, but b/c it seems very related to the events of the prior issue, e.g. Mia decides to take the confidence imparted in her by Connor to go public about her HIV diagnosis + Ollie decides to confront Brick (+ prove him wrong about being the boss of the city) in lieu of feeling like he can help Mia with her diagnosis. I would place this right after #44 personally b/c #45's final scene features Mia dressing up as Speedy + Ollie arguing against it (which GA #46 will claim happened two weeks after #42).

GA #46 is stupidly confusing so let's just list what's canonically said before I try to dissect it.

In GA #46, there is snow on the ground. This is impossible to reconcile with anything so just ignore it or put it down to JLA weather-changing opponents (of which there were many in this late 90s/early 00s period).

In GA #46, Mia states that she put on a Speedy costume two months prior but Ollie argued passionately against it. This was shown in GA #44.

In GA #46, Mia states that two + a half months ago, Ollie was deseparate for her not to go out (as shown in GA #44, which as noted above, has a two week time-skip in the middle).

In GA #46, Ollie takes her to see the Titans "three weeks" after she debuts on the streets as Speedy.

Counting back from load-bearing dates you can scroll down to see, Mia debuted as Speedy on the streets of Star City in the last week of August. GA #44 must have happened in the third week of July. And GA #42 must have happened in the first week of July.

There is no way to make Ollie + Mia's statements that Mia has been training with Connor for "a year" make sense. This will have to be an exaggeration of how she's been training with Connor since she met him in Smith's run, sometime in November-ish IIRC.

I place Mia's initial meeting with the Titans in the third week of September for reasons that will soon become apparent.

It is important to note that Identity Crisis #1-7 (2004) has to have happened before the remaining stories (TT #21-23, GA #47-50, 52, 54-59):

That means Steph has to be dead, + Tim's dad must be dead, before the following stories proceed.

TT #21-23. This tale is... I have my head in my hands b/c it doesn't make any sense. Apparently, it happens a "week" after Mia visits the Titans in GA #46. It was also apparently her birthday "last week" but Roy forgot about it. I presume Roy sent this present the second he found out about Speedy II, b/c of what will become apparent in GA #47. However, when it's said Mia's birthday was a week ago (e.g. second week of September), I think this is a bad attempt to hide her secret identity, b/c a Mia who turns 17 in the second week of September contradicts the temporal parameters set out in earlier GA issues. Instead, I believe she turned 17 in August + this really is a late birthday gift from Roy, mostly motivated by hearing about Speedy II a week after the Titans met her in #46...

GA #47 sees Brick start hatching a plan to make Ollie tired. I believe this happens concurrently to GA #46, b/c within #47 there is a one week time-skip before Roy finds out about Mia + confronts Ollie. This places the back end of GA #47 + TT #21-3 in the penultimate week of September.

The Arrows' fight at the bank across GA #48-50, + 52 is implied to happen within the span of either a single day OR 72 hours (3 days).

Ollie's brownstone house explodes in GA #52, + the first few pages of GA #52 follow up on that.

GA #52 then features a two-week timeskip, taking us to the first week of October (about in line with UTRH's final acts).

GA #52-59 + the TT/Outsiders crossover: The Insiders are incredibly bunched together in October. This run sees a proliferation of autumnal leaves + Mia in school, + cross-book comparison has led me to believe that October is the month across which Infinite Crisis hits its climax + resolution, + the point from which the One Year Later timeskip begins.

Age confirmation: Mia met Ollie at 16 in late Batman Year 14. She turns 17 in August, Batman Year 15. This might add evidence for why it was she was still being mistaken as a 15 year old in Quiver, which started in November of Batman Year 14.

@liedownquisition - finally, the Green Arrow 2001 to Infinite Crisis timeline is done. :']

I may amend this post after I re-read Green Arrow (2001-7) but there's no way Mia's 17 in Green Arrow #47 (pre-OYL timeskip) + then still 17 in Green Arrow #72 (post-OYL, just before the Black Canary + Green Arrow wedding which features in Countdown to Final Crisis IIRC). So does that mean Jason--the only one who claims she's 17 in Seeing Red--didn't bother re-checking her age before he went into his 'men don't protect you, start killing people' speech? lmao

[satoruslovey]

*ੈ✩˚Sukuna×wife!reader ₊˚⊹ᰔ

In which boredom leads Sukuna's pretty little wife to try on his robes from his closet, and him to the edge of his control.

The estate was quiet.

Too quiet.

You’d already re-arranged the flowers in the receiving room (twice), skimmed through the ancient book of curses that made your eyes hurt, and sat in the garden watching koi fish for a good half hour.

Still bored.

Sukuna had been gone all day ,“important cursed business,” whatever that meant and left you with no entertainment aside from your own thoughts and the absurd amount of wealth lying around, untouched.

Which is how you found yourself in his private chambers.

Specifically, in his closet.

You had no business being there. It was lined with high shelves, dark wood, and rows upon rows of luxurious robes ,some ceremonial, others clearly meant for war, and a few that were almost sinfully soft. You ran your fingers along the fabrics,heavy silks, delicate embroidery, threads that shimmered like blood in sunlight.

“Just one,” you whispered to yourself, glancing back toward the door like a guilty child.

You reached for one that caught the light, black, with gold-lined patterns that looked like twisted flames, and a high collar that screamed power. It was obviously made to be worn during some grand audience, the kind where people knelt before him.

And yet now, you were the one slipping it over your shoulders.

It hung off your frame like velvet water, the sleeves far too long, the hem dragging across the floor behind you. You turned toward the mirror with a giggle, twirling once, then lifting your arms dramatically like a cursed emperor addressing her imaginary subjects.

You tried to mimic his voice, low and smug and said

“Bow, fools. Your king has arrived… and she’s prettier.”

Another giggle escaped you. You were halfway through a little twirl when you felt it.

A presence.

Familiar. Dangerous. Warm.

You froze.

There, leaning casually against the doorframe with arms crossed over his bare chest and a smirk curving the corner of his lips, stood Ryomen Sukuna.

You swallowed, hard.

“I—"

“I can explain—”

“It was just lying there and—”

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t say a word. Just watched you,amused, silent, and… something else. Something hungry.

His eyes trailed down your figure, the way the oversized robe swallowed you whole, the sleeves covering your hands, your bare legs peeking out beneath the hem.

You tugged the silk tighter around you in a sudden fit of shyness, ducking your head, cheeks glowing red.

“You weren’t supposed to be back yet.”

Sukuna’s smirk widened, predatory and affectionate all at once. “Clearly.”

He pushed off the frame and stepped inside, slow and deliberate. The heavy silence of the room pulsed around you like a heartbeat.

“You rifled through my closet, played dress up,” he drawled, circling you now like you were prey he intended to devour slowly, “and stood here pretending to be me?”

You felt your skin heat up even more, and avoided his gaze. “I got bored…”

“Mm.” He stopped behind you, so close you could feel the heat of him at your back. His fingers brushed against your waist, pulling lightly at the robe. “You picked this one. Do you know what it’s for?”

You shook your head.

“It’s what I wear when I accept offerings,” he said, voice low against your ear. “Blood. Power. Submission.”

You went still.

He leaned down slightly, lips ghosting the curve of your neck, then whispered,

“Should I kneel for you, little wife?”

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening in the fabric.

You turned around to face him slowly, the oversized collar slipping off one shoulder. His eyes immediately dropped there, narrowing like he could eat you whole.

“...You’re making fun of me,” you mumbled.

Sukuna raised a brow. “Am I?”

You pouted, turning halfway away again, suddenly shy. “You just like seeing me flustered.”

He chuckled,low and warm and indulgent. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back into his chest.

“I like seeing you in my things,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear now. “My silks. My colors. My scent all over you.”

You melted a little into his touch, head tilting as he nosed into your hair.

“I might have more made,” he added. “Smaller. In your size. You looked too perfect to scold.”

You blinked. “You were going to scold me?”

“I was, yes,” he said, mock stern. “But then you twirled. And said you were prettier.”

You turned your head with a shy smile. “Was I wrong?”

Sukuna grinned and said,

“No,You never are."

note: had this in mind for quite a while